"I don't know; they go back beyond him now and then. When they count their sheep I imagine they talk like Alfred or Canute. But suppose you give us an example of ancient French."
The older man opened the book and after turning a number of pages read a passage with taste and feeling. Then he looked at Jim.
"He's primitive; our thoughts run in another groove. But I daresay there's something archaic about Quebec French and you perhaps know the latter. Have I struck the right note?"
"Hit it first time! Anyhow, you've got my notion of what he meant," Jim replied. Then he paused and added thoughtfully: "But I don't know if we're as different as you think. In the North, men get back to primitive things."
The other nodded. "It's possible. One certainly gets a primitive hunger and learns something about bodily needs."
Jim lighted his pipe and mused. He had not talked to cultivated people since he left McGill. He felt rather moved and quietly excited; the strange thing was, their English voices and manner were not new. In a way, it was ridiculous, but he felt as if he had known them, or others of their kind, before.
"You are from the Old Country and your friend seems to know Cumberland," he said. "Do you know Langrigg Hall?"
He thought the older man gave him a keen glance, but next moment his face was inscrutable and with a little gesture of satisfaction he stretched his legs to the fire. His companion, however, looked interested.
"Why, yes," said the latter. "But there are a number of Langriggs in the North of England."
"At the place I mean there is a marsh."