“He was like some men I know,” said Bert. “He knew more than he thought he did.”
“Some men think they know more than they do,” replied Bob, soberly. “Well, Cartier knew the winter was coming on, so he decided to go home. He sailed out through the straits of Belle Isle, and finally arrived at St. Malo, September 5, 1534. The king was mightily pleased with the trip, and promised to send him again in the next year.”
“Then, as I understand it,” said Jock, “Cartier didn’t really sail up the river in 1534. He only found a little piece of it, and didn’t know what it was he had discovered.”
“That’s it. He’d discovered it, but didn’t know it.”
“Poor fellow!” murmured Ben. “And, Bob, did he die?”
“You’ll find out,” said Bob, “when I tell you the rest of it.”
“What! is there more to follow?”
“Yes, it’s ‘to be continued in our next.’”
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve all this,” said Ben, “but I suppose I’ll have to put up with it. When’s the next instalment due?”
“Not till after we’ve finished the other thing we’re to do to-morrow.”