Daniel Davidson was engaged in a very important conversation with old Duncan McKay at the time the formidable troop of North-Westers swept through the settlements. The old man was seated in the hall, parlour, drawing-room—or whatever you choose to call it—of Ben Nevis House. It was an uncarpeted, unpainted, unadorned room with pine plank flooring, plank walls, a plank ceiling, a plank table, and a set of plank chairs. Ornament was dispensed with in the hall of Ben Nevis House; for although Elspie would fain have clothed it with a little feminine grace, its proprietor would not hear of such proposals.
“Stick as many gimcracks as you like about your own room, Elspie,” he had remarked when the first attempt was made, “but leave me my hall in peace. It iss quite pleased with it I am as it iss.”
Opposite the door of the hall there was a large open fireplace without a grate. Doors all round the walls of the hall opened into the other rooms of the establishment. Above what would have been the mantelpiece, had one existed, there was a row of tobacco pipes. Old Duncan was a great smoker. Indeed he would have been almost unrecognisable without his pipe. He was smoking when Daniel Davidson visited him, in order to hold the very important conversation to which we have referred.
“It iss as you say, Taniel,” remarked the old man, frowning at his pipe, which was not drawing properly. “Marrit life iss more to be desired than single blessedness, whatever, an’ it is a my opeenion that you will do more work with Elspie helpin’ you, than by yourself. When iss it you will be wantin’ to call me your father?”
The old man asked the question with a somewhat humorous smile, for he was, to say truth, not a little proud of the staid, sensible, and strong young fellow who aspired to his daughter’s hand—besides, the pipe was drawing well by that time.
“As soon as you like,” answered Dan, “or, rather, as soon as Elspie likes. You see, things are beginning to look a little more hopeful now. People who seem to know best—or seem to think they do—tell us that the Nor’-Westers are beginning to see that a colony here won’t interfere in any way with their business; a good deal of seed has been sown, and, if all goes well, we may look for a better year than we have yet had; therefore I don’t see why we should wait any longer.”
“Your observations are ferry true. There iss just wan little word you mention that requires consideration,” returned the old man with a brow wrinkled so as to suggest profound sagacity of thought. “You said ‘if all goes well.’ But supposin’, for the sake of argument, that all does not go well—what then?”
“Why, then,” answered the young man with a laugh, “we shall be no worse off than other people, who have to make the best of things as they find them.”
“No doubt—no doubt—that iss the true an’ pheelosophical way to look at the matter. But don’t you think, Taniel, that it would be as well to putt off till our munister arrives? I would not be havin’ my daughter marrit without a munister if I can help it. An’ you know his Lordship has promised more than wance to send us wan. He will not be long o’ coming now.”
“Yes, a minister has been promised again an’ again,” returned Dan, somewhat bitterly, “an’ I suppose he will go on promising again and over again, but I have not much faith in these promises. The Earl has too many agents who are not as true as himself. I would rather not delay my marriage on that account. What ails you at Mr Sutherland?”