aced.

"How do you like my entrance?" said the young man. "But I had to provide
my own music!" He laughed, and ran his hands affectionately down the
arms of the priest.

"I had been playing the same old chansonette--"

"With your original variations?"

"With my poor variations, just before you came in; and that done--"

"Yes, yes, abbe, I know the rest: prayers for the safe return of the
sailor, who for four years or nearly has been learning war in King
Louis's ships, and forgetting the good old way of fighting by land,
at which he once served his prentice time--with your blessing, my old
tutor, my good fighting abbe! Do you remember when we stopped those
Dutchmen on the Richelieu, and you--"

The priest interrupted with a laugh. "But, my dear Iberville--"

"It was 'Pierre' a minute gone; 'twill be 'Monsieur Pierre le Moyne of
Iberville' next," the other said in mock reproach, as he went to the
fire.

"No, no; I merely--"

"I understand. Pardon the wild youth who plagues his old friend and
teacher, as he did long ago--so much has happened since."

His face became grave and a look of trouble came. Presently the priest
said: "I never had a pupil whose teasing was so pleasant, poor humourist
that I am. But now, Pierre, tell me all, while I lay out what the pantry
holds."

The gay look came back into Iberville's face. "Ahem," he said--which
is the way to begin a wonderful story: "Once upon a time a young man,
longing to fight for his king by land alone, and with special fighting
of his own to do hard by"--(here De Casson looked at him keenly and a
singular light came into his eyes)--"was wheedled away upon the king's
ships to France, and so

'Left the song of the spinning-wheel,
The hawk and the lady fair,
And sailed away--'"

"But the song is old and so is the story, abbe; so here's the brief note
of it. After years of play and work,--play in France and stout work in
the Spaniards' country,--he was shipped away to

'Those battle heights,
Quebec heights, our own heights,
The citadel our golden lily bears,
And Frontenac--'

"But I babble again. And at Quebec he finds the old song changed.
The heights and the lilies are there, but Frontenac, the great, brave
Frontenac, is gone: confusion lives where only conquest and honest
quarrelling were--"

"Frontenac will return--there is no other way!" interposed De Casson.

"Perhaps. And the young man looked round a