“Tonyquat knows that what Ian says of his white father is true,” said the boy.
At the name Tonyquat, which was the only word of the sentence he understood, Petawanaquat cast a look of affection on Tony, while his father and the others burst into a laugh at the child’s sententious gravity. But Tony maintained his Indian air, and gazed solemnly at the fire.
“Well, go on, Ian,” said the old gentleman, in somewhat better humour.
“You remember our last meeting in the smoking-box on the knoll?” continued Ian.
“Too well,” said the other, shortly.
“Part of what you said was in the following words: ‘Mark what I say. I will sell this knoll to your father, and give my daughter to you, when you take that house, and with your own unaided hands place it on the top of this knoll!’”
“Well, you have a good memory, Ian. These are the words I used when I wished to convince you of the impossibility of your obtaining what you wanted,” said Mr Ravenshaw, with the determined air of a man who is resolved not to be turned from his purpose.
“What you wanted to convince me of,” rejoined Ian, “has nothing to do with the question. It is what you said that I have to do with.”
Again the irascible fur-trader’s temper gave way as he said—
“Well, what I said I have said, and what I said I’ll stick to.”