The Young Fur Traders

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Just at that moment a rabbit sprang from under a bush and darted away
before them. In an instant Harry Somerville gave a wild shout, and
set off in pursuit. Whether it was the cry or the sudden flight of
Harry's horse, we cannot tell, but the next instant Kate's charger
performed an indescribable flourish with its hind legs, laid back its
ears, took the bit between its teeth, and ran away. Jacques was on
its heels instantly, and a few seconds afterwards Charley and Harry
joined in the pursuit, but their utmost efforts failed to do more
than enable them to keep their ground. Kate's horse was making for a
dense thicket, into which it became evident they must certainly
plunge. Harry and her brother trembled when they looked at it and
realised her danger; even Jacques's face showed some symptoms of
perturbation for a moment as he glanced before him in indecision. The
expression vanished, however, in a few seconds, and his cheerful,
self-possessed look returned, as he cried out,--"Pull the left rein
hard, Miss Kate; try to edge up the slope."

Kate heard the advice, and exerting all her strength, succeeded in
turning her horse a little to the left, which caused him to ascend a
gentle slope, at the top of which part of the thicket lay. She was
closely followed by Harry and her brother, who urged their steeds
madly forward in the hope of catching her rein, while Jacques
diverged a little to the right. By this manoeuvre the latter hoped to
gain on the runaway, as the ground along which he rode was
comparatively level, with a short but steep ascent at the end of it,
while that along which Kate flew like the wind was a regular ascent,
that would prove very trying to her horse. At the margin of the
thicket grew a row of high bushes, towards which they now galloped
with frightful speed. As Kate came up to this natural fence, she
observed the trapper approaching on the other side of it. Springing
from his jaded steed, without attempting to check its pace, he leaped
over the underwood like a stag just as the young girl cleared the
bushes at a bound. Grasping the reins and checking the horse
violently with one hand, he extended the other to Kate, who leaped
unhesitatingly into his arms. At the same instant Charley cleared the
bushes, and pulled sharply up; while Harry's horse, unable, owing to
its speed, to take the leap, came crashing through them, and dashed
his rider with stunning violence to the ground.

Fortunately no bones were broken, and a draught of clear water,
brought by Jacques from a neighbouring pond, speedily restored
Harry's shaken faculties.

"Now, Kate," said Charley, leading forward the horse which he had
ridden, "I have changed saddles, as you see; this horse will suit you
better, and I'll take the shine out of your charger on the way home."

"Thank you, Charley," said Kate, with a smile. "I've quite recovered
from my fright--if, indeed, it is worth calling by that name; but I
fear that Harry has--"

"Oh, I'm all right," cried Harry, advancing as he spoke to assist
Kate in mounting. "I am ashamed to think that my wild cry was the
cause of all this."

In another minute they were again in their saddles, and turning their
faces homeward, they swept over the plain at a steady gallop, fearing
lest their accident should be the means of making Mr. Kennedy wait
dinner for them. On arriving, they found the old gentleman engaged in
an animated discussion with the cook about laying the table-cloth,
which duty he had imposed on himself in Kate's absence.

"Ah, Kate, my love," he cried, as they entered, "come here, lass, and
mount guard. I've almost broke my heart in trying to convince that
thick-headed goose that he can't set the table properly. Take it off
my hands, like a good girl.--Charley, my boy, you'll be pleased to
hear that your old friend Redfeather is here."

"Redfeather, father!" exclaimed Charley, in surprise.

"Yes; he and the parson, from the other end of Lake Winnipeg, arrived
an hour ago in a tin kettle, and are now on their way to the upper
fort."

"That is, indeed, pleasant news; but I suspect that it will give much
greater pleasure to our friend Jacques, who, I believe, would be glad
to lay down his life for him, simply to prove his affection."

"Well, well," said the old gentleman, knocking the ashes out of his
pipe, and refilling it so as to be ready for an after-dinner smoke,
"Redfeather has come, and the parson's come too; and I look upon it
as quite miraculous that they have come, considering the _thing_ they
came in. What they've come for is more than I can tell, but I suppose
it's connected with church affairs.--Now then, Kate, what's come o'
the dinner, Kate? Stir up that grampus of a cook! I half expect that
he has boiled the cat for dinner, in his wrath, for it has been
badgering him and me the whole morning.--Hollo, Harry, what's wrong?"

The last exclamation was in consequence of an expression of pain
which crossed Harry's face for a moment.

"Nothing, nothing," replied Harry. "I've had a fall from my horse,
and bruised my arm a little. But I'll see to it after dinner."

"That you shall not," cried Mr Kennedy energetically, dragging his
young friend into his bedroom. "Off with your coat, lad. Let's see it
at once. Ay, ay," he continued, examining Harry's left arm, which was
very much discoloured, and swelled from the elbow to the shoulder,
"that's a severe thump, my boy. But it's nothing to speak of; only
you'll have to submit to a sling for a day or two,"

"That's annoying, certainly, but I'm thankful it's no worse,"
remarked Harry, as Mr. Kennedy dressed the arm after his own fashion,
and then returned with him to the dining-room.

