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Updated: May 25, 2025
Burnaby came back to the flower-scented circle of light. "Yes," he said soberly, "tea. Exactly." Mrs. Malcolm's delicate eyebrows rose to a point. "What," she asked, in the tones of delighted motherhood overlaid with a slight exasperation which she habitually used toward Burnaby, "has tea got to do with a man you met on the Upper Liara last summer and a man you met this afternoon? Why tea?"
"Y'see well, that is I ran across a fellow an Englishman who knew a chap I met last summer up on the Francis River I didn't exactly meet him, that is, I ran into him, and it wasn't the Francis River really, it was the Upper Liara, a branch that comes in from the northwest. Strange, wasn't it? this fellow, this Englishman, got to talking about tea, and that reminded me of the whole thing."
"It was odd enough the way it happened to me, anyhow," said Burnaby. "I'd been knocking around up there all summer, just an Indian and myself around what they call Fort Francis and the Pelly Lakes, and toward the end of August we came down the Liara in a canoe.
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