At this the man stared at them for a few moments in a wild way, and then burst forth into laughter so strange and so wild that both the boys felt uncomfortable. Tom began to think that he was not drunk, but insane, and felt sorry that they had allowed the boat to touch the shore. Suddenly the man stopped, and looked at them with a totally different expression. He looked at them fixedly, and there was on his face a certain pity and commiseration which struck them forcibly. “Boys,” said he at length, in a gentle voice, “you’re on the lookout for a settlement, are you?” “Yes.” “Well, look at me. Now look at all this country. Well, I’m the only settler here. I’m the only settler you’ll ever find here, if you sail a hundred years. Do you know where you’ve got to?” “Why, we thought it was Newfoundland,” said Tom. “Or Gaspé,” said Arthur. The man looked at them with a solemn face for some time, and said not a word. “Poor boys! poor boys!” he murmured at last; “p’raps they was worse off’n I was. An air you all alone, boys?” “No; we’ve left our friends some, miles back.” “O, an you thought you was on Newfoundland coast, or Gaspé, an you goes off to hunt for help, an you leaves your friends. Well, now, have they got lots to eat?” “O, yes.” “Lots?” repeated the man, with some energy. “Lots, now, railly?” “Plenty--enough to last them for a year.” The man sighed. “An so you comes off for help. Why did they let you youngsters go? Why didn’t the men go?” “O, we’re all boys,” said Tom. “Well, that’s queer, too.” “A kind of pleasure party,” said Arthur. The man shook his head mournfully. “An so you thinks you’ve got onto Newfoundland or Gaspé,” he said. “Yes. Why? Where are we? Can you tell us? And who are you? and what are you doing here?” Tom said this. “Me?” said the man. “Look at me. Can’t you see what I be? Do I look like a gentleman farmer? Is this the country for a emigrant? Me!” he repeated, with a bitter laugh. “Poor boys! poor boys! Why, I’m jest like you. I’m ship-wracked--on’y I knows where I be, an that’s more’n you do, it seems.” “Shipwrecked!” exclaimed Tom. “Yes, wracked--the worst sort; an this here country--so you think it’s Newfoundland or Gaspé? Well--it ain’t either.” “What is it?” “The worst place in the world--that’s what it is; a place where there ain’t no hope, and there ain’t no life. It’s only death that a man can find here.” “What do you mean?” asked Tom. “Tell us what place it is.” The man looked at them both, one after the other, with a solemn face. “I been ship wracked,” said he, “an I been here more’n a fortnight; an this here place is--Anticosti!” “Anticosti!” exclaimed both the boys, exchanging glances of horror, while a feeling of despair came over them.