While in the chamber which witnessed the dominie’s transformation, the lawyer had perceived that its window commanded the bridge and the adjoining parts of the river.  Leaving his friend in the enjoyment of his book, he ascended to the room, and watched like a detective.  Soon he saw a waggon roll up to the bridge, and, almost simultaneously, a large punt in which was Ben Toner, come from nowhere.  Three bundles of apparent grindstones were laboriously conveyed from the waggon to the punt, after which the waggon went back and the punt went forward, both becoming lost to sight in the foliage of road and river.  Once more the bell of the Maple Inn sounded loudly, to inform the general public that the hour of six had arrived, and to summon guests to the early supper.  Descending to the sitting-room, the amateur detective found his friend there, and escorted him, with much unnecessary formality, to the tea table.  The fish were there, betrayed, even afar off, by their not unpleasant odour, and there also was an attractive looking ham, flanked by plates of hot cakes and other evidences of culinary skill on Madame’s part.  She poured out a good cup of tea for the table quartette, while Pierre aided in distributing the solids.  The conversation turned on fish, and, as before, the dominie spoke French to the hostess, while M. Lajeunesse made the lawyer acquainted with some piscatorial exploits of Mr. Bulky.  Mr. Bulky had once been upset from the canoe, but, unlike Mr. Wilkinson, he could not swim.  The case might have been a very serious one, destructive to the reputation of L’Erable ("zatta ees maybole in ze Fraynsh langwitch,” the host explained) and of city visits to the Beaver River.

“How was he saved?” enquired the lawyer.

“He vas save by potting ’is foot to ze bottom,” replied the host.

“I’ve heard of a man putting a stone on his head and walking through a river under water, but haven’t believed it yet,” continued Coristine.

“He had not necessity of a stone; ’is head was op; ze rivare vas not so ’igh zan ze jouldares of Meestare Bulky,” answered Pierre quite seriously.

“Then he saved himself?”

“No, sare, ’is foot save ’im; Meestare Bulky ’ave a veray ’eavy foot.  Eef ’is foot hadda been also leetle as ze foot of M’syae, Meestare Bulky vould ’ave drown.”

Madame’s sharp ears overheard this conversation while carrying on that with Wilkinson, and broke in upon her erring spouse:—­

“Teh twa, Pierre! c’n’est paw trop poli d’se moquer des pieds d’un bon pawtron.”

“Mez, Angelique, mwa, me moquer, mwa? et de M’syae Bulky?  Aw, ma bonne Angelique, fi donc!” and M. Lajeunesse withdrew from the table, overwhelmed with the mere suspicion of such foul treachery and base ingratitude.

Batiste had put out three wooden arm chairs, and a rocker for Madame, on the verandah, whither the party of the tea table retired.  Coristine asked her permission to smoke, when it appeared that Pierre had been waiting for a sign that either of his guests indulged in the weed.  As he also filled his pipe, he remarked to his fellow smoker that “Meestare Bulky vare good shentleman, and rest ’ere longatimes, bot ze perfume of ze ‘bonne pipe,’ same of ze cigawr makea ’im seek.”