“Well, Taniel, I hev nothing to say against Muster Sutherland. He iss a ferry goot man—I will not be denyin’ that, but—he iss not an ordained munister.”
“What of that?” retorted Dan. “He is an ordained elder of the Church of Scotland, and that is much the same thing. And he is a good, Christian man, respected by every one in the Settlement.”
“Well, well, Taniel; hev it your own way,” returned old Duncan with a resigned look. “Of course, it would have been pleesanter if he had been a regular munister, whatever; but, as you say, my boy, ‘what of that?’ So, as things look a little more peaceable than they wass—though not ferry much—I will be—”
He was interrupted at this point by the sudden entrance of Jacques Bourassin with the astounding intelligence that a band of North-Westers had gone up the Settlement to attack Fort Garry.
“Hoot! nonsense, man!” exclaimed old McKay, starting up and flinging his pipe away in the excitement of the moment.
“No—not nonsense!” said Bourassin in broken English; “it be true. I knows it. I come to say that we go to the fort to help them.”
“Right, boy, right!” exclaimed the old man, hastily belting on his capote. “Fergus! Tuncan!—Elspie! where are these boys?”
“In the stable, father. I saw them just—”
“Let them saddle all the nags—quick,” cried the old man. “Taniel, you better—”
He stopped; for Daniel had already run out to saddle and mount his own horse.