The fireplace was a capacious cavern in the wall opposite the entrance door, in which, during winter, there usually burned a roaring bonfire of huge logs of wood, but where, at the time of which we write, there was just enough fire to enable visitors to light their pipe’s. When that fire blazed up in the dark winter nights, the effect of that gorgeous apartment was dazzling—absolutely bewildering.
The effect upon our trappers when they entered was sufficiently strong. They gazed round in amazement, each giving vent to his feelings in his own peculiar exclamatory grunt, or gasp, or cough. In addition to this, Bounce smote his thigh with unwonted vigour. Gibault, after gazing for a few minutes, sighed out something that sounded like magnifique! and Bertram grinned from ear to ear. He went further: he laughed aloud—an impolite thing to do, in the circumstances, and, for a grave man like him, an unusual ebullition of feeling. But it was observed and noted that on this occasion the artist did not draw forth his sketch-book.
McLeod, who, from his speech and bearing, was evidently a man of some education, placed chairs for his visitors, took the lid off a large canister of tobacco, and, pushing it into the middle of the yellow table, said—
“Sit ye down, friends, and help yourselves.”
He set them the example by taking down his own pipe from a nail in the wall, and proceeding to fill it. Having done so, he took a piece of glowing charcoal from the fire, and, placing it on the bowl, began to smoke, glancing the while, with an amused expression on his grave face, at the trappers, who, while filling their pipes, kept gazing round the walls and up at the ceiling.
“Ha!” said he, “you are struck with our hall (puff, puff). It’s rather (puff) an effective one (puff). Have a light?”
Bounce, to whom the light was offered, accepted the same, applied it to his pipe, and said—
“Well, yes (puff), it is (puff) raither wot ye may call (puff) pecooliar.”
“Most visitors to this place think so,” said McLeod. “The Indians highly approve of it, and deem me quite a marvel of artistic power.”
“Wot! did you paint it?” inquired Waller.