ere was silence as far as Tony was concerned and for
Annette anxiety that deepened into agony as the silence remained
unbroken with the passing weeks.

With the anxiety there mingled in Annette's heart anger at the
Maitlands, for she blamed them for Tony's dismissal from his position.
This, it is fair to say, was a reflection from her mother's wrath, whose
mind had been filled up with rumours from the mills to the effect that
her son had been "fired." Annette was wise enough and knew her brother
well enough to discredit much that rumour brought to her ears, but she
could not rid herself of the thought that a way might have been found to
hold Tony about the mills.

"He fired the boy, did the ould carmudgeon," said Madame Perrotte in one
of her rages, "and druv him off from the town."

"Nonsense, Mother," Annette had replied, "you know well enough Tony
left of his own accord. Why should you shame him so? He went because he
wanted to go."

This was a new light upon the subject for her mother.

"Thrue for you, Annette, gurl," she said, "an' ye said it that time. But
why for did he not induce the bye to remain? It would be little enough
if he had made him the Manager of the hull works. That same would never
pay back what he did for his son."

"Hush, Mother," said Annette, in a shocked and angry voice, "let no one
hear you speak like that. Pay back! You know, Mother, nothing could ever
pay back a thing like that." The anger in her daughter's voice startled
the mother.

"Oui! by gar!" said Perrotte, who had overheard, with quick wrath.
"Dat's foolish talk for sure! Dere's no man can spik lak dat to me, or I
choke him on his fool t'roat, me."

"Right you are, mon pere!" said Annette appeasing her father. "Mother
did not think what she was saying."

"Dat's no bon," replied Perrotte, refusing to be appeased. "Sacre
tonnerre! Dat's one--what you call?--damfool speech. Dat boy Tony he's
carry (h)on hees back his friend, le Capitaine Jack, an' le Capitaine,
he's go five mile for fin' Tony on' de shell hole an' fetch heem to le
docteur and stay wit' him till he's fix (h)up. Nom de Dieu! You pay for
dat! Mama! You mak' shame for me on my heart!" cried the old Frenchman,
beating his breast, while sobs shook his voice.

CHAPTER VIII

FREE SPEECH

Fifty years ago Blackwater town was a sawmill village on the Blackwater
River which furnished the power for the first little sawmill set up by
Grant Maitland's father.