Poor
Kaskaskians who entered there, entered society. They always pulled their
cappos off their heads, and said "Good-evening, messieurs," to the
company in general. It was often as good as a feast to smell the spicy
odors stealing out from the dining-room. It was a gentle community, and
the tavern bar-room was by no means a resort of noisy drinkers. If any
indecorum threatened, the host was able to quell it. He sat in his own
leather chair, at the hearth corner in winter, and on the gallery in
summer; a gigantic Frenchman, full of accumulated happiness.
It was barely dusk when candles were lighted in the sconces around the
walls, and on the mantel and bar. The host had his chair by a crackling
fire, for continual dampness made the July night raw; and the crane was
swung over the blaze with a steaming tea-kettle on one of its hooks.
Several Indians also sat by the stone flags, opposite the host, moving
nothing but their small restless eyes; aboriginal America watching
transplanted Europe, and detecting the incompatible qualities of French
and English blood.
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