“Much better, sir. I hated to leave for even these closing weeks.”
“Ah, I dare say,” replied Mr. Hilliard, sympathizingly, “and, by all accounts, I don’t see how he ever gets along without you. But really this is a journey you are about making! To Newfoundland is quite—”
“To Halifax, you mean, sir,” Gerald corrected, laughing. “Papa isn’t so far off as he might be.”
“Certainly, Halifax, I would say,” their new companion said, quickly. “But it’s a delightful trip, especially if you go by water.”
“Mr. Marcy said that Old Province was a very handsome steamer.”
“She certainly is. By the bye, your father is quite well?” he asked.
“Thank you, yes, sir,” replied Gerald. “He would not let me go to the camp at first, for fear I should catch something besides fish.”
“I believe you are his only son?” asked Mr. Hilliard, looking into Gerald’s face, with a fine cordiality.
“I am his only son,” answered Gerald, who already considered Mr. Hilliard a very agreeable man—such a rich, strong voice, and such flashing black eyes. “And he is my only father, sir,” he added, laughing.