“Now, Kate,” said Charley, leading forward the horse which he had ridden, “I have changed saddles, as you see; this horse will suit you better, and I’ll take the shine out of your charger on the way home.”
“Thank you, Charley,” said Kate, with a smile. “I’ve quite recovered from my fright—if, indeed, it is worth calling by that name; but I fear that Harry has—”
“Oh, I’m all right,” cried Harry, advancing as he spoke to assist Kate in mounting. “I am ashamed to think that my wild cry was the cause of all this.”
In another minute they were again in their saddles, and turning their faces homeward, they swept over the plain at a steady gallop, fearing lest their accident should be the means of making Mr Kennedy wait dinner for them. On arriving, they found the old gentleman engaged in an animated discussion with the cook about laying the table-cloth, which duty he had imposed on himself in Kate’s absence.
“Ah, Kate, my love,” he cried, as they entered, “come here, lass, and mount guard. I’ve almost broke my heart in trying to convince that thick-headed goose that he can’t set the table properly. Take it off my hands, like a good girl.—Charley, my boy, you’ll be pleased to hear that your old friend Redfeather is here.”
“Redfeather, father!” exclaimed Charley, in surprise.
“Yes; he and the parson, from the other end of Lake Winnipeg, arrived an hour ago in a tin kettle, and are now on their way to the upper fort.”
“That is indeed pleasant news; but I suspect that it will give much greater pleasure to our friend Jacques, who, I believe, would be glad to lay down his life for him, simply to prove his affection.”
“Well, well,” said the old gentleman, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and refilling it so as to be ready for an after-dinner smoke, “Redfeather has come, and the parson’s come too; and I look upon it as quite miraculous that they have come, considering the thing they came in. What they’ve come for is more than I can tell, but I suppose it’s connected with church affairs.—Now then, Kate, what’s come o’ the dinner, Kate? Stir up that grampus of a cook! I half expect that he has boiled the cat for dinner, in his wrath, for it has been badgering him and me the whole morning.—Hollo, Harry, what’s wrong?”
The last exclamation was in consequence of an expression of pain which crossed Harry’s face for a moment.