'The country whar we needna fear factor, nor laird, nor rent-day,' shouted Davidson. 'We're lairds an' factors here, an' our rent-day comes—never.'
'Whirroo!' exclaimed an Irishman, Pat O'Brien, who, having been evicted in his own country, was particularly sensitive as to landlord and tenant-right. 'No more agints, nor gales o' rint, nor nothin', ever to pay!'
'Not forgetting the tax-gatherer,' interposed portly Mr. Benson. 'None of us are partikler sorry to part with him.'
Meanwhile the comely bride was sitting with her husband at one side of the table, thankful for the diversion from herself as a topic of enthusiasm and mirth.
'Lads, you'd be a' at the loom, an' your sisters in the factories, only for Canada,' said Davidson, now on his legs. 'An' I suld be lookin' for'ard to the poor-house as soon as my workin' days were ower; an' Sandy couldna marry, except to live on porridge an' brose, wi' cauld kail o' Sabbath. How wad ye relish that prospect, bonnie Susan?'
Bonnie Susan liked the prospect of the folds of her own silk dress best at that moment, to judge by the determinately downward glance of her eyes.
By and by Davidson (for the subject was a favourite one with him) hit upon another of the Canadian advantages as a poor man's land—that the larger a man's family, the wealthier was he. No need to look on the little ones as superfluous mouths, which by dire necessity the labourer in mother country is often forced to do; for each child will become an additional worker, therefore an additional means of gain.
'An' if the folk at hame kenned this mair, dinna ye think the emigration wad be thrice what it is, Mr. Robert? Dinna ye think they wad risk the sea an' the strangers, to make a safe future for their bairns? Ay, surely. An' when I think o' the people treading one anither down over the edges o' thae three little islands, while a country as big as Europe stands amaist empty here'—
Mr. Davidson never stated the consequences of his thought; for just then came a universal call to clear the tables, stow away the boards and tressels, and make room for dancing and small plays. The hilarity may be imagined—the boisterous fun of general blindman's buff, ladies' toilet, and all varieties of forfeits. Robert Wynn stole away in the beginning; he had come for an hour, merely to gratify their good neighbour Davidson; but, pressing as was his own farm-work, he found time to spend another hour at Daisy Burn, doing up some garden beds under direction of Miss Edith. She had come to look on him as a very good friend; and he——well, there was some indefinable charm of manner about the young lady. Those peculiarly set grey eyes were so truthful and so gentle, that low musical voice so perfect in tone and inflection, that Robert was pleased to look or listen, as the case might be. But chiefest reason of all—was she not dear Linda's choicest friend and intimate? Did they not confide every secret of their hearts to each other? Ah, sunbeam, Linda knew well that there was a depth of her friend's nature into which she had never looked, and some reality of gloom there which she only guessed.
Perhaps it was about Edith's father or brother. That these gentlemen neglected their farm business, and that therefore affairs could not prosper, was tolerably evident. Fertile as is Canadian soil, some measure of toil is requisite to evolve its hidden treasures of agricultural wealth. Except from a hired Irish labourer named Mickey Dunne, Daisy Burn farm did not get this requisite. The young man Reginald now openly proclaimed his abhorrence of bush life. No degree of self-control or arduous habits had prepared him for the hard work essential. Most of the autumn he had lounged about the 'Corner,' except when his father was in Zack's bar, which was pretty often; or he was at Cedar Creek on one pretext or other, whence he would go on fishing and shooting excursions with Arthur.