“Thank you,” he answered, and then lifting his eyes he looked round the room. Marcus held out his hand.
“I’m glad you’re back, Roger,” he said, “but desperately sorry for the cause which kept you away.”
“I knew you would be,” answered Roger, as he seated himself at the table, where one of the younger girls had hastened to spread a snowy cloth, upon which Loïs placed the food.
“Are your wounds easier, Roger?” asked Martha.
“I scarcely feel my arm, but my head aches badly,” he answered.
“You want food; you’ll be better after supper,” said his father.
“Maybe,” answered Roger carelessly, and he took up his knife and fork and began mechanically to eat the food Loïs put upon his plate. But after the first few mouthfuls, nature asserted her rights. He was young and strong, had fasted all that day, and the fever of his wounds having left him, his appetite returned, and Loïs had the satisfaction of seeing the food disappear.
With infinite tact she told him of little events which had taken place in the settlement during his absence. Father Nat, Marcus, and the others joined in, so that the conversation became general. Roger kept silence, but he was evidently listening. Suddenly the door opened, and John Cleveland, the minister, entered. He and Nathaniel had been friends ever since he had been elected minister of the Marsh villages. The young Langlades and Boscowens had had no other teacher; he had married a Boscowen, a cousin of the present head of the house, and was therefore one of the family.
Every evening, summer and winter alike, he smoked his pipe in the chimney corner of Omega Marsh. Roger Boscowen and Charles Langlade had been great favourites with him, and both the young men returned his affection. He had done his best to prevent the latter taking the fatal step which had plunged them all into sorrow; failing to do so, he had grieved for him almost as bitterly as Nat had done.
Whilst Roger was sleeping, his father had gone over to the minister’s house and told him of the boys’ return.