We went in. I remembered how I had seen her there that night, nearly a year ago, and all the soldiers gathered around to entertain her, whilst she supped on porridge and smiled upon them over her yellow bowl's edge, like a very child.
The few soldiers inside rose respectfully. A sergeant drew a settle to the blazing fire; a soldier brought us soupaan and a gill of rum. Nick came in with the Saguenay, and they both squatted down in their blankets before the fire, grave as a pair o' cats; and there they ate their fill of porridge at our feet, and blinked at the blaze and smoked their clays in silence.
I told Penelope that we must travel this night to Johnstown, it being my duty to give an account of what had happened, without delay.
"There can be no danger to us on the road," said I, "but the thought of leaving you here in this fort disturbs me."
"What would I do here alone?" she asked.
"What will you do alone in Johnstown?" I inquired in turn.
At the same time I realized that we both were utterly homeless; and that in Johnstown our shelter must be a tavern, or, if danger threatened, the fortified jail called Johnstown Fort.
"You will not abandon me, will you, sir?" she asked, touching my sleeve with the pretty confidence of a child.
"Why, no," said I. "We can lodge at Jimmy Burke's Tavern. And there is Nick to give us countenance—and a most respectable Indian."
"Is it scandalous for me to go thither in your company?"