"'Valour Gave Them a Common Death,
History a Common Fame,
And Posterity a Common Monument.'"
"Bravo—I'll make it a pound—but of course you looked it up to show off to Sally May."
"Well, I did look it up," confessed Nancy, "but Father promised to take us to see the sights as soon as Judy came and he would have disowned me if I didn't know that much."
They had reached the Ramparts and Judith caught her breath in amazement at the wonderful scene. Away below them flowed the majestic St. Lawrence, its snow-clad banks pierced here and there by tiny villages each with its heavenward-pointing spire; to the north were the Laurentian Hills, now glistening in a dazzling white mantle; at their feet was the town, quaint and picturesque, its spires and monuments reminders of its romantic past.
"There's the Ursuline convent, Judy," said Sally May, eagerly pointing out the group of buildings. "Mr. Nairn told me the most interesting thing about it—there's a lamp there that was lighted over two hundred years ago by a girl, Marie de Repentigny—just imagine all the things that have happened since that flame was lit."
"En avant—forward march," said Jack; "this is not Mr. Nairn's personally conducted tour—we, I might observe parenthetically, intend to ski this afternoon."
They bundled into the motor once more and were soon on the slopes a little lower down where several flying figures could already be seen. It was an ideal place for the thrilling sport—for there were a number of high places where experts could take high jumps, and lower slopes in plenty for the learners and the more timid, and great snowy fields beyond where the whiteness was broken by the gay-coloured caps and scarves of tobogganers and skaters.
Tom took Nancy down to one of the ponds to skate, while Tim and Jack gave Judith and Sally May their first lesson.
Tim proved a splendid teacher and Judith made such progress in the management of the long clumsy skis that at the end of an hour the boys left Nancy in charge of their pupils, and went off to try some of the higher jumps.
Judith found that she couldn't do as well without Tim's precept and example, and neither she nor Sally May was sorry when Nancy declared they could have just one more jump—they had no idea how stiff they would be to-morrow.