Part 40 (1/2)

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 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 clergy man an energetic grasp of the hand; ”I like to hear you speak that way. I must confess that I've 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.

”Right, sir! That's fact, straight up and down,” said he, in an approving tone.