"Don't be in a hurry. I wish to interest you if I can."
"I will wait your pleasure," observed Oliver, smiling at the other's hesitation.
"It is useless," said Durand, "for me to feign a gaiety I do not feel. I feel more like weeping than laughing. The mere idea of this long, perhaps eternal, separation makes my heart bleed. I think that the hand now in mine I shall never shake again."
"Don't be downhearted. Perhaps we may meet sooner than either of us expect," retorted Oliver.
"I hope you may be a true prophet. Still I cannot help shuddering at the thought of your starting off amidst people whose language you do not even know."
"There you are mistaken," responded Oliver; "as well as French, I speak English, Spanish, and Dutch, with about five Indian dialects, which I picked up at different times."
"It is a wonder," mused the other, "that, placed as you have been, you should have had the time."
"Before I became a cabin boy I could read and write a little. After a time I spent every moment of leisure in study."
"I remember," sighed Durand, "I never met you without you were reading. What will you do for books now?"
"What book is more interesting than that in which God has written on the plains, on the mountains, on the minutest blade of grass?" replied Oliver with enthusiasm. "Believe me, my friend, the sacred book of Nature has pages too interesting to ever weary us; from them you always find consolation, hope, encouragement. But," he added with a smile, "I have two books with me which, in my opinion, epitomise all great human thoughts, make man better, and even restore his courage, when bowed down by the heavy weight of misfortune. I have these books by heart, and yet I read them over again."