“I don’t see any, Alex,” said he, at last.
“Any what, Mr. John?”
“Well, you said there’d be toffy.”
Alex laughed and beckoned to the clerk. When John made known his wishes, the latter ran his hand in behind a pile of tobacco and brought out a number of blue-covered packages marked “Imperial Toffy.”
“I think you will find this very nice, sir,” said he. “It’s made in the old country, and we sell quite a bit of it here.”
John’s eyes lighted up at this, and, if truth be told, both of the other boys were glad enough to divide with him his purchase, quantities of which he generously shared also with the Indian and half-breed children whom he presently met in the street.
“I don’t see but what this is just the same as any other town,” said he at length, his mouth full.
They were received with great courtesy by the factor of the Hudson Bay Company, who invited them to have lunch with him. To their surprise they found on the table all the sorts of green vegetables they had ever known—potatoes, beans, tomatoes, lettuce, many varieties, and all in the greatest profusion and excellence.
“We don’t encourage this sort of thing,” said the factor, smilingly pointing to these dishes of vegetables, “for the theory of our Company is that all a man needs to eat is meat and fish. But just to be in fashion, we raise a few of these things in our garden, as you may see. When you are at Vermilion, moreover, although that is three hundred and fifty miles north from here, you’ll see all sorts of grain and every vegetable you ever heard of growing as well as they do twelve or fifteen hundred miles south of here.”
“It’s a wonderful country, sir,” said Rob. “I don’t blame Alex and Moise for calling this the Land of Plenty.”