Such a heavenly day, sunshine with ice crystals, no wind.
Mumsie came into my room at peep of dawn, carrying a bundle. There was a letter in it from Dad enclosing another hundred dollars for me to spend. Dear old Dad! And then there was a parcel marked, “From Jack to his Little Partner.” I undid the fastenings and there were four shaggy, hairy skins. I could not make out what they were. And a pair of gloves from Mumsie—women always give gloves. I tried on the gloves and Mumsie suggested that we go to early service.
I jumped out of bed and as I dressed looked at the furs,—I had never seen anything like them, so brown and glossy. What sort of an animal could they have belonged to?
I went downstairs and saw a fire burning in the den and two men standing before it—Uncle and Jack. So I entered the room, and a cheery voice greeted me with “Merry Christmas!” and Uncle gathered me in his arms and kissed me. Mr. Bang, rather dolefully echoed: “Merry Christmas!” It struck me as strange that Uncle had not given me a present, even if only a handkerchief. I shook hands with Mr. Bang and said, “Thank you very much for the skins.”
“They’re nothing,” he replied almost indifferently. “Uncle is going to have them made into a muff and collar for you as his present. I got the skins from an Indian. You see,” continued he in his usual tone, “the British Columbia government has shut down on the destruction of beaver for a number of years to save these animals from becoming extinct, and it is against the law to have the skins in one’s possession.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, “then you ran chances of being fined for my sake. How good you are!”
“No, not so good, as I did not know of your existence at the time, and could hardly have been concerned with that. What I mean is that they did not cost me much. As the animals were already dead my conscience did not trouble me and I took particular pains to give such small value for the skins, that I don’t fancy the noble red man will think it worth his while to break the law again.”
I do not know how to describe the manner of address used by Mr. Bang to me and I have borrowed Uncle’s dictionary to help me out. “Didactic” will hardly do, nor will “pedantic.” Perhaps “patronizing” is the only term that I can apply to it, but then “patronizing” is not quite just. Of course, Uncle is equally guilty at times, but only at times; and I love Uncle. And if I am to have a complete set of furs at their hands, I can forgive much! Perhaps “elderly” or “condescending” is the word: but it doesn’t matter.
But were Mr. Bang and Uncle serious. Beaver!—I have seen beaver, soft, grey, delicate fur, and this is bristling like a porcupine almost. So I thought I would begin a question and then stammer. If I laughed prettily, I could appear innocent: and I did so successfully, though there is often a doubtful, pitying look in Jack’s quizzical, grey eyes.
“Oh! Uncle do tell me, are beavers ever born with—with—Oh, I don’t know—something like—first cousin—Porcupine—long hairs—”