Joe’s connection with Colonel Armour arose from the fact that he had been his guide in many a hunting excursion in years gone by, and had found the colonel so indulgent a master that at last he had formed the habit of following him home in the late autumn, and establishing himself near him till the hunting season came around again.
He was a good cook, and he would occasionally condescend to perform household tasks, an unusual favor from a Micmac. He also had charge of the boat house, and at times, by a great stretch of courtesy, would render some slight assistance to the gardener or coachman.
He was an easy-going, pleasure-loving Indian, rather tall of stature, with olive skin, the dark, searching eyes of his race, and thick, black hair reaching to the back of his neck, and there cut squarely across. At a distance there was a ridiculous resemblance to his master about him, owing to his habit of arraying himself in Colonel Armour’s cast-off garments. In common with other Micmacs of the present day, he despised the skins and blankets of his forefathers and aped the fashions of the white man.
None of the house servants ever liked him. He was “creepy and crawly in his ways,” they said, and though nothing could be proved against the good-natured, mild-spoken Christmas, certain it was that he knew quite well of the race prejudice that existed against him, and any man-servant or maid-servant who carried matters with too high a hand invariably departed with suspicious haste from the service of the Armours. They received a fright, or had an illness, or suddenly made up their minds that they would leave without formulating any complaint—in short they always went, and the Indian if remonstrated with at all, only shook his head, and ventured a long-drawn “Ah—h,” of surprise, that he should be so misunderstood.
He professed not to mind the cold weather, but in reality he hated it, and during the winter days he spent most of his time in the cheerful kitchen at the cottage, where before a blazing fire on the old-fashioned hearth, he made and mended flies, fishing rods, bows and arrows, and inspected and polished the various instruments of steel designed to create havoc among beasts, birds, and fishes during the next hunting season.
A few days before Christmas, while Joe was squatting before his fire, Dr. Camperdown was driving leisurely out to Pinewood.
There had been during the preceding day a heavy fall of snow. Arriving inside the lodge gates, Dr. Camperdown heard a sound of merry laughter and shouting before him.
A number of young people in red, white, or blue blanket costumes were careering over the snow before him; and ejaculating, “A snowshoeing party! Flora always has something going on,” he gave Polypharmacy an encouraging “Hie on,” and made haste to join them.
As he caught up with the last stragglers of the party, he was inwardly pleased to see Vivienne among them.
“Had a good tramp?” he asked, after responding to her gay greeting.