“What a delightful place to live in!” said Charley. “Do you ever think of building a hut in such a spot as this, Jacques, and settling down altogether?”
Charley’s thoughts reverted to his sister Kate when he said this.
“Why, no,” replied Jacques, in a pensive tone, as if the question had aroused some sorrowful recollections; “I can’t say that I’d like to settle here now. There was a time when I thought nothin’ could be better than to squat in the woods with one or two jolly comrades, and—” (Jacques sighed); “but times is changed now, master, and so is my mind. My chums are most of them dead or gone, one way or other. No; I shouldn’t care to squat alone.”
Charley thought of the hut without Kate, and it seemed so desolate and dreary a dwelling, notwithstanding its beautiful situation, that he agreed with his companion that to “squat” alone would never do at all.
“No, man was not made to live alone,” continued Jacques, pursuing the subject; “even the Injins draw together. I never knew but one as didn’t like his fellows, and he’s gone now, poor fellow. He cut his foot with an axe one day, while fellin’ a tree. It was a bad cut; and havin’ nobody to look after him, he half bled and half starved to death.”
“By the way, Jacques,” said Charley, stepping over the clear brook, and following the track which led up the opposite bank, “what did you say to these redskins? You made them a most eloquent speech apparently.”
“Why, as to that, I can’t boast much of its eloquence, but I think it was clear enough. I told them that they were a great nation—for you see, Mr Charles, the red men are just like the white in their fondness for butter; so I gave them some to begin with, though, for the matter o’ that, I’m not overly fond o’ givin’ butter to any man, red or white. But I holds that it’s as well always to fall in with the ways and customs o’ the people a man happens to be among, so long as them ways and customs a’n’t contrary to what’s right. It makes them feel more kindly to you, an’ don’t raise any on-necessary ill-will. However, the Knisteneux are a brave race; and when I told them that the hearts of their enemies trembled when they heard of them, I told nothing but the truth; for the Chipewyans are a miserable set, and not much given to fighting.”
“Your principles on that point won’t stand much sifting, I fear,” replied Charley: “according to your own showing, you would fall into the Chipewyans’ way of glorifying themselves on account of their bravery, if you chanced to be dwelling among them, and yet you say they are not brave. That would not be sticking to truth, Jacques, would it?”
“Well,” replied Jacques, with a smile, “perhaps not exactly; but I’m sure there could be small harm in helping the miserable objects to boast sometimes, for they’ve little else than boasting to comfort them.”
“And yet, Jacques, I cannot help feeling that truth is a grand, a glorious thing, that should not be trifled with even in small matters.”