"Excuse me if I give you my left hand," said José; "I left the other behind me on the Plains of Abraham. I bear no grudge, however, against the 'short petticoat' (begging your pardon) who relieved me of it. The thing was done so neatly right at the joint that the surgeon had nothing left to do but bandage up the stump. We came off about quits, nevertheless, the 'short petticoat' and I, for I ran my bayonet through his body. It's just as well after all, however, for what use would my right hand be to me when there is no more fighting? No more war now that the Englishman is master of the land," added José, sighing. "It seems, my dear José," answered Lochiel, laughing, "that you know pretty well how to do without your right hand as long as the left remains to you." "Very true," said José. "I can manage when I'm driven to it, as in the scrimmage with the 'short petticoat'; but I confess that it grieves me to be thus crippled. Both hands would have been none too many to serve my master with. The times have been hard, indeed; but, thank God, the worst is over." And tears welled up in the faithful José's eyes. Lochiel then betook himself to the harvesters, who were busy raking the hay and loading the carts. They were all old acquaintances, who greeted him warmly for all the family, the captain excepted, had been at pains to exonerate him. The dinner, served with the greatest simplicity, was nevertheless lavish in its abundance, thanks to the game with which shore and forest were swarming at this season. The silver had been reduced to the limits of strict necessity; besides the spoons, forks, and drinking-cups, there remained but a single jug of ancient pattern, graven with the D'Haberville arms, to attest the former opulence of the family. The dessert consisted of the fruits of the season, brought in on maple leaves, in birch-bark _cassots_ and baskets ingeniously woven by the Indians. A little glass of black-currant ratafia before dinner to sharpen the appetite, spruce beer made out of the branches of the tree, and Spanish wine which they drank much tempered with water, these were the only liquors that the hospitality of Seigneur D'Haberville could set before his guest. This did not prevent the meal from being pervaded with kindly gayety; the family seemed to be entering upon a new life. But for his dread of wounding Archie, Captain D'Haberville would not have failed to joke upon the absence of champagne, which was replaced by the sparkling spruce beer. "Now that we are _en famille_," said the captain, smiling at Archie, "let us talk of the future of my son. As for me, old and worn out before my time with the fatigues of war, I have a good excuse for not serving the new government. It would not be for me, moreover, at my age, to draw the sword against France, whom I have served for more than thirty years. Rather death, a hundred times!" "And, like Hector the Trojan," interrupted Uncle Raoul, "we can all say: