"The English and the Scotch," continued the Canadian, "dwell in a great island beyond the great water. The English dwell on the plains, while the Scotch inhabit the mountains. The English are as many as the grains of sand about the shores of this lake, while the Scotch are but as the sands of this little island. Yet the Scotch have withstood the English in war for as many moons as there are leaves on this great maple. The English are rich, the Scotch poor. When the Scotch beat the English, they return to their mountains laden with booty; when the English beat the Scotch, they get nothing. The profit is all on one side." "If the English are so numerous," said Grand-Loutre, "why do they not pursue their enemies into the mountains and kill every man of them? They could not escape, since, as my brother says, they live on the same island." "Houa!" cried Dumais, after the fashion of the savages, "I will show my brother why. The Scotch mountains are so high that if an army of young Englishmen were to ascend them but half way, they would be an army of graybeards before they got down again." "The French are always tomfools," said the Indian. "They can't do anything but talk nonsense. Soon they will put on petticoats and go and sit with our squaws, and amuse them with their funny stories. They never talk seriously like men." "My brother ought to understand," said Dumais, "that what I said was merely to impress upon him the remarkable height of the Scottish mountains." "Let my brother continue. Grand-Loutre hears and understands," said the Indian, accustomed to this figurative style of speech. "The Scotch legs are as strong as those of a moose and active as those of a roebuck," continued Dumais. "True," said the Indian, "if they are all like the prisoner here, who, in spite of his bonds, kept right on my heels all the way. He has the legs of an Indian." "The English," said Dumais, "are large and strong, but they have soft legs and huge bellies. When they pursue their more active enemies into the mountains the Scotchmen lie in ambush and kill them by the score. The war seemed as if it would last forever. When the English took prisoners they used to burn many of them; but these would sing their death-song at the stake and heap insult on their torturers by telling them that they had drunk out of the skulls of their ancestors." "Houa!" cried Grand-Loutre, "they are men these Scotch."