"They do," said his father. "The wind is behind them and they are not incommoded by the drift."

After a pause, Eugene added:

"They seem to have no general uniform. They must belong to different corps. Some have no uniform at all. Their appearance is not much that of soldiers, and there are a good many small, young fellows among them."

"It must be the effect of refraction," said Zulma, in a low voice and with a sneer. "But to me they seem like giants, towering on the heights and stretching great arms toward us."

"In menace?" queried the Sieur with a strange affectionate look at his daughter.

"That depends," she whispered smiling, but immediately subjoined:

"Let us drive on, papa."

A few minutes afterwards they reached the city. For some reason or other Zulma declined accompanying her father and brother to the Seminary. The pretext which she gave was that she had a few purchases to make in the shops. But probably her real object was to visit some of her friends and ascertain the real condition of things. Whether she did so or not we need not stop to inquire, but an hour later she met Sieur Sarpy and Eugene at the place agreed upon between them, to learn the decision that they had come to.

"My fate is in your hands," said the youth opening the conversation in high good humor. "You promised to give me your advice after you had set your eyes on those gentlemen yonder, and now I have come to receive it."

"Yes," said the father, "we have determined to submit the matter to your arbitration. Shall Eugene remain at the Seminary, or shall he return with us?"

"What does M. Le Superieur say?" asked Zulma.

"He thoroughly appreciates the gravity of the situation. He believes there will be a siege, perhaps a bloody one, certainly a long one. He has strong opinions about the duty of every able-bodied man assisting in the defence of the city. The young children he will send back to their parents, but, at eighteen, Eugene ought to be accounted a man. He would remain at the Seminary, one of the safest asylums in the city, always under the eye of his tutors, and his studies would not be interrupted.

But he might do some minor military service all the same, and in the event of a great emergency could help to swell the ranks of the troops.

The Superior thinks that practically he would be more secure within the city than out of it. At home, he might be harassed by solicitations from the enemy, and draw down upon us a great deal of annoyance."

At this Zulma smiled.

"And," added her father, "you know that, at my age, and with my infirmities, I must have peace and quiet. From the beginning of these hostilities, I have vowed neutrality, and I would not like to see it disturbed."

Zulma's manner changed at these words. She looked at her father with a mingled air of tenderness and determination, and said:

"What does Eugene think about it? Surely if he is old enough to fight, he ought to be old enough to know his own mind and to be consulted."

The boy's answer was not very distinct. He did not seem to have any opinions. His ideas were decidedly hazy about the King's right to his allegiance, or the claims of the rebels to his sympathy. But there was good blood in the fellow, and his uppermost thought evidently was that it would be a grand thing for him to do a little fighting. Quebec was his native city; everybody in it knew him, and he knew everybody.

Perhaps it would be as well if he joined in its defence.

"Then stay here," exclaimed Zulma peremptorily.

She added that she would take proper care of her father, and that Eugene need have no solicitude on that score. In the meantime, things had not come to the worse; perhaps, it would take even weeks before the siege commenced, and they would have ample time to communicate with each other again.

After this conference, Eugene accompanied his father and sister to the street where their sleigh awaited them. The three were engaged in a few parting words, when a young British officer passed hurriedly along. He would certainly have gone on without noticing them, had not one of Zulma's gauntlets fallen on the side-path at his feet. Was it accidental or was it a challenge? Who shall tell? But whatever it was, the officer stooped immediately for the glove, and handed it to the owner with a profound salutation. Roderick Hardinge then recognized the beautiful amazon.

There was time for the interchange of only a few words between them.

"Lieutenant," said Zulma, with that bright laugh which had so enchanted Roderick the first time he heard it, "I have the honor of presenting to you a loyal soldier in the person of my brother, who has just decided upon entering the service in defence of the city."

"I am proud to hear that. Eugene and I are old friends, and I am glad to know that we shall now be brothers in arms."

"But, Lieutenant," continued Zulma, "you will perhaps be surprised to learn that he has acted thus at my recommendation."

"Indeed! That is certainly an agreeable surprise. I may then be justified in hoping that you too, mademoiselle, will take part in our cause."

"That is quite a different matter. Before I take, I must be taken, you know," with another merry laugh.

"You mean that before we take you----."

"You must catch me."

"I own that is hard to do, considering my first experience, but it will be done all the same."

"Never!" exclaimed Zulma, with a flush on her cheek.

"I repeat it--and mark me--it _shall_ be done."

And after a little more pleasantry, the party separated.

