Arrived at the great lake, the anxious pair did not wait even to rest, but at once embarked in their little hunting canoe.
“I’m sorry you are such an unpresentable bridegroom,” said the Trader, when they were about to separate. He referred to the cuts and bruises with which poor Dan’s countenance was temporarily disfigured.
“Never mind,” returned our hero, with a laugh, “wait till you see the bride; she will more than make up for the shortcomings of the groom. Adieu!—au revoir!” They pushed off, and now began a race against time, which, in the matters at least of perseverance, persistency, hard labour, and determination, beat all the records of bicyclists and horsemen from the beginning of time. Cyclists have frequent down-hills to help and rest them; Dan and his friend had no such aids. It was all either dead level or upstream. Dick Turpin and the rider to Ghent, (we forget his name), only killed their horses. Dan and François nearly killed themselves—not only with hard work and no rest, but with profound anxiety, for the wedding hour was rapidly approaching and they were still far from home!
While these events were transpiring in the wilderness, things were going smoothly enough in the Colony.
“I will be thinkin’,” said old Duncan McKay, one fine evening as he sat in his invalid chair, beside Duncan junior, who was woefully reduced and careworn, despite the attentions of the sympathetic Jessie Davidson, who was seated near him on a rustic seat beside Elspie—
“I will be thinkin’ that Tan an’ La Certe are stoppin’ longer away than iss altogither seemly. Tan should have been here two or three days before the weddin’.”
“He will likely be time enough for his own weddin’—whatever,” remarked Duncan junior. “Don’t you think so, Miss Jessie?”
“I think it likely,” answered the girl with a smile.
“He is sure to be in time,” said Elspie, with emphasis.
“We niver can be sure of anything in this world, my tear,” remarked old Duncan, becoming oracular in tone. “How do you know he iss so sure?”