Angus seized the unfortunate hen by the neck as he spoke, and flung it along the passage, where it fell into the water, and went cackling and choking through the doorway.
Beauty’s powers were varied as well as surprising. Although thus, for the first time in her life, compelled to take to the water, she swam as well as any duck, and went straight off as if by instinct, to the forsaken house. From the window of the lumber-room Angus saw her reach it, scramble, somehow, on to its roof, and there utter a crow of defiance that would have done credit to her defunct husband. There was one other object besides his own house and surroundings which Angus saw from that window. It was the smoking-box on the willow-clad knoll, which formed a separate island in the flood. The sight stirred up unpleasant recollections. He turned from the window, and gave his attention to the substantial breakfast to which his host invited him.
The greater part of that day was spent in rearranging the habitable parts of Willow Creek, and placing the more delicate valuables further out of danger. At night candles were lighted, fresh wood was heaped up in the stove, and the lumber-room became comparatively comfortable.
“Will you play us a tune, Angus?” said Louis Lambert, drawing a stool between Elsie and Cora and sitting down. “The ladies, you know, never tire of your music.”
“I hef not anything new,” replied Angus, with becoming modesty; “but if the leddies wass willin’ to listen to some o’ the old tunes, my fuddle an’ I will try what we can do.”
“We love the old tunes best,” said Cora.
As every one else echoed the sentiment, Angus, nothing loath, began to discourse sweet sounds, which, to say truth, were indeed very sweet, and mingled not inharmoniously with the sound of waters which gurgled gently underneath.
Angus could play Scotch reels in a manner that made dancing almost unavoidable, but he preferred slow, plaintive music, and on this occasion indulged his taste to the full, so as to fling a mantle of quiescence and pathos over the family circle.
Samuel Ravenshaw had retired to a darkish corner to enjoy his pipe, but the music awoke sad memories. The lost Tony came vividly before him, and beside his darling boy arose the dark form of the Red Man, whose mode of taking his revenge had been to him so terrible, all the more terrible that the nature of the old man was secretive in regard to sorrow. His joys he was ever ready to share with every one, but his griefs he smothered in his own breast, and scorned to let his countenance betray his heart.
No one knew how much he suffered. Perhaps Elsie understood him best. At all events she had become more earnest and thoughtful in her attentions after that dark day when her little brother was spirited away. Leaving Lambert to Cora, she went over to her father, sat down beside him, and, laying her head upon his shoulder, listened with a sort of melancholy pleasure to the sweet strains of the violin.