On their way homeward, Sieur Sarpy lightly questioned his daughter. He knew the strength of her character, the high metal of her temper. Her words with Hardinge, all playful as they appeared on the surface, had, he was certain, a deeper significance. But this wonderful girl was dearly affectionate, in the midst of all her follies, and she would not grieve her father by telling him the secret of the thoughts which had moved her bosom since the morning. He had pleaded for quietude during the unquiet days that were coming. She was resolved he should have it in so far as it depended upon her. At least it was much too early in the day to vex his mind with forebodings. She therefore comforted and calmed him by words of assurance, and, when he crossed his threshold, that evening, the lonely old man felt that he was indeed secure under the protection of his daughter.

III.

THE SHEET-IRON MEN.

The next morning the snowfall had ceased, and although the sky remained lowering, there was no sign of a storm. Indeed, it was still too early in the season for frequent or abundant snow. The climate of Canada has this peculiarity which meteorologists have failed to explain--that whereas, in other parts of the continent, such as the north-west, and even so far down the Mississippi Valley as St. Louis, the winter temperature has moderated with the clearing of the forests and the cultivation of the soil, in Canada it remains precisely the same as it was two and three hundred years since. A comparison of the daily registers kept at present with those diurnally consigned in the Relations of the Jesuits, shows--as the historian Ferland tells us--that, day for day and month for month, the indications of the thermometer in 1876, for instance, tally with those of 1776. At the present time, in Canada, although the cold really begins to be felt in the beginning of November, the winter is not regarded as having finally set in till the 25th of the month. That is known as St. Catharine's day, and its peculiar celebration will be described further on, being connected with one of the episodes of our story. The last month of the autumn of 1775 may therefore be supposed to have followed the general rule. Indeed, we know from the records that it was, if any thing, milder than usual, and that the winter was uncommonly tardy, a vessel having sailed from Quebec for Europe as late as the 31st December.

As we have said, the weather, on the particular morning on which we write, was cold but calm. The snow lay crisp and hard upon the level places; in the hollows and gorges it was piled in light fleecy banks.

The atmosphere was of that quality that, although it had a sting when first it was faced, so soon as the ears, hands, cheeks, and other exposed parts got used to it, the whole system felt a pleasureable glow of buoyancy. It was capital weather to work in, and so a number of sturdy farmer's wives, residing on the north bank, a little above Quebec, gathered at the river to do their washing. They had on immense quilted mob-caps, with large outstanding ears, petticoats of thick blue or purple woollen, the work of their own hands, heavy stockings to match, and pattens lined with flannel. A great double handkerchief, of flowery design, was set upon their broad shoulders, covering their necks and crossed over their voluminous bosoms; but there was free play left to the arms, which flushed with rosy color under the influence of work and weather. A broad board fastened to the bank, jutted out five or six feet into the water, and was supported there at a proper level by a solid trestle. A boat was attached to this primitive jetty, and there was besides a small building of rude timber, which served for the women to boil their clothes in, or hang them up to dry.

Four women were working together along one plank, and of course there was continuous talk among them. But whenever the conversation became more than usually animated, or they would fall to disagreeing among themselves, they would call out to their companions who were similarly working and talking some yards away to the right and left.

One lively old girl, who was striking her pallet so hard on a bombed bundle of yellowish clothes, that meshes of brown hair broke from under her cap and fluttered on her forehead, seemed to be the oracle of the party.

"Perhaps this will be the last time we shall wash clothes here. Those are terrible fellows who have come. They call them Bastonnais. They come from very far, and are very bad men. They will burn our houses and barns. They will empty our cellars and granaries. I saw M. le Cure yesterday, and he told me that we will have to shut ourselves up, and not show our faces, because ... you know."

"Pshaw, Josephine," said another, "it will not be so bad as that. My old man says that they are like other men. I'm not afraid. I will talk to them. I am sure there are some pretty fellows among them."

"Marguerite is always a coquette," continued a third. "But she will have no chance. These strangers are poor, lean, broken-down, and badly dressed. They are not soldiers at all, like the men at the citadel. No lace, no gold tape, no epaulettes, no feathers in their hats. The officers have no swords, and many of the soldiers are without muskets.

Men like that I would not allow to approach me, and if they come to our house, I will dance them out with this paddle."

Saying which, the speaker fell to, beating her clothes with renewed vigor.

The youngest and prettiest of the four women having listened to all this, straightened herself up from her tub, and placing her arms akimbo, said:

"Pierriche"--meaning her husband--"was in the city all yesterday afternoon. You know Pierriche is a great talker, and likes to know all the news. Every time he goes to the city he has enough to talk about for a week afterwards. Well, do you know what he says? He is such a hoaxer, such a _blagueur_, that I did not believe him, and hardly believe him now, but he swore to me that it was true."

"What was it?" asked her three companions simultaneously.