“It is so with the 55th, as I can answer, though I cannot say as much for their Christianity,” returned the Sergeant. “Even the major himself, old Duncan of Lundie, will sometimes swear that an oatmeal cake is better fare than the Oswego bass, and sigh for a swallow of Highland water, when, if so minded, he has the whole of Ontario to quench his thirst in.”
“Has Major Duncan a wife and children?” asked Mabel, whose thoughts naturally turned towards her own sex in her new situation.
“Not he, girl; though they do say that he has a betrothed at home. The lady, it seems, is willing to wait, rather than suffer the hardships of service in this wild region; all of which, brother Cap, is not according to my notions of a woman's duties. Your sister thought differently.”
“I hope, Sergeant, you do not think of Mabel for a soldier's wife,” returned Cap gravely. “Our family has done its share in that way already, and it's high time that the sea was again remembered.”
“I do not think of finding a husband for the girl in the 55th, or any other regiment, I can promise you, brother; though I do think it getting to be time that the child were respectably married.”
“Father!”
“'Tis not their gifts, Sergeant, to talk of these matters in so open a manner,” said the guide; “for I've seen it verified by experience, that he who would follow the trail of a virgin's good-will must not go shouting out his thoughts behind her. So, if you please, we will talk of something else.”
“Well, then, brother Cap, I hope that bit of a cold roasted pig is to your mind; you seem to fancy the food.”
“Ay, ay; give me civilized grub if I must eat,” returned the pertinacious seaman. “Venison is well enough for your inland sailors, but we of the ocean like a little of that which we understand.”
Here Pathfinder laid down his knife and fork, and indulged in a hearty laugh, though in his always silent manner; then he asked, with a little curiosity in his manner,—