"That's post-graduate
Latin and senior German, or I'm as mad as a March hare! Where--
where did you go to school?"
"At Fort o' God. Quick, M'sieur Philip, the water is boiling
over!"
Philip sprang to the fire. Jeanne handed him coffee, and set out
cold meat and bread. For the first time that night he pulled out
his pipe and filled it with tobacco.
"You don't mind if I smoke, do you, Miss Jeanne?" he groaned.
"Under some circumstances tobacco is the only thing that will hold
me up. Do you know that you are shaking my confidence in you?"
"I have told you nothing but the truth," retorted Jeanne,
innocently. She was still busying herself over the pack, but
Philip caught the slightest gleam of her laughing teeth.
"You are making fun of me," he remonstrated. "Tell me--where is
this Fort o' God, and what is it?"
"It is far up the Churchill, M'sieur Philip. It is a log chateau,
built hundreds and hundreds of years ago, I guess. My father,
Pierre, and I, with one other, live there alone among the savages.
I have never been so far away from home before."
"I suppose," said Philip, "that the savages up your way converse
in Latin, Greek, and German--"
"Latin, FRENCH, and German," corrected Jeanne.
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