“Don’t mind them, Laurence,” said Michael. “As soon as they find that we are treated as friends, they will cease their yelping, and come humbly to our feet to seek our favour.”
Michael inquired for Mr Ramsay, the chief factor.
“There he comes from his house,” answered the man to whom he had addressed himself.
“What! old friend! I am right glad to see you again,” exclaimed Mr Ramsay, advancing, and with frank cordiality shaking the old trapper by the hand. “I was afraid, from your long absence, that you would never find your way back to the fort. And who is this lad? He seems very young for the life of a trapper.”
Michael then introduced Laurence, and narrated how they had lost their horses and been compelled to tramp the whole distance on foot, not having met any Indians from whom they could purchase fresh steeds, or obtain assistance in carrying their bales.
“He looks worn out and ill,” said the kind-hearted factor. “Come in to my house, and we will have him seen to. A comfortable bed and a quiet night’s rest will, I hope, restore him; and you, friend, will, I suspect, be glad to get that heavy pack off your shoulders.”
“The boy has not been much accustomed to beds or houses, and the change may, as you say, do him good,” observed Michael. “But my old sinews are too tough to feel the weight of this pack, heavy as it is, I’ll allow. However, for the boy’s sake, I’ll accept your hospitality; and, if you’ll look after him till he is recovered, the best peltries I have shall be at your service without any other payment.”
“Nay, nay, friend; I come frae the Hielands, and have not so far forgotten the customs of the old country as to receive payment for entertaining a guest, and as such your son is welcome. However, come in, and get rid of your packs; and to-morrow, when you have rested, we will examine their contents and calculate their value.”
Poor Laurence tottered on, but scarcely had he reached the entrance of the house than he sank to the ground. His pack was quickly taken off, and kindly hands lifted him to a room, where he was undressed and put to bed—a luxury he had not, as his father had said, for many years enjoyed. Restoratives were applied; but kind Mrs Ramsay and those of her household who watched him, as they observed his pale cheeks and slowly-drawn breath, feared that nature was too far exhausted by the fatigue he had undergone to recover. The old man’s alarm and grief, when he heard of the dangerous state of his son, was excessive. Kind Mrs Ramsay did her best to console him, and her young daughter, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl, Jeanie, climbed up on his knee, and stroked his rough hair, as he hung down his head, utterly overcome.
“We will pray to our merciful Father in heaven to take care of the young boy, and to make him strong and well again,” she whispered. “You know that God hears our prayers; and oh, how good and kind He is, to let us speak to Him, and to do what we ask Him in the name of His dear Son Jesus Christ.”