"Pah! do you think a Lavilette is the only patriot! Papineau is my
friend, and--"

"Your friend--"

"My friend. I am carrying his message all through the parishes.
Bon'venture is the last--almost. The great General Papineau sends you
a word, Nic Lavilette--here."

He drew from his pocket a letter and handed it over. Lavilette tore it
open. It was a captain's commission for M. Nicolas Lavilette, with a
call for money and a company of men and horses.

"Maybe there's a leetla noose hanging from the tail of that, but then--
it is the glory--eh? Captain Lavilette--eh?" There was covert malice in
Castine's voice. "If the English whip us, they won't shoot us like grand
seigneurs, they will hang us like dogs."

Lavilette scarcely noticed the sneer. He was seeing visions of a
captain's sword and epaulettes, and planning to get men, money and horses
together--for this matter had been brooding for nearly a year, and he had
been the active leader in Bonaventure.

"We've been near a hundred years, we Frenchmen, eating dirt in the
country we owned from the start; and I'd rather die fighting to get back
the old citadel than live with the English heel on my nose," said
Lavilette, with a play-acting attempt at oratory.

"Yes, an' dey call us Johnny Pea-soups," said Castine, with a furtive
grin. "An' perhaps that British Colborne will hang us to our barn doors