“Nonsense!” I said; “it’s somewhere in British Columbia.”
“Hudson’s Bay, Baffin’s Bay, Davis’ Straits—all up at the North Pole. Think nobody never learnt jography but you?”
“Ah, well, never mind where it is,” I said impatiently; “they’re going out there.”
“And they’ve coaxed you two boys away from a poor lone widow woman to go with them,” cried Mrs Dean; “and it’s a sin and a shame.”
“I assure you, Mrs Dean—”
“No, sir, you can’t.”
“Will you be quiet, mother!” cried Esau angrily, “and go on with your supper, and let us. You’re crying right into the salt.”
“I’m not, sir! and I will not be put down by a boy like you. I say you shan’t go.”
“And I say I shall,” replied Esau surlily. “If you don’t know what’s for the best, I do.”
“It isn’t for the best, and it’s cruel of you, Esau.”