CHAPTER XXX.

Love--Old Mr. Kennedy puts his foot in it.

One morning, about two weeks after Charley's arrival at Red River,
Harry Somerville found himself alone in Mr. Kennedy's parlour. The
old gentleman himself had just galloped away in the direction of the
lower fort, to visit Charley, who was now formally installed there;
Kate was busy in the kitchen giving directions about dinner; and
Jacques was away with Redfeather, visiting his numerous friends in
the settlement: so that, for the first time since his arrival, Harry
found himself at the hour of ten in the morning utterly lone, and
with nothing very definite to do. Of course, the two weeks that had
elapsed were not without their signs and symptoms, their minor
accidents and incidents, in regard to the subject that filled his
thoughts. Harry had fifty times been tossed alternately from the
height of hope to the depth of despair, from the extreme of felicity
to the uttermost verge of sorrow, and he began seriously to reflect,
when he remembered his desperate resolution on the first night of his
arrival, that if he did not "do" he certainly would "die." This was
quite a mistake, however, on Harry's part. Nobody ever did _die_ of
unrequited love. Doubtless many people have hanged, drowned, and shot
themselves because of it; but, generally speaking, if the patient can
be kept from maltreating himself long enough, time will prove to be
an infallible remedy. O youthful reader, lay this to heart: but
pshaw! why do I waste ink on so hopeless a task? _Every_ one, we
suppose, resolves once in a way to _die_ of love; so--die away, my
young friends, only make sure that you don't _kill_ yourselves, and
I've no fear of the result.

But to return. Kate, likewise, was similarly affected. She behaved
like a perfect maniac--mentally, that is--and plunged herself,
metaphorically, into such a succession of hot and cold baths, that it
was quite a marvel how her spiritual constitution could stand it.

But we were wrong in saying that Harry was _alone_ in the parlour.
The gray cat was there. On a chair before the fire it sat, looking
dishevelled and somewhat _blase,_ in consequence of the ill-treatment
and worry to which it was continually subjected. After looking out of
the window for a short time, Harry rose, and sitting down on a chair
beside the cat, patted its head--a mark of attention it was evidently
not averse to, but which it received, nevertheless, with marked
suspicion, and some indications of being in a condition of armed
neutrality. Just then the door opened, and Kate entered.

"Excuse me, Harry, for leaving you alone," she said, "but I had to
attend to several household matters. Do you feel inclined for a
walk?"

"I do indeed," replied Harry; "it is a charming day, and I am
exceedingly anxious to see the bower that you have spoken to me about
once or twice, and which Charley told me of long before I came here."

"Oh, I shall take you to it with pleasure," replied Kate; "my dear
father often goes there with me to smoke. If you will wait for two
minutes I'll put on my bonnet," and she hastened to prepare herself
for the walk, leaving Harry to caress the cat, which he did so
energetically, when he thought of its young mistress, that it
instantly declared war, and sprang from the chair with a
remonstrative yell.

On their way down to the bower, which was situated in a picturesque,
retired spot on the river's bank about a mile below the house, Harry
and Kate tried to converse on ordinary topics, but without success,
and were at last almost reduced to silence. One subject alone filled
their minds; all others were flat. Being sunk, as it were, in an
ocean of love, they no sooner opened their lips to speak, than the
waters rushed in, as a natural consequence, and nearly choked them.
Had they but opened their mouths wide and boldly, they would have
been pleasantly drowned together; but as it was, they lacked the
requisite courage, and were fain to content themselves with an
occasional frantic struggle to the surface, where they gasped a few
words of uninteresting air, and sank again instantly.

On arriving at the bower, however, and sitting down, Harry plucked up
heart, and, heaving a deep sigh, said--

"Kate, there is a subject about which I have long desired to speak to
you-"

Long as he had been desiring it, however, Kate thought it must have
been nothing compared with the time that elapsed ere he said anything
else; so she bent over a flower which she held in her hand, and said
in a low voice, "Indeed, Harry, what is it?"

Harry was desperate now. His usually flexible tongue was stiff as
stone and dry as a bit of leather. He could no more give utterance to
an intelligible idea than he could change himself into Mr. Kennedy's
gray cat--a change that he would not have been unwilling to make at
that moment. At last he seized his companion's hand, and exclaimed,
with a burst of emotion that quite startled her,--

"Kate, Kate! O dearest Kate, I love you! I _adore_ you! I--"

At this point poor Harry's powers of speech again failed; so being
utterly unable to express another idea, he suddenly threw his arms
round her, and pressed her fervently to his bosom.

Kate was taken quite aback by this summary method of coming to the
point. Repulsing him energetically, she exclaimed, while she blushed
crimson. "O Harry--Mr Somerville!" and burst into tears.

