But Washington made no reply.
So the others chattered again, and drank, and laughed, their tongues wagged, the smoke from their pipes formed a cloud; and amid the smoke, the chatter and the warmth the Hunter, well fed, dozed upon his bear-skin.
He roused, wakened by the scraping of the benches. This had signalled to him that Washington was going. The candles were low in their sockets, and the French and Washington and Jacob Vanbraam were upon their feet—the French swaying foolishly. Up scrambled Robert himself, throwing off his sleep.
“My thanks to you,” Washington was saying, for Jacob Vanbraam to translate, “and my humble services. But I will sleep with my own men in my own camp, as befits a commander. I already have fared better than they.” He turned about, and saw the Hunter. “You may stay and sleep by the fire, on account of your leg,” he bade, with a sign.
“Yes, yes. Certainly,” smiled Captain Joncaire, understanding the sign. And he said to Robert in French: “The poor little boy shall stay with his French brothers.”
Robert shook his head. He was afraid of these French, so polite and so sure of themselves.
“I will go with Washington,” he announced in English. “He is my captain.”
When Vanbraam translated, the French laughed more loudly than ever, and Washington gravely smiled; and Robert followed him out into the cold blackness, for the camp in the woods.