"Call to your memory the terms of the treaty of Utrecht."
"I don't remember a word of it,—bear in mind, my friend, that I am not an Acadien, and this question does not possess for me the moving interest it does for you. I only know Longfellow's 'Evangeline,'—which, until lately, has always seemed to me to be a pretty myth dressed up to please the public, and make money for the author,—some magazine articles, and Parkman, my favorite historian, whom you, nevertheless, seem to dislike."
Agapit dropped on a block of wood, and rocked himself to and fro, as if in distress. "I will not characterize Parkman, since he is your countryman; but I would dearly love—I would truly admire to say what I think of him. Now as to the treaty of Utrecht; think just a moment, and you will remember that it transferred the Acadiens as the subjects of Louis XIV. of France to the good Queen Anne of England."
Vesper, instead of puzzling his brain with historical reminiscences, immediately began to make preparations for physical comfort, and stretched himself out on the pile of boards, with his arm for a pillow.
"Do not sleep, but conversate," said Agapit, eagerly. "It is cool here, you possibly would get cold if you shut your eyes. I will change this matter of talk,—there is one I would fain introduce."
Vesper, in inward diversion, found that a new solemnity had taken possession of the young Acadien. He looked unutterable things at the Bay, indescribable things at the sky, and mysterious things at the cook of the schooner, who had just thrust his head through a window in his caboose.
At last he gave expression to his emotion. "Would this not be a fitting time to talk of the wonderful letter of which madame, your mother, hinted?"
Vesper, without a word, drew a folded paper from his pocket, and handed it to him.
Agapit took it reverently, swayed back and forth while devouring its contents, then, unable to restrain himself, sprang up, and walked, or rather ran, to and fro while perusing it a second time.