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Updated: May 13, 2025
Now that it began to bear on, she answered her father's question. "Captain," she said, like a trusted mate, "we'll bluff them." Her eyes flashed with the intelligence of war. "Here, quick, I'll take the tiller. They haven't seen Bissonnette yet; he sits low. Call all hands on deck shout!
Sometimes of an evening Joan danced on deck to the music of the concertina dances which had their origin largely with herself fantastic, touched off with some unexpected sleight of foot almost uncanny at times to Bissonnette, whose temperament could hardly go her distance when her mood was as this.
He laughed out loud at the thought of doing so within a stone's throw of a fortune and nose-shot of fifty kegs of brandy. As he did so, Bissonnette gave a little cry. They were coming on to Cap de Gloire at the moment, and Tarboe and Joan, looking, saw a boat standing off towards the mainland, as if waiting for them. Tarboe gave a roar, and called to Joan to take the tiller.
Well, for you, Bissonnette, there shall be a thousand dollars, you shall have the Belle Chatelaine Inn and the little lady at Point Pierrot. For the rest, you shall keep a quiet tongue, eh? If not, my Bissonnette, we shall be the best of strangers, and you shall not be happy. Hein?" Bissonnette's eyes flashed. "The Belle Chatelaine? Good! That is enough.
Then, too, it had just occurred to her that a parley would be amusing, particularly if she and Lafarge were the truce-bearers. So she said: "That is very good." "Suppose they should turn and fight?" suggested Bissonnette. "That's true here's m'am'selle," agreed Tarboe. "But, see," said Joan.
"Let me give a bond," said Tarboe quickly. "If I saw much gold perhaps I couldn't trust myself, but there's someone to be trusted, who'll swear for me. If my daughter Joan give her word " "Is she with you?" "Yes, in the Ninety-Nine, now. I'll send Bissonnette for her. Yes, yes, I'll send, for gold is worse than bad whisky when it gets into a man's head. Joan will speak for me."
True, the thing was cleverly done, for Bissonnette made the water spill quite naturally against his leg, and when he turned to Joan and said in a crusty way that he didn't care if he spilled all the water in the pail, he looked so like an unwilling water-carrier that Joan for one little moment did not guess.
Bissonnette did not know the object of the expedition, but he had caught the spirit of the affair, and his eyes were like spots of steel as he held the sheet or took his turn at the tiller.
He laughed out loud at the thought of doing so within a stone's throw of a fortune and nose-shot of fifty kegs of brandy. As he did so, Bissonnette gave a little cry. They were coming on to Cap de Gloire at the moment, and Tarboe and Joan, looking, saw a boat standing off towards the mainland, as if waiting for them. Tarboe gave a roar, and called to Joan to take the tiller.
"La, la," she said, with a whimsical quirk of the head, and no apparent relevancy: "Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home, Your house is on fire, and your children all gone." The remedy was good. Tarboe's eyes came again to their natural liveliness, and Bissonnette said: "My throat's like a piece of sand-paper."
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