Part 45 (2/2)
[1] The Duke of York became Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company after Prince Rupert's death, and the Company's charter was a royal favour direct from the king.
CHAPTER XXVIII
REBECCA AND I FALL OUT
M. Radisson had carried his rare furs to the king, and I was at Sir John Kirke's door to report the return of her husband to Madame Radisson. The same grand personage with sleek jowls and padded calves opened the door in the gingerly fas.h.i.+on of his office. This time he ushered me quick enough into the dark reception-room.
As I entered, two figures jumped from the shadow of a tapestried alcove with gasps of fright.
”Ramsay!”
It was Rebecca, the prim monkey, blus.h.i.+ng a deal more than her innocence warranted, with a solemn-countenanced gentleman of the cloth scowling from behind.
”When--when--did you come?” she asked, all in a pretty flutter that set her dimples atrembling; and she forgot to give me welcome.
”Now--exactly on the minute!”
”Why--why--didn't you give us warning?” stammered Rebecca, putting out one shy hand.
At that I laughed outright; but it was as much the fas.h.i.+on for gentlemen of the cloth to affect a mighty solemnity in those days as it was for the laity to let out an oath at every other word, and the young divine only frowned sourly at my levity.
”If--if--if you'd only given us warning,” interrupts Rebecca.
”Faith, Rebecca, an you talk of warning, I'll begin to think you needed it----”
”To give you welcome,” explains Rebecca. Then recovering herself, she begs, with a pretty bobbing courtesy, to make me known to the Reverend Adam Kittridge.
The Reverend Kittridge shakes hands with an air as he would sound my doctrine on the spot, and Rebecca hastens to add that I am ”a very--_old--old_ friend.”
”Not so _very_ old, Rebecca, not so very long ago since you and I read over the same lesson-books. Do you mind the copy-heads on the writing-books?
”'_Heaven to find. The Bible mind. In Adam's fall we sinn'ed all.
Adam lived a lonely life until he got himself a wife._'”
But at that last, which was not to be found among the head-lines of Boston's old copy-books, little Rebecca looked like to drop, and with a frightened gesture begged us to be seated, which we all accomplished with a perceptible stiffening of the young gentleman's joints.
”Is M. Radisson back?” she asks.
”He reached England yesterday. He bade me say that he will be here after he meets the shareholders. He goes to present furs to the king this morning.”
”That will please Lady Kirke,” says the young gentleman.
”Some one else is back in England,” exclaims Rebecca, with the air of news. ”Ben Gillam is here.”
”O-ho! Has he seen the Company?”
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