“I’ve not come off quite scatheless, however,” said Redding, rubbing the top of his head tenderly, “for here is a bump that would perplex the whole college of phrenologists.”
“Skin broke, sir?” asked Bellew, advancing and examining the part. “No, all right. A good supper will be the best cure for it. If I was a phrenologist now, I’d name it the bump of top-heaviness. Sit down, sir; sit down, Le Rue, an’ look after my kettle while I see to your nag.”
So saying, their host went out and left his unexpected, but evidently welcome, guests to make themselves comfortable.
Although Jonas Bellew was a recluse, he was by no means an ascetic. He was marked by deep gravity of countenance coupled with a kindly humorous disposition. No one knew where he came from or why he had taken up his abode in such a lonely spot. Many of the rough fellows who hang on the outskirts of the wilderness had tried as they said, to “pump” him on these points, but Jonas was either a dry well or a deep one, for pumping brought forth nothing. He gained a livelihood by shooting, fishing, trapping wild animals for their skins, and, sometimes, by doing what he called “odd jobs” in the settlements.
“Your home appears to me to grow wilder every time I see it,” said Redding, as Bellew re-entered the hut, and busied himself in spreading on a rough deal table the materials of a plain but substantial meal.
“That seems to be the idea of most men who come here,” replied the trapper, “but it’s not many that favour me with a visit.”
“Ha! vraiment, dat must be true,” interposed the Canadian, “for no body vill com’ here ’xcept them as do want hims legs broke.”
“Well, I have seen a few damaged shins and broken heads since I came to this location,” said Jonas, “but such accidents occur chiefly among the Canadian French, who seem on the whole to be a clumsy set.”
“Not von half so clumsy as de Engleesh, or Irish, or Scosh,” retorted Le Rue.
“Perhaps you’re right, an’ mayhap you’re wrong, lad, anyway here is supper. The Frenchmen are always good at their victuals, so sit in an’ go to work. Take the keg, Mister Redding. I’ve not found time yet to make chairs, but it’s wonderful how well a man gets along without such luxuries.”