“‘Where are ye goin’ now?’ says he, when we’d done.
“‘Back to my ship,’ says I.
“‘Come an’ ha’ tea to-morrow wi’ me an’ my sister,’ says he, ‘an’ we’ll have another talk about Rupert’s Land.’
“‘I will,’ says I.
“‘Six o’clock, sharp,’ says he.
“‘Sharp’s the word,’ says I.
“An’, sure enough, I went to his house sharp to time next day, an’ there I found him an’ his sister. She was as pretty a craft as I ever set eyes on, wi’ a modest look an’ long fair ringlets—just borderin’ on nineteen or thereaway—but you know her, Archie, so I needn’t say no more.”
“What! is that the same woman that’s keeping house for him now in Red River?”
“Woman!” repeated the sailor, vehemently; “she’s not a woman—she’s a angel is Elise Morel. Don’t speak disrespectful of her, lad.”
“I won’t,” returned Archie with a laugh; “but what was the upshot of it all?”