The beaming smile on Teddy’s face showed that he was well pleased to be relieved from the responsibilities of office.
“Sure,” said he, “the throuble I have had wid the min an’ the salvages for the last six weeks—it’s past belavin’! An’ thin, whin I sint the men down to the river to fush—more nor twinty miles off—an’ whin the salvages wint away and left me alone wid only wan old salvage woman!—och! I’d not wish my worst inimy in me sitivation.”
“Then the savages have been giving you trouble, have they?”
“They have, sur, but not so much as the min.”
“Well, Teddy,” said Jack, “go and fetch me something to eat, and then you shall sit down and give me an account of things in general. But first give my men food.”
“Sure they’ve got it,” replied Teddy, with a broad grin. “That spalpeen they calls Rollo axed for meat the first thing, in a voice that made me think he’d ait me up alive av he didn’t git it. So I guv ’em the run o’ the pantry. What’ll yer plaze to dhrink, sur?”
“What have you got?”
“Tay and coffee, sur, not to mintion wather. There’s only flour an’ salt pork to ait, for this is a bad place for game. I’ve not seed a bird or a bear for three weeks, an’ the seals is too cute for me. But I’ll bring ye the best that we’ve got.”
Teddy O’Donel hastened to the kitchen, a small log-hut in rear of the dwelling-house, and left Jack Robinson alone in the “Hall.”
Jack rose, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and walked to the window. It was glazed with parchment, with the exception of the centre square, which was of glass.