The Young Fur Traders Part 39

"No more, sir--no more at present," cried the old gentleman, smoking violently as he pointed to the footpath that led to the house. "Lead the way, sir; I'll follow."

The footpath, although wide enough to allow Kate and Harry to walk beside each other, did not permit of two gentlemen doing so conveniently--a circ.u.mstance which proved a great relief to Mr Kennedy, inasmuch as it enabled him, while walking behind his companion, to wink convulsively, smoke furiously, and punch his own ribs severely, by way of opening a few safety-valves to his glee, without which there is no saying what might have happened. He was nearly caught in these eccentricities more than once, however, as Harry turned half round with the intention of again attempting to exculpate himself--attempts which were as often met by a sudden start, a fierce frown, a burst of smoke, and a command to "go on." On approaching the house, the track became a broad road, affording Mr Kennedy no excuse for walking in the rear, so that he was under the necessity of laying violent restraint on his feelings--a restraint which it was evident could not last long. At that moment, to his great relief, his eye suddenly fell on the grey cat, which happened to be reposing innocently on the doorstep.

"_That's_ it! there's the whole cause of it at last!" cried Mr Kennedy, in a perfect paroxysm of excitement, flinging his pipe violently at the unoffending victim as he rushed towards it. The pipe missed the cat, but went with a sharp crash through the parlour window, at which Charley was seated, while his father darted through the doorway, along the pa.s.sage, and into the kitchen. Here the cat, having first capsized a pyramid of pans and kettles in its consternation, took refuge in an absolutely una.s.sailable position. Seeing this, Mr Kennedy violently discharged a pailful of water at the spot, strode rapidly to his own apartment, and locked himself in.

"Dear me, Harry, what's wrong? my father seems unusually excited," said Charley, in some astonishment, as Harry entered the room and flung himself on a chair with a look of chagrin.

"It's difficult to say, Charley; the fact is, I've asked your sister Kate to be my wife, and your father seems to have gone mad with indignation."

"Asked Kate to be your wife!" cried Charley, starting up and regarding his friend with a look of amazement.

"Yes, I have," replied Harry, with an air of offended dignity. "I know very well that I am unworthy of her, but I see no reason why you and your father should take such pains to make me feel it."

"Unworthy of her, my dear fellow!" exclaimed Charley, grasping his hand and wringing it violently; "no doubt you are, and so is everybody, but you shall have her for all that, my boy. But tell me, Harry, have you spoken to Kate herself?"

"Yes, I have."

"And does she agree?"

"Well, I think I may say she does."

"Have you told my father that she does?"

"Why, as to that," said Harry, with a perplexed smile, "he didn't need to be told; he made _himself_ pretty well aware of the facts of the case."

"Ah! I'll soon settle _him_," cried Charley. "Keep your mind easy, old fellow; I'll very soon bring him round." With this a.s.surance, Charley gave his friend's hand another shake that nearly wrenched the arm from his shoulder, and hastened out of the room in search of his refractory father.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE, CURIOUSLY ENOUGH, RUNS SMOOTH FOR ONCE, AND THE CURTAIN FALLS.

Time rolled on, and with it the sunbeams of summer went--the snowflakes of winter came. Needles of ice began to shoot across the surface of Red River, and gradually narrowed its bed. Crystalline trees formed upon the window-panes. Icicles depended from the eaves of the houses. Snow fell in abundance on the plains; liquid nature began rapidly to solidify, and not many weeks after the first frost made its appearance everything was (as the settlers expressed it) "hard and fast."

Mr Kennedy, senior, was in his parlour, with his back to a blazing wood fire that seemed large enough to roast an ox whole. He was standing, moreover, in a semi-picturesque att.i.tude, with his right hand in his breeches pocket and his left arm round Kate's waist. Kate was dressed in a gown that rivalled the snow itself in whiteness. One little gold clasp shone in her bosom; it was the only ornament she wore. Mr Kennedy, too, had somewhat altered his style of costume. He wore a sky-blue swallow-tailed coat, whose maker had flourished in London half a century before. It had a velvet collar about five inches deep, fitted uncommonly tight to the figure, and had a pair of bright bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, very close together, situated half a foot above the wearer's natural waist. Besides this, he had on a canary-coloured vest, and a pair of white duck trousers, in the fob of which _evidently_ reposed an immense gold watch of the olden time, with a bunch of seals that would have served very well as an anchor for a small boat. Although the dress was, on the whole, slightly comical, its owner, with his full, fat, broad figaro, looked remarkably well in it, nevertheless.

