"What, mes fils, are your parents dead? Ah well! I did not think to have
outlived them; but they have not led such healthy lives as old Jacob
Morelle--hunting, fishing, lumbering, trapping,--those are the things to
harden a man and make him as tough as a stock-fish--eh! mes enfans, is it
not so?"
Hector then told the old lumberer how long they had been separated from
their families, and by what sad accident they had been deprived of the
society of their beloved sister. When they brought their narrative down to
the disappearance of Catharine, the whole soul of the old trapper seemed
moved--he started from the log on which they were sitting, and with one of
his national asseverations, declared "That la bonne fille should not remain
an hour longer than he could help among those savage wretches. Yes, he, her
father's old friend, would go up the river and bring her back in safety, or
leave his grey scalp behind him among the wigwams."
"It is too late, Jacob, to think of starting today," said Hector. "Come
home with us, and eat some food, and rest a bit.
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