"Here, Pête! Pête! Something quick to eat."
Pête's head appeared at the door at last.
"Whatever do you want now, master?" he demanded in an injured tone. "I thought I had put everything ready for you, as handy as could be; and you said you wouldn't call me off, with the bride expected every minute, and the supper to cook, as you know."
"Cook away then," returned his master impatiently. "It is the hour for the fatted calf. Oh, you've no eyes, none! Whom have I got here? Who is this?"
Pête backed to the door in wide-eyed wonder. "I'm struck of a heap!" he gasped, staring at Wilfred as if he thought he would melt away into vacancy.
"Where were you that you did not see him come in?" asked his master sharply.
"Where?" repeated Pête indignantly. "At your own gate, answering a party of travellers—men who've come down to buy land; and," he added, changing his tone, "there is a gentleman among them says he must speak to you, master, your own self particular, this very night."
"It is Mr. De Brunier, uncle. He took me in, and sent me to the hunters' camp, where Mr. Bowkett was to be found," interposed Wilfred.
This name was spoken with an effort. Like many a noble-minded boy, Wilfred hated to tell of another. He hesitated, then went on abruptly: "I thought he would be sure to bring me home. Well, I got there. He did not seem to know me. He was all for fiddling and dancing. They were a rough set, uncle, a very rough set. Father would not have liked to have seen me with such men. I got away again as quickly as I could. The Cree who had saved me before guided me home at last."
"What is that? Did you say Bowkett, Hugh Bowkett?" repeated the old man. "Why, your aunt was married to him this morning."