Poor Harry stood before her for a moment, his head hanging down, and
a deep blush of shame on his face.

"O Kate," said he, in a deep tremulous voice, "forgive me; do--do
forgive me! I knew not what I said. I scarce knew what I did" (here
he seized her hand). "I know but one thing, Kate, and tell it you
_will,_ if it should cost me my life. I love you, Kate, to
distraction, and I wish you to be my wife. I have been rude, very
rude. Can you forgive me, Kate?"

Now, this latter part of Harry's speech was particularly comical,
the comicality of it lying in this, that while he spoke, he drew Kate
gradually towards him, and at the very time when he gave utterance to
the penitential remorse for his rudeness, Kate was infolded in a much
more vigorous embrace than at the first; and what is more remarkable
still, she laid her little head quietly on his shoulder, as if she
had quite changed her mind in regard to what was and what was not
rude, and rather enjoyed it than otherwise.

While the lovers stood in this interesting position, it became
apparent to Harry's olfactory nerves that the atmosphere was
impregnated with tobacco smoke. Looking hastily up, he beheld an
apparition that tended somewhat to increase the confusion of his
faculties.

In the opening of the bower stood Mr. Kennedy, senior, in a state of
inexpressible amazement. We say inexpressible advisedly, because the
extreme pitch of feeling which Mr. Kennedy experienced at what he
beheld before him cannot possibly be expressed by human visage. As
far as the countenance of man could do it, however, we believe the
old gentleman's came pretty near the mark on this occasion. His hands
were in his coat pockets, his body bent a little forward, his head
and neck outstretched a little beyond it, his eyes almost starting
from the sockets, and certainly the most prominent feature in his
face: his teeth firmly clinched on his beloved pipe, and his lips
expelling a multitude of little clouds so vigorously that one might
have taken him for a sort of self-acting intelligent steam-gun that
had resolved utterly to annihilate Kate and Harry at short range in
the course of two minutes.

When Kate saw her father she uttered a slight scream, covered her
face with her hands, rushed from the bower, and disappeared in the
wood.

"So, young gentleman," began Mr. Kennedy, in a slow, deliberate tone
of voice, while he removed the pipe from his mouth, clinched his
fist, and confronted Harry, "you've been invited to my house as a
guest, sir, and you seize the opportunity basely to insult my
daughter!"

"Stay, stay, my dear sir," interrupted Harry, laying his hand on the
old man's shoulder and gazing earnestly into his face. "Oh, do not,
even for a moment, imagine that I could be so base as to trifle with
the affections of your daughter. I may have been presumptuous, hasty,
foolish, mad if you will, but not base. God forbid that I should
treat her with disrespect, even in thought! I love her, Mr. Kennedy,
as I never loved before. I have asked her to be my wife, and--she--"

"Whew!" whistled old Mr. Kennedy, replacing his pipe between his
teeth, gazing abstractedly at the ground, and emitting clouds
innumerable. After standing thus a few seconds, he turned his back
slowly upon Harry, and smiled outrageously once or twice, winking at
the same time, after his own fashion, at the river. Turning abruptly
round, he regarded Harry with a look of affected dignity, and said,
"Pray, sir, what did my daughter say to your very peculiar proposal?"

"She said ye--ah! that is--she didn't exactly _say_ anything, but
she--indeed I--"

"Humph!" ejaculated the old gentleman, deepening his frown as he
regarded his young friend through the smoke. "In short, she said
nothing, I suppose, but led you to infer, perhaps, that she would
have said yes if I hadn't interrupted you."

Harry blushed, and said nothing.

"Now, sir," continued Mr, Kennedy, "don't you think that it would
have been a polite piece of attention on your part to have asked _my_
permission before you addressed my daughter on such a subject, eh?"

"Indeed," said Harry, "I acknowledge that I have been hasty, but I
must disclaim the charge of disrespect to you, sir. I had no
intention whatever of broaching the subject to-day, but my feelings,
unhappily, carried me away, and--and--in fact--"

"Well, well, sir," interrupted Mr. Kennedy, with a look of offended
dignity, "your feelings ought to be kept more under control. But
come, sir, to my house. I must talk further with you on this subject.
I must read you a lesson, sir--a lesson, humph! that you won't forget
in a hurry."

"But, my dear sir--" began Harry.

"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 circumstance 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 gray 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 passage, and into the kitchen. Here the cat,
having first capsized a pyramid of pans and kettles in its
consternation, took refuge in an absolutely unassailable 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 assurance,
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 XXXI.

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 attitude, 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 brass buttons, 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 figure, 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 shine with a clear,
cold, silvery whiteness.

The old gentleman had been for some time gazing in silent admiration
on the fair brow and clustering 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.

"Hello, 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 Cookumwell 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
afeared, 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 lustily,
"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 space 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."

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