uld be
a good thing to stop him from going further and getting into trouble.
At least it was worth trying.

"Good-evening, Pat," I cried.

He turned as if a pebble had struck him, and saw me standing under the
flickering lamp. He stared for a moment in bewilderment, then a smile
came over his face, and he pulled off his hat.

"There is my m'sieu'," he said; "my faith, but that is droll! You go
on, you others. I must speak to him a little. See you later--Rue
Champlain--the old place."

The befogged company rolled away in the darkness and Pat rolled over
to me. His greeting was a bit unsteady, but his natural politeness and
good-fellowship did not fail him.

"But how I am happy to see m'sieu'!" said he; "it is a little sooner
than I expected, but so much the better! And how well m'sieu' carries
himself--in full health, is it not? You have the air of it--all ready
for the Peribonca, I suppose? _Bateche_, that will be a great voyage,
and we shall have plenty of the good luck."

"Yes," I answered, "it looks to me like a good trip, if we get started
right. I want to talk with you about it. Can you leave your friends
for a while?"

His face reddened visibly under its dark coat of tan, and he stammered
as he replied:

"But certainly, m'sieu'--they are not my friends--that is to
say--well, I know them a little--they can wait--I am perfectly at the
service of m'sieu'."

So we walked around the corner into the open square (which, by the
way, is shaped like a triangle), at one side of which there is an
old-fashioned French hotel, with a double _galerie_ across its face,
and green-shuttered windows. There were tables in front of it, and at
one of these I invited Pat to join me in having some coffee.

His conversation at first was decidedly vague and woolly, though
polite as ever. There was a thickness about his words as if they were
a little swollen, and his ideas had loose edges, and would not fit
together. However, he did his best to pull himself up and make good
talk. But his _r_'s rolled like an unstrung drum, and his _n_'s
twanged like a cracked banjo. On the subject of the proper amount of
provisions to take with us for our six weeks' camping trip he wandered
wildly. Without doubt we must take enough--in grand quantity--one must
live well--else one could not carry the load on the portages--very
long portages--not good for heavy packs--we must take very little
stuff--small rations, a little pork and flour--we can