“Dinna think o’ such a thing,” entreated the father, “the road is lang an’ the Indian wad just laugh at you gin you found him, which is dootful.”
A favorite child has little difficulty in persuading a parent, and before many minutes Mr Forsyth was won over, declaring “it wad be a shame gin we did naething to try an’ save the puir lad.” It was arranged she should go at once, the father undertaking to break the news to his wife. All her other preparations having been made beforehand, the slipping of a plaid over her head and shoulders rendered her fit for the journey, and with a cheery goodbye to her father she stepped quickly away. She went to the camp at La Fourche, where she surprised her brothers and got them to search out the messenger who had brought the startling tidings. She had a talk with him, learning all he knew of Morton. Then she went to see the Indians in camp, who readily enough told what little they knew of Hemlock. They believed he was at Oka and did not expect him back, as he said he would join the force that was being assembled above Cornwall to meet Wilkinson. Thus informed she took the road, a mere bush track, that led to Annfield Mills, now known as the town of Beauharnois, which she reached in the course of two hours or so and walked straight to the house of the only person in it who she thought could help her. It was a log-shanty built on the angle where the St Louis rushes brawling past and the calm waters of the bay, and was of unusual length, the front end being devoted to the purposes of an office. The door stood open and Maggie walked into a little den, in one corner of which stood a desk with pigeon-holes stuffed with papers, and beside it were a few shelves filled with bottles and odds-and-ends, the whole dusty, dark, and smelling of tobacco. At the desk sat a little man, dressed in blue with large gilt buttons.
“Oh, ho, is this you, Maggie Forsyth? Often have I gone to see you, but this is the first time you have dropped in to see me.”
“See you, you withered auld stick! I just dropped in to speer a few questions at you.”
“Auld stick, Mag; I’m no sae auld that I canna loe ye.”
“Maybe, but I dinna loe you.”
“Look here, lassie; see this bit airn kistie; its fu o’ siller dollars; eneuch to varnish an auld stick an keep a silken gown on yer back every day o’ the year.”
“An eneuch in thae dirty bottles to pooshen me when ye wad?”
“Ha, ha, my lass; see what it is to hae lear. I didna gang four lang sessions to new college, Aberdeen, for naething. I can heal as well as pooshen. It’s no every lassie has a chance to get a man o’ my means and learnin.”