. . .But no, Jean; it is your fish, and I am glad that I had the honour of helping to catch him. But do not hurry, my young friend. Sit down a minute. I will tell you something."

Somewhat reluctantly, but without any fear of the old man, who was evidently disposed to be friendly, Jean sat beside him on the rock and listened to the story of former days before the family Giroux came to the parish of St. Placide.

"Your father, Jean, as you know, was a native of the parish of Chateau Richer, on the other side of those mountains. And I, as you do not know, lived in the parish of Ste. Famille on the other side of the Channel, in the Isle of Orleans--the Isle of Sorcerers, as they call it. It was not an isle of sorcerers at all, but I will tell you what it was--an isle of smugglers. Yes, smugglers. When the good people of Chateau, there below, saw those lights on a dark night moving to and fro on the long marsh, gleaming fitfully, . . . Read More