“O, an you thought you was on Newfoundland coast, or Gaspé, an you goes off to hunt for help, an you leaves your friends. Well, now, have they got lots to eat?”
“O, yes.”
“Lots?” repeated the man, with some energy. “Lots, now, railly?”
“Plenty—enough to last them for a year.”
The man sighed.
“An so you comes off for help. Why did they let you youngsters go? Why didn’t the men go?”
“O, we’re all boys,” said Tom.
“Well, that’s queer, too.”
“A kind of pleasure party,” said Arthur.
The man shook his head mournfully.