“I’ve come here a-hunting,” said Jasper, with the look and tone of a man who did not wish to be questioned.
“Nay, now, I know that is not the reason,” said Heywood, smiling; “you could have hunted much nearer home, if you had been so minded, and to as good purpose. Come, Jasper, you know I’m your friend, and that I wish you well. Let me hear what has brought you so far into the wilderness—mayhap I can give you some good advice if you do.”
“Well, lad, I don’t mind if I do. Though, for the matter of good advice, I don’t feel much in need of any just at this time.”
Jasper shook the ashes out of his pipe, and refilled it as he spoke; then he shook his head once or twice and smiled, as if his thoughts amused him. Having lighted the pipe, he stretched himself out in a more comfortable way before the blaze, and said—
“Well, lad, I’ll tell ye what it is—it’s the old story; the love of woman has brought me here.”
“And a very good old story it is,” returned Heywood, with a look of interest. “A poor miserable set of creatures we should be without that same love of woman. Come, Jasper, I’m glad to hear you’re such a sensible fellow. I know something about that subject myself. There’s a pretty blue-eyed girl, with golden hair, down away in Canada that—” Heywood stopped short in his speech and sighed.
“Come, it ain’t a hopeless case, is it?” said Jasper, with a look of sympathy.
“I rather fear it is; but I hope not. Ah, what should we do without hope in this world?”
“That’s true,” observed Jasper, with much gravity, “we could not get on at all without hope.”
“But come, Jasper,” said the artist, “let’s hear about your affair, and I’ll tell you about mine some other time.”