Band of Acadians by John Skelton Page B

the dog offered a paw for her to shake. Nola grinned. “I think I just made a new friend.”
    Toomy signed to Nola and Jocelyne to join him and Zena in his canoe. They climbed aboard, and he paddled about fifty feet offshore. He took out a spear stored in the bottom of his canoe and stood. Carefully, he scanned the cold water and within minutes managed to spear a lobster. He handed this prize to Nola, using the same gesture she had employed when she gave him the jar of honey. Nola smiled. “Thank you.”
    Toomy gestured that Nola should give spearing a try. She could only glimpse vague shapes through the murky water. “I can’t see well enough for this, Jocelyne. You try.” She handed her friend the spear.
    It took Jocelyne twice as long as Toomy, but she succeeded at last. “It’s tough, but I can do it.” She placed her catch under her seat.
    The three paddled over to Whycocomagh Bay where Toomy pointed at two long rows of sticks planted in the water perpendicular to the shore. The width between the sticks gradually narrowed. When the girls canoed over to the apex of this array, they saw that many fish had been caught behind a barrier net that stretched to the shore. Looking closer, Nola cried, “Ooh! There are only eels in that net. I don’t like eels.”
    â€œI’ve tasted them,” Jocelyne said. “They’re oily and none too pleasant to eat.”
    Toomy could see his companions weren’t pleased but made no gesture of acknowledgement.
    After this excursion, they paddled back to their campsite and were enjoying the scenery when suddenly they realized that Zena was taking advantage of their inattentiveness. She was quietly munching away on their prized lobsters! Toomy called out roughly to his dog, but it was too late. Zena had eaten everything edible.
    â€œDogs will be dogs,” Jocelyne said. “It’s our fault for not watching her.”
    Nola nodded. “I think there’s quite a bit of wolf left in that dog.”
    Toomy dropped them off with the suggestion that they come to his village for a visit.
    For the next month the girls were too busy to follow up on Toomy’s tempting invitation. Mostly, they tried different non-spear ways to catch lobster. But in the last week of October two events made a visit to the Mi’kmaq urgent: a driving snowstorm hit the encampment, a reminder that their water passageway to Whycocomagh would soon close, and they received an invitation to a special ceremony scheduled for the next afternoon. The refugees were so eager that at the crack of dawn the next day four shallops crammed with Rameurs , including Jocelyne, Nola, and Grandpa, went off to the Native community.
    On the way Nola said, “We’re making progress with those lobster traps. This morning when I checked the traps there were four in one alone. That’s our best haul yet. I think that last design change Hector made did the trick.”
    â€œMost of the credit belongs to you, Nola,” Frank said. “You made sure we persisted until we got a design that worked.”
    On arrival the guests were ushered into the House of Prayer teepee. The village elders, dressed in colourful attire, were dancing in a circle to the slow beat of drums and chanting a solemn refrain — a beautiful ritual. The autumn goose hunt had been successful. This celebration was the Native way of giving thanks.
    Grandpa, the only Rameur to understand the lyrics, said, “The Mi’kmaq are a profoundly spiritual people. Even if you don’t understand what’s being sung, it’s easy to see they’re truly thankful for the bounty their gods have given them. They have a strong connection to the spirit world.”
    The thanksgiving dance was followed by storytelling. Grandpa interpreted what was being said. One tale told of a brave hunter named Glooscap with superhuman powers but who was often unlucky in the hunt because of an evil