It was Kate's marriage-day, or rather marriage-evening; for the sun had set two hours ago, and the moon was now sailing in the frosty sky, its pale rays causing the whole country to s.h.i.+ne with a clear, cold, silvery whiteness.

The old gentleman had been for some time gazing in silent admiration on the fair brow and cl.u.s.tering ringlets of his daughter, when it suddenly occurred to him that the company would arrive in half an hour, and there were several things still to be attended to.

"Hollo, Kate!" he exclaimed, with a start, "we're forgetting ourselves.

The candles are yet to light, and lots of other things to do." Saying this, he began to bustle about the room in a state of considerable agitation.

"Oh, don't worry yourself, dear father!" cried Kate, running after him, and catching him by the hand. "Miss Cook.u.mwell and good Mrs Taddipopple are arranging everything about tea and supper in the kitchen, and Tom Whyte has been kindly sent to us by Mr Grant, with orders to make himself generally useful, so _he_ can light the candles in a few minutes, and you've nothing to do but to kiss me and receive the company." Kate pulled her father gently towards the fire again, and replaced his arm round her waist.

"Receive company! Ah, Kate, my love, that's just what I know nothing about. If they'd let me receive them in my own way, I'd do it well enough; but that abominable Mrs Taddi--what's her name--has quite addled my brains and driven me distracted with trying to get me to understand what she calls _etiquette_."

Kate laughed, and said she didn't care _how_ he received them, as she was quite sure that, whichever way he did it, he would do it pleasantly and well.

At that moment the door opened, and Tom Whyte entered. He was thinner, if possible, than he used to be, and considerably stiffer, and more upright.

"Please, sir," said he, with a motion that made you expect to hear his back creak (it was intended for a bow)--"please, sir, can I do hanythink for yer?"

"Yes, Tom, you can," replied Mr Kennedy. "Light these candles, my man, and then go to the stable and see that everything there is arranged for putting up the horses. It will be pretty full to-night, Tom, and will require some management. Then, let me see--ah, yes, bring me my pipe, Tom, my big meerschaum.--I'll sport that to-night in honour of you, Kate."

"Please, sir," began Tom, with a slightly disconcerted air, "I'm afeard, sir, that--um--"

"Well, Tom, what would you say? Go on."

"The pipe, sir," said Tom, growing still more disconcerted--"says I to cook, says I, `Cook, wot's been an' done it, d'ye think?' `Dun know, Tom,' says he, `but it's smashed, that's sartin. I think the gray cat--'"

"What!" cried the old trader, in a voice of thunder, while a frown of the most portentous ferocity darkened his brow for an instant. It was only for an instant, however. Clearing his brow quickly, he said with a smile, "But it's your wedding-day, Kate, my darling. It won't do to blow up anybody to-day, not even the cat.--There, be off, Tom, and see to things. Look sharp! I hear sleigh-bells already."

As he spoke Tom vanished perpendicularly, Kate hastened to her room, and the old gentleman himself went to the front door to receive his guests.

The night was of that intensely calm and still character that invariably accompanies intense frost, so that the merry jingle of the sleigh-bells that struck on Mr Kennedy's listening ear continued to sound, and grow louder as they drew near, for a considerable time ere the visitors arrived. Presently the dull, soft tramp of horses' hoofs was heard in the snow, and a well-known voice shouted out l.u.s.tily, "Now then, Mactavish, keep to the left. Doesn't the road take a turn there? Mind the gap in the fence. That's old Kennedy's only fault. He'd rather risk breaking his friends' necks than mend his fences!"

"All right, here we are," cried Mactavish, as the next instant two sleighs emerged out of the avenue into the moonlit s.p.a.ce in front of the house, and dashed up to the door amid an immense noise and clatter of bells, harness, hoofs, snorting, and salutations.

