"Nay, nay, mother!" said he, rising and passing his gnarled hand over
his forehead, "it is even as Pierre has said. We must be the first
to do the bidding of the abbe, and must seem to do it of our own accord.
It will be hours yet ere the English be among us, and long ere Le Loutre
will have had time to work his will upon those who refuse to do his
bidding. Do thou get the stuff together. This night we must sleep
on the shore of the stream and find us a new home at Beausejour.
To the sheds, Pierre, and yoke the cattle. Hurry, boy, hurry, for
there is everything to do and small time for the doing of it."

From Lecorbeau's cottage the news of Le Loutre's decree spread like
wildfire through the settlement. Some half dozen reckless characters
declared at once in the abbe's favor, and set out across the marsh to
welcome him and offer their aid. A few more, a very few, set themselves
reluctantly to follow the example of Antoine Lecorbeau, who bore a
great name in the village for his wise counsels. But most of the
villagers got stubborn, and vowed that they would stay by their homes,
whether it was Indians or English bid them move. The resolution of
these poor souls was perhaps a little shaken as a long line of painted
and befeathered Micmacs, appearing from the direction of the wooded
hills of Jolicoeur, drew stealthily near and squatted down in the
outermost skirts of the village. But Beaubassin had not had the experience
with Le Loutre that had fallen to the lot of other settlements, and
the unwise ones hardened their hearts in their decision.

As Le Loutre, with his little party, entered the village, he met Antoine
Lecorbeau setting out for Beausejour with a huge cartload of household
goods, drawn by a yoke of oxen. The abbe's fierce, close-set eyes
gleamed with approval, and he accosted the old man in a cordial voice.