Camps, not unlike their own, were passed; cottages, on the piazzas of which groups of people could be seen; the beautiful St. Lawrence skiffs, in which were men starting forth on an errand like that which had taken our boys a few days before to Goose Bay, were noted, and all were enthusiastically greeted. Occasionally some beautiful steam-yacht would meet them on its way up the river, and in response to their hail would toot forth its salute. Altogether, the scene and experience were so novel and inspiring that the boys all felt the exhilaration, and their delight was unbounded.
“Do ye see that island over there?” inquired Ethan, pointing as he spoke to one which lay between them and the shore.
The boys all glanced in the direction, and then the boatman said, “They had a fracas there in the Civil War with the bounty jumpers.”
“Bounty jumpers? What are they?” said Ben, innocently.
Ethan gave him a look which was almost one of contempt, and then said, “I thought you was goin’ to college.”
“I am,” said Ben; “but I don’t go because I know it all, but because I don’t. If I knew as much as you do, Ethan, perhaps I shouldn’t go.”
“Ye don’t know much for a fact,” replied Ethan, soberly. “I s’pose ye’ll be studyin’ Latin and Greek and lots o’ such ’tarnal nonsense when ye git there. If there was a six-year-old boy ’round here that didn’t know what a bounty jumper was, I’d send him to the ’sylum, I would, for a fact. Have ye found out how many teeth a cow has on her upper jaw yet?”
“Not yet,” laughed Ben, good-naturedly. “What’s that got to do with bounty jumpers?”
“A bounty jumper,” began Ethan, ignoring the question, “was a man what jumped his bounty.”