both on his new lands and on the old farm, and saw the apples ripening
abundantly around the ruins of his home in Beaubassin. As for Pierre,
in his scanty hours of leisure he was always to be found on the hill,
where an old color sergeant, pleased with his intelligence and his
ambition to become a soldier of France, was teaching him to read and
write. This friendly veteran was, in his comrades' eyes, a marvel of
clerkly skill, for in those days the ability to read and write was by
no means a universal possession among the soldiers of France.

One evening in the first of the autumn, when here and there on the
dark Minudie hills could be seen the scarlet gleam of an early-turning
maple, just as the bay had become a sheet of glowing copper under the
sunset, a rosy sail appeared on the horizon. The pacing sentry on the
brow of Beausejour stopped to watch it. Presently another rose into
view, and another, and another; and then Beausejour knew that the English
fleet had returned. Before the light faded out the watchers had counted
seventeen ships; and when the next morning broke the whole squadron was
lying at anchor about three miles from the shore.

With the first of daylight Pierre and his father hastened up the hill
to find out what was to be done. To their astonishment they learned
that the troops on Beausejour would do just nothing, unless the English
should attempt to land on the French side of the Missaguash. They had
received from Quebec a caution not to transgress openly any treaty
obligations. To Antoine Lecorbeau this news seemed not unwelcome.
He was for quiet generally. But Pierre showed in his face, and, indeed,
proclaimed aloud, his disappointment. The old sergeant laughed at his
eager pupil, and remarked:

"O, my young fire eater, _you_ shall have a chance at the beefeaters