"Dem bad Injun. Bah! Porkeepine! Fight King George!"
"What do you mean by porcupine?"
"Micmac; all sam' slasher. Fight King George."
"But all the Indians are not rebels."
"No, no. Plenty good Injun no fight King George. All sam' Dane."
"You have known Dane quite a while, I suppose!" Jean asked, while a conscious flush stole into her cheeks.
"A-ha-ha, long tam. Dane leetle babby, so beeg," and she spread out her hand, palm downward, about two feet from the ground. "Kitty know Dane; Kitty know Dane mamma."
"What, you know his mother?"
"A-ha-ha. Good woman. Dead now."
"Do you know his father?"