"But, my dear Iberville--"
"It was 'Pierre' a minute gone; 'twill be 'Monsieur Pierre le Moyne of
Iberville' next," the other said in mock reproach, as he went to the
fire.
"No, no; I merely--"
"I understand. Pardon the wild youth who plagues his old friend and
teacher, as he did long ago--so much has happened since."
His face became grave and a look of trouble came. Presently the priest
said: "I never had a pupil whose teasing was so pleasant, poor humourist
that I am. But now, Pierre, tell me all, while I lay out what the pantry
holds."
The gay look came back into Iberville's face. "Ahem," he said--"which is
the way to begin a wonderful story: Once upon a time a young man, longing
to fight for his king by land alone, and with special fighting of his own
to do hard by"--(here De Casson looked at him keenly and a singular light
came into his eyes)--"was wheedled away upon the king's ships to France,
and so
'Left the song of the spinning-wheel,
The hawk and the lady fair,
And sailed away--'
But the song is old and so is the story, abbe; so here's the brief note
of it. After years of play and work,--play in France and stout work in
the Spaniards' country,--he was shipped away to
'Those battle heights, Quebec heights, our own heights,
The citadel our golden lily bears,
And Frontenac--'
But I babble again.
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