“What? Prissy getting mixed up with a wood pussy?” laughed Desiré.

“No. The problem of discipline. The free and lazy life is going to let the youngsters get a bit out of hand, I’m afraid.”

“René’s only a baby,” said Desiré reassuringly. “We should have no trouble managing him. Of course Priscilla is rather difficult at times; she goes from one extreme to another so quickly. You never know exactly what she will do next. At home, I sometimes sent her to bed; but that would be rather difficult in a wagon. But she’s a good little thing, and we’ll do the best we can. You mustn’t worry about it, Jack,” concluded Desiré, bending over to touch his thick brown curls.

He caught her hand in his and held it until Priscilla appeared from among the trees, freshly clothed, and swinging the empty pail in her hand.

Without a word Jack helped her into the wagon and they headed once more for the town. The sun had sunk below the horizon; the woods were getting dim; and the sky was a soft rose and gold when they entered Meteghan. Surely the whole population must be abroad, so filled were the streets with people all headed toward the church.

“What do you suppose is going on?” asked Desiré, viewing the scene rather wistfully.

“I don’t know,” replied Jack, pulling the wagon into a free space between two other vehicles. Almost immediately a tall, awkward youth sauntered over to them.

“Where’s old Simon?”

Jack explained, adding, “What’s doing here?”

“Pie social,” was the laconic reply. “Better go.”

“Where is it held?” asked Desiré, leaning out and smiling down into his keen grey eyes.

“Church basement; it’s for the benefit of the church. Costs you a pie to get in.”

At this point, a companion called to the boy, and he strolled away.

“Like to go?” asked Jack, who had not been unobservant of Desiré’s eager interest.

“How could we? We haven’t any pies.”

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