“Left you?” I repeated, not understanding the words. “Do you live on our side of the lake?” “My home is on the North Foreland, or, as perhaps you call it, Long Point. I offended the soldiers, and they took me with them, counting, as I then believed, to leave me with the Americans. Instead of which I was, shortly before daylight, put into the boat and told to go my way.” “Then the Britishers were reconnoitring Presque Isle Bay?” Alec asked quickly. “They went in that direction, as I understood from their words, to see what preparations were being made.” “Where did they come from?” “From the North Foreland.” “How many are there?” “More than a thousand; and it is said they will march across the United States even into the capital city, Washington.” Alec looked at me as if to say that in befriending this lad we had indeed found a prize, for before having sailed half-way across the lake there was come to us such information as must be valuable to those at Presque Isle, who were waiting in vain for reënforcements. “How did it chance that they could find pleasure in thus setting you in danger of death?” I asked, still so taken by the lad’s pitiful face that I failed to realize how important was the information he gave us. “I refused to show them where my mother had hidden our store of provisions, and they could have killed me before I would have led them to it, for once it was taken, my mother and my sister might starve on the North Foreland, and I was not minded to bring about their death.” I failed to understand all he meant by this; but it was evident that he had proven himself courageous in a certain sense, otherwise the Britishers would not have dealt so hardly with him. It is needless for me to set down here word for word the conversation which was held between us three as we continued on our course, holding steadily for Long Point, where he had said the enemy were yet in camp, because the story may be told in fewer words. From the information given, neither Alec nor I had any doubt but that the Britishers were still encamped where we had found them on that certain day in March, and the movement against Presque Isle had been deferred, not abandoned. I had no question but that he came from the same place where we were held prisoners, for by his story we understood that his mother lived not far from the extreme easterly point of land, where, as I knew full well, was a small farm under fairly good cultivation. The British had been there more than three months, and twice during that time set out toward the American shore, but only to return. Why they failed to make an attack the lad could not say. After he had given us all the information in his power, we asked his name. “Leon Marchand,” was the reply; “and my mother is the widow of that Captain Marchand who came hither from France eight years ago.”