“Well, I do not think that we are ruined really, sir,” said Charley, artlessly; “still, my papa had many thousand pounds a-year till lately, and we lived in a large house in London, and had another in the country, and Philip was at Oxford and Harry at Eton, and I was going there; and now we are to live in a log-hut in the back woods in Canada, and that makes us all so jolly, because it will be such capital fun. Don’t you think so?”
“I have had some experience of life in the back woods,” answered the gentleman. “It has its advantages and its disadvantages, though I have little doubt but that you will find it pleasant.”
“What, do you live in Canada, sir?” asked Charley.
“Yes; I have lived there all my life,” said the stranger. “But, my young friend, you say that you are ruined, and yet I see that you have servants attending on you: how is that?”
“Why, they insisted on coming, and would not leave us,” answered Charley.
“Would more have accompanied you?” enquired the stranger. “I am afraid, though, that my questions may appear impertinent,”
“If papa would have let them,” said Charley.
“That fact speaks volumes in favour both of masters and servants,” said the stranger to himself.
From that day Charley looked upon the stranger as an especial friend, though he could learn little more about him than that his name was Norman. At length the Saint Lawrence was reached, and the Ashton family landed safely at Quebec, the chief port of the superb province which the gallantry of Wolfe won for England, and which, mainly by the perseverance and energy of Anglo-Saxon inhabitants, has become one of the brightest jewels in the British crown.