“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Reivers. “Have your silly way.”
“Good. That’s a good boy,” she said softly; and Duncan Roy ran from the room choking.
“You see,” she continued, as he swallowed the first spoonful, “it isn’t always possible to have your own way, is it? I am doing this only for your own good.”
“Hold your tongue,” he growled. “I’ve got to eat this food, but I don’t have to listen to your talk.”
“Quite right,” she agreed, and the meal was finished in silence.
At noon she fed him again, without speaking a word. Apparently she had given her uncle orders likewise to refrain from talking to Reivers, for not a word did he speak during the day.
In the evening the same silent feeding took place. After she and her uncle had supped, they drew up to the fireplace, where, in silence, Duncan repaired a dog-harness while the girl sewed busily at a fur coat. At short intervals the uncle cast a look toward Reivers’ bunk, then choked a chuckle in his beard, each chuckle bringing a glance of reproof from his niece.
“No, Hattie,” MacGregor broke out finally, “I cannot hold tongue any longer. Company is no’ so plentiful in the North that we can sit by and have no speech. Do you keep still if you wish—I must talk. Stranger, are you going to tell me about yoursel’, as I asked you yestereve?”
“Does her Royal Highness, the Red-Headed Chieftainess, permit me to speak?” queried Reivers sarcastically.
“’Twas your own sel’ told me to hold tongue,” said the girl evenly, without looking up. “I am glad to see you are reasonable enough to give in.”