“Indeed, I shall have had no small entertainment as a solace,” said Monsieur Gratiot. “Listen!”
The tinkle of the guitar was heard again, and Nick's voice, strong and full and undisturbed:—
"S'posin' I was to go to N' O'leans an' take sick an' die,
Like a bird into the country my spirit would fly.
Go 'way, old man, and leave me alone,
For I am a stranger and a long way from home."
There was a murmur of voices in the boat, the sound of a paddle gurgling as it dipped, and the dugout shot out towards the middle of the pond and drifted again.
I shouted once more at the top of my lungs:—
“Come in here, Nick, instantly!”
There was a moment's silence.
“By gad, it's Parson Davy!” I heard Nick exclaim. “Halloo, Davy, how the deuce did you get there?”
“No thanks to you,” I retorted hotly. “Come in.”
“Lord,” said he, “is it time to go to New Orleans?”