“It is a feast to a hungry man. Our dinner was not over-generous.”
Gaspard took one side of his host and placed the little girl opposite her grandfather. She evinced no surprise. She had seen a good deal of rough living since leaving old Quebec.
Antoine broke the bread in chunks and handed it to each. The dish of corn was passed and the venison steak divided.
“After this long tramp I would like to have something stronger than your home-brewed coffee, though that’s not bad. Come, be a little friendly to a returned traveller,” exclaimed the guest.
“You should have had it without the asking, Gaspard Denys, if you had given me a moment’s time. You came down the Illinois, I suppose?”
“To St. Charles. There the boat was bound to hang up for the night. But Pierre Joutel brought us down in his piroque after an endless amount of talk. There was a dance at St. Charles. So it was dark when we reached here. Lucky you are outside the stockade.”
“And you carried me,” said the child, in a clear, soft voice that had a penetrative sound.
Antoine started. Why should he hear some pleading in the same voice suddenly strike through the years?
Gaspard poured out a glass of wine. Then he offered the bottle to Antoine, who shook his head.
“How long since?” asked Gaspard mockingly.