"Can your wife put me and Fanny up for the night, John?" asked the doctor, looking serious.
"Just delighted to do so," replied the Squire; "we have more space than we know how to fill."
"I must tell you why. These rough fellows at the Encampment are furious, and one of them, in his gratitude, warned me, on no account, to be in or near your house to-night."
"Doctor, that's another thing. I have no right to let you risk yourself and Miss Fanny in time of danger in my house."
"But we will, John. Come here, Fanny!" Telling his daughter the circumstances, the doctor asked her decision, and she at once answered: "Of course, Mr. Carruthers, we shall stay. Papa has two pistols in his gig, and, if necessary, will lend me one. I am a good shot, am I not, papa?"
"Yes, John, she has a fine eye and nerve for a mark."
At the dinner table Doctor Halbert conversed with the pedestrians about the scenery they had passed through, and recommended them, by all means, not to fail in visiting the Flanders' lakes. He informed them that they constitued a long and perplexing chain, being more like a long continuous sheet of water, narrowing every here and there into straits, affording little more than room enough for two boats to pass through, than an actual succession of lakes. To penetrate far in would be dangerous, but his guide had informed him that no visitors to the first three ran any risk of interference.
"By the bye, Miss Cecile," interrupted the Squire, "some of these lakes are your property, are they not?"
"Yes, Mr. Carruthers," the lady replied; "but they would be so no longer if a very kind friend had not paid the taxes for them."
"Hoot toot, lassie, what's the taxes on a bittock o' wild land and useless water?"