Zac slowly shook his head.
"No," said he; "I must say, I don't like this here one mite. 'Tain't quite right. Seems kin' o' unlucky."
"Unlucky? How?"
"Wal, fust and foremost, ef it hadn't been you, you'd never a' got me to pint the Parson's nose for that French hole, Louisbourg."
"Why not?" asked Claude, in some surprise; "you don't suppose that there's any danger—do you?"
"Wal, it's a risky business—no doubt o' that thar. You see, my 'pinion is this, that Moosoo's my nat'ral born enemy, an' so I don't like to put myself into his power."
"O, there's no danger," said Claude, cheerily. "There's peace now, you know—as yet."
Zac shook his head.
"No," said he, "that ain't so. There ain't never real peace out here. There's on'y a kin' o' partial peace in the old country. Out here, we fight, an' we've got to go on fightin', till one or the other goes down. An' as to peace, 'tain't goin' to last long, even in the old country, 'cordin' to all accounts. There's fightin' already off in Germany, or somewhars, they say."
"But you know," said Claude, "you thought you could manage this for me somehow. You said you could put me ashore somewhere without trusting yourself in Louisbourg harbor—some bay or other—wasn't it? I forget what the name is. There's no trouble about that now—is there?"