"The child is turning into a papist, Ma’am. Right here, under our eyes".
"She might do worse, Matilda. If it pleases her to make a little shrine, I shan’t interfere".
A new member of the household and one who took up a good deal of room was Nero, a huge black Newfoundland dog. Though he was young he was burly and possessive. He behaved as though he were master of the house and his coat was so thick that he was puzzled to know whether a beating was in correction or play. He usually rolled in the snow before coming into the house. Once inside he gave himself a tremendous shake, creating a fair snowstorm, then took his place on the best rug, at Philip’s feet, and set about licking his great snowy paws.
He was the centre of the Whiteoaks’ first "family group". The photographer arranged Adeline on a Louis-Quinze chair which her billowing garments quite concealed, with Nicholas on her lap. She wore her sealskin sacque and little cap beneath which her hair escaped in thick curls. The infant on her lap was clothed in white rabbit-skin with the exception of his dimpled feet which were bare. Gussie stood at her mother’s knee, looking almost as broad as long in her white lamb coat and velvet bonnet. Philip, in his fur-lined coat, stood proudly beside his family and at their feet lay Nero, also manifestly impervious to twenty below zero weather. Behind the group was a somewhat Grecian landscape but this was offset by the impressive snowstorm that enveloped all.
The Whiteoaks and their friends gazed long at this picture. Philip bought a magnifying-glass, the better to discover its details. Two dozen photographs were ordered, twenty-three of which were carefully wrapped by him and posted to friends and relations in England, Ireland and India, from which countries came in return letters admiring, jocular and commiserating as regards the climate of Quebec. The twenty-fourth picture was framed in maroon velvet and stood on a marble-topped table in the drawing-room, along with an alabaster casket and ivory and jade figures from the East.
The cold was indeed trying. It was still winter when April came. Wilmott had definitely made up his mind to go to Ontario. He did his best to persuade the Whiteoaks to do the same. Philip already had a friend, a retired Anglo-Indian Colonel, who had settled on the fertile shore of Lake Ontario. Colonel Vaughan was an older man than Philip. The Colonel had known him in India, and his attitude toward him in this new land was almost fatherly. He urged him to remove to Ontario where they might be neighbours. "Here", he wrote, "the winters are mild. We have little snow, and in the long fruitful summer the land yields grain and fruit in abundance. An agreeable little settlement of respectable families is being formed. You and your talented lady, my dear Whiteoak, would receive the welcome here that people of your consequence merit. If you come, our home shall be yours till you have built a suitable residence. My wife joins me in this offer in the most whole-hearted manner. Our house is comparatively large and, though we live simply, I think we could make you comfortable".
The transplanting to Canada had stimulated Adeline’s venturous nature. She was ready to move on, from province to province if need be, till the ideal situation was found. She had made friends in Quebec but she could go back to visit them. Her health had not been what she had hoped for there. She dreaded another winter in that cold draughty house. The death of Monsieur de Granville had affected her deeply. She felt in a small degree responsible for it. And the crêpe-clad figure of Mademoiselle de Granville was a sad reminder. More than any of these, her desire to retain Wilmott as a friend influenced her. His friendship meant more to her than that of anyone in Quebec. If he went to Ontario this would be lost to her. She consented to the migration.
Once that Philip and Wilmott had won Adeline over, they threw themselves heart and soul into the preparation for the journey. The property in Quebec was disposed of, though for a lesser sum than Philip had hoped for. The packing of the furniture, the innumerable small preparations, took time and energy. Only a year had passed since they had thrown themselves with enthusiasm into turning the house in the Rue St. Louis into an abode to their liking, and now it was dismantled! It resumed its air of melancholy. They had made no impression on it.
All the Balestriers wept at parting from them. From Monsieur Balestrier downward, they wept with less and less restraint till, when it came to Lou-lou, the youngest, he clung to Adeline’s neck screaming and kicking. To comfort him she gave him a little mechanical dancing monkey he had long admired. His tears were turned to joy. Pleasure swept upward as it had progressed downward till at the last Monsieur Balestrier was able to smile as he kissed Philip on both cheeks and bade him return to Quebec when he found Ontario unbearable as certainly he would.
The furniture was to be stored in Quebec till sent for, only their personal luggage, their livestock, consisting of Nero and Maggie the goat, journeyed with the family and their two servants. It was a heartbreak for Marie to part with Gussie. She cried till her features were blurred and Gussie cried too, though she was pleased to be going on a journey with her Mama and Papa. She would have liked to leave Nicholas behind, for she had as yet no love for him. She had a real affection for Nero and Maggie.
She remembered vaguely her sea voyage and, when she realised that they were going to travel by ship again, her mouth went down at the corners and she clung tightly to her nurse’s skirt. But this was a fine steamer and its progress was made up the bright river in complete comfort and serenity. At Lachine they left the steamer and were installed on splendid "bateaux" drawn by the lively French-Canadian ponies. Gussie was enchanted. She gave a cry of delight when Patsy snatched her up exclaiming:
"Look, yer honour, Miss! There is a pretty sight for ye!"
"Who are dose mens?" demanded Gussie in her limited English.
"Sure, ’tis the Governor of the North-West, they say, and him goin’ back to his seat. Ah, that’s the life I’d like. Look at the fine clothes on him and the Red Indians in war-paint to escort him!"
All the party stood gazing at the Governor. A crowd had gathered and a cheer arose. Officers in uniform were with him and eight noble canoes, manned by Indians, were his escort. Their bronzed faces fierce with war-paint, their gay bead-embroidered jackets, the feathers that swept from their jetty hair to their muscular shoulders, filled Adeline with delight. She grasped an arm of Philip and Wilmott on her either side.
"Oh, what a letter I shall write home!" she cried. "I shall tell all this to my father in a way to astonish him".
In dignity the stately boats swept by. Three dozen paddles rose and dipped, as though guided by one arm. A British flag on every prow spread its crosses to the sun. The Indians sang as they paddled, in rich but mournful tones:
Gussie raised her voice and joined in the song which she had so often heard from Marie. She joined in, to her own satisfaction, though no one heard a sound she uttered.