Nathaniel’s brow darkened.
“Speak not of it,” he said sternly. “He is our eldest son. Above all things do not utter his name before Roger; they were as brothers, and he has become a thorn in his flesh.”
He had hardly finished speaking when the door opened, and Martha, accompanied by the minister and his wife, entered. Mistress Cleveland’s ailments were frequent, but never of a very serious nature—often little more than an excuse for sending to Alpha Marsh and getting Martha Langlade down for a good day’s gossip. When, therefore, the news came that strangers had arrived, she declared herself quite equal to the exertion of accompanying her husband and Martha—indeed, the walk she felt sure would be beneficial to her; and so they set forth together, curious to know who the newcomers might be. Marcus and the younger members of the family soon followed, so that the kitchen was full; and the murmur of many voices and occasional laughter struck pleasantly on the ear.
Marcus, though some years older, promptly made friends with William Parkmann, and heard with interest all that was going on in the States.
The young man spoke with enthusiastic affection of Brigadier Howe; to his young imagination he was evidently a hero.
“He will save the colonies,” he affirmed, “because he’s young and goes to work in the right way. He is not likely to fall into an ambuscade, as General Braddock did.”
“We will hope not,” said Marcus; “one such experience is sufficient.”
“I wish you would talk of something besides fighting and Indians,” said Marie, leaning her elbows on the table. “It is the same thing every day. I am so tired of it.”
“I am afraid you will be much more tired before it is over, Marie,” said her brother; “the great struggle has yet to come. One thing is certain, French and English cannot live together as neighbours unless the former will take the oath of allegiance, and that their priests will never allow them to do.”
“I hope we shall never hear again of anything so dreadful as the expulsion from Grandpré two years ago,” said Loïs. “Fancy husbands and wives, parents and children, torn away from each other, sent hundreds of miles apart, never to meet again! That seems to me worse than death; the yearning and the longing, the never-ceasing anxiety, must be so very terrible!” and tears filled her eyes, whilst her voice trembled with emotion.