noon
The laughing crews of idlers sprawled in the warmth , gambling , telling stories , singing . Then one might have heard all the picturesque songs of the Far North -- `` A la claire Fontaine '' ; `` Ma Boule Roulant '' ; `` Par derrier ' chez-mon Pere '' ; `` Isabeau s ' y promene '' ; `` P'tite Jeanneton '' ; `` Luron , Lurette '' ; `` Chante , Rossignol , chante '' ; the ever-popular `` Malbrouck '' ; `` C'est la belle Francoise '' ; `` Alouette '' ; or the beautiful and tender `` La Violette Dandine . '' They had good voices , these _ voyageurs _ , with the French artistic instinct , and it was fine to hear them . At noon the squaws set out to gather canoe gum on the mainland . They sat huddled in the bottom of their old and leaky canoe , reaching far over the sides to dip their paddles , irregularly placed , silent , mysterious . They did not paddle with the unison of the men , but each jabbed a little short stroke as the time suited her , so that always some paddles were rising and some falling . Into the distance thus they flapped like wounded birds ; then rounded a bend , and were gone .