This having been satisfactorily arranged, preparations made, and Slowfoot advised of her husband’s intention, Dan went to Ben Nevis Hall next morning to bid farewell to Elspie for a brief period. He found only old McKay in the Hall, Elspie having gone up the Settlement, or down the Settlement—the man did not know which—to call on a friend.
“See that ye will not be long o’ comin’ back, Tan,” he said. “There will be a good many arranchments to make, you see.”
“I hope to be back in three weeks at latest,” said Dan, “if all goes well.”
“Ay, if all goes well,” repeated the old man, thoughtfully. “As Elspie says sometimes, ‘We never know what a day may bring furth.’ Well, well, see that you will not be upsetting your canoe, for canoes are cranky things—whatever.”
In a short time our hero and La Certe found themselves floating once more on the calm breast of the mighty inland sea.
It was afternoon. The circumstances were eminently conducive to the felicity which is derivable from repose, and thus admirably suited to the tastes of La Certe. An unruffled sheet of glassy water lay spread out to the north-western horizon, which not only doubled the canoe and its occupants, but reflected the golden glory of the sun, and mirrored every fleecy cloudlet in the bright blue sky. A mere dip of the paddles now and then served to give impulse to the light, and literal, bark. Genial warmth pervaded the atmosphere, and little white gulls floated almost motionless on outspread wings, or sloped hither and thither with lazy flap, while ever and anon the whistling wings of passing wild-fowl gave promise of occupation to their guns, to say nothing of their kettles.
On their third day out, towards evening, they went ashore on the lee-side of a rocky point where some bushes and trees seemed to offer firewood and shelter.
“This will do,” said Dan, as he stepped lightly out on a shelving rock and held the canoe while his companion took out the lading. “Plenty dry sticks and lots of moss for bedding.”
“Truly, that is so,” returned La Certe. “It is a place in which Slowfoot would rejoice to repose, and the little one to smoke its pipe.”
“You forget,” said Dan. “The little one is no longer allowed that luxury.”