"Ah, Grant, my dear fellow!" cried Mr Kennedy, springing to the sleigh and seizing his friend by the hand as he dragged him out. "This is kind of you to come early. And Mrs Grant, too. Take care, my dear madam, step clear of the haps; now, then--cleverly done" (as Mrs Grant tumbled into his arms in a confused heap). "Come along now; there's a capital fire in here.--Don't mind the horses, Mactavish--follow us, my lad; Tom Whyte will attend to them."

Uttering such disjointed remarks, Mr Kennedy led Mrs Grant into the house, and made her over to Mrs Taddipopple, who hurried her away to an inner apartment, while Mr Kennedy conducted her spouse, along with Mactavish and our friend the head clerk at Fort Garry, into the parlour.

"Harry, my dear fellow, I wish you joy," cried Mr Grant, as the former grasped his hand. "Lucky dog you are. Where's Kate, eh? Not visible yet, I suppose."

"No, not till the parson comes," interrupted Mr Kennedy, convulsing his left cheek.--"Hollo, Charley, where are you? Ah! bring the cigars, Charley.--Sit down, gentlemen; make yourselves at home.--I say, Mrs Taddi--Taddi--oh, botheration--popple! that's it--your name, madam, _is_ a puzzler--but--we'll need more chairs, I think. Fetch one or two, like a dear!"

As he spoke the jingle of bells was heard outside, and Mr Kennedy rushed to the door again.

"Good-evening, Mr Addison," said he, taking that gentleman warmly by the hand as he resigned the reins to Tom Whyte. "I am delighted to see you, sir (look after the minister's mare, Tom), glad to see you, my dear sir. Some of my friends have come already. This way, Mr Addison."

The worthy clergyman responded to Mr Kennedy's greeting in his own hearty manner, and followed him into the parlour, where the guests now began to a.s.semble rapidly.

"Father," cried Charley, catching his sire by the arm, "I've been looking for you everywhere, but you dance about like a will-o'-the-wisp.

Do you know, I've invited my friends Jacques and Redfeather to come to-night, and also Louis Peltier, the guide with whom I made my first trip. You recollect him, father?"

"Ay, that do I, lad, and happy shall I be to see three such worthy men under my roof as guests on this night."

"Yes, yes, I know that, father; but I don't see them here. Have they come yet?"

"Can't say, boy. By the way, Pastor Conway is also coming, so we'll have a meeting between an Episcopalian and a Wesleyan. I sincerely trust that they won't fight!" As he said this the old gentleman grinned and threw his cheek into convulsions--an expression which was suddenly changed into one of confusion when he observed that Mr Addison was standing close beside him, and had heard the remark.

"Don't blush, my dear sir," said Mr Addison, with a quiet smile, as he patted his friend on the shoulder. "You have too much reason, I am sorry to say, for expecting that clergymen of different denominations should look coldly on each other. There is far too much of this indifference and distrust among those who labour in different parts of the Lord's vineyard. But I trust you will find that my sympathies extend a little beyond the circle of my own particular body. Indeed, Mr Conway is a particular friend of mine; so I a.s.sure you we won't fight."

"Right, right," cried Mr Kennedy, giving the clergyman an energetic grasp of the hand; "I like to hear you speak that way. I must confess that I have been a good deal surprised to observe, by what one reads in the old-country newspapers, as well as by what one sees even hereaway in the backwood settlements, how little interest clergymen show in the doings of those who don't happen to belong to their own particular sect; just as if a soul saved through the means of an Episcopalian was not of as much value as one saved by a Wesleyan, or a Presbyterian, or a Dissenter. Why, sir, it seems to me just as mean-spirited and selfish as if one of our chief factors was so entirely taken up with the doings and success of his own particular district that he didn't care a gun-flint for any other district in the Company's service."

There was at least one man listening to these remarks, whose naturally logical and liberal mind fully agreed with them. This was Jacques Caradoc, who had entered the room a few minutes before, in company with his friend Redfeather and Louis Peltier.