I had often felt low-spirited since leaving England, but that evening, with the last glow of the sun fast dying out over the ocean, the huge wall of enormous trees behind, and the gliding river in front, and nothing but a few roughly-built boarded houses in sight, my spirits seemed to sink far lower than they had ever been before.
I glanced at Esau, and he looked gloomy in the extreme. But I tried to put a good face on the matter, as I said to him—
“One of us had better go and see if these people will give us a night’s lodging.”
“You may take that for granted,” said Gunson. “Take hold of one end of my chest here, and let’s get it under cover.”
I saw Esau frown, and I knew that as soon as we were alone he would protest against our being ordered about. But I did not hesitate, helping Gunson to get his two chests and packing-case into the house, when he frankly enough came and helped in with ours.
The people did not seem disposed to be very friendly; but rough as the shed-like house was, everything seemed clean, and they were ready to supply us with some cake-like, heavy bread, and a glowing fire composed of pine-roots and great wedge-like chips, evidently the result of cutting down trees.
“Rather rough, Squire Gordon,” said Gunson, with a laugh, as he saw me sitting disconsolate and tired on the end of my chest; “but you’ll have it worse than this. What do you say to camping out in the forest with no cover but a blanket, and the rain coming down in sheets? you’d think this a palace then.”
“I was not complaining,” I said, trying to be brisk.
“Not with your lips, my lad, but you looked as if you’d give anything to be back in London.”
“Oh, we ain’t such cowards as that,” said Esau shortly.