Time rolled on, and with it the sunbeams of summer went—the snowflakes of winter came. Needles of ice began to shoot across the surface of Red River, and gradually narrowed its bed. Crystalline trees formed upon the window-panes. Icicles depended from the eaves of the houses. Snow fell in abundance on the plains; liquid nature began rapidly to solidify2, and not many weeks after the first frost made its appearance everything was (as the settlers expressed it) “hard and fast.”
Mr Kennedy, senior, was in his parlour, with his back to a blazing wood fire that seemed large enough to roast an ox whole. He was standing3, moreover, in a semi-picturesque attitude, with his right hand in his breeches pocket and his left arm round Kate’s waist. Kate was dressed in a gown that rivalled the snow itself in whiteness. One little gold clasp shone in her bosom4; it was the only ornament5 she wore. Mr Kennedy, too, had somewhat altered his style of costume. He wore a sky-blue swallow-tailed coat, whose maker6 had flourished in London half a century before. It had a velvet7 collar about five inches deep, fitted uncommonly8 tight to the figure, and had a pair of bright brass9 buttons, very close together, situated10 half a foot above the wearer’s natural waist. Besides this, he had on a canary-coloured vest, and a pair of white duck trousers, in the fob of which evidently reposed11 an immense gold watch of the olden time, with a bunch of seals that would have served very well as an anchor for a small boat. Although the dress was, on the whole, slightly comical, its owner, with his full, fat, broad figaro, looked remarkably12 well in it, nevertheless.
It was Kate’s marriage-day, or rather marriage-evening; for the sun had set two hours ago, and the moon was now sailing in the frosty sky, its pale rays causing the whole country to shine with a clear, cold, silvery whiteness.
The old gentleman had been for some time gazing in silent admiration13 on the fair brow and clustering ringlets of his daughter, when it suddenly occurred to him that the company would arrive in half an hour, and there were several things still to be attended to.
“Hollo, Kate!” he exclaimed, with a start, “we’re forgetting ourselves. The candles are yet to light, and lots of other things to do.” Saying this, he began to bustle14 about the room in a state of considerable agitation15.
“Oh, don’t worry yourself, dear father!” cried Kate, running after him, and catching16 him by the hand. “Miss Cookumwell and good Mrs Taddipopple are arranging everything about tea and supper in the kitchen, and Tom Whyte has been kindly17 sent to us by Mr Grant, with orders to make himself generally useful, so he can light the candles in a few minutes, and you’ve nothing to do but to kiss me and receive the company.” Kate pulled her father gently towards the fire again, and replaced his arm round her waist.
“Receive company! Ah, Kate, my love, that’s just what I know nothing about. If they’d let me receive them in my own way, I’d do it well enough; but that abominable18 Mrs Taddi—what’s her name—has quite addled19 my brains and driven me distracted with trying to get me to understand what she calls etiquette20.”
Kate laughed, and said she didn’t care how he received them, as she was quite sure that, whichever way he did it, he would do it pleasantly and well.
At that moment the door opened, and Tom Whyte entered. He was thinner, if possible, than he used to be, and considerably21 stiffer, and more upright.
“Please, sir,” said he, with a motion that made you expect to hear his back creak (it was intended for a bow)—“please, sir, can I do hanythink for yer?”
“Yes, Tom, you can,” replied Mr Kennedy. “Light these candles, my man, and then go to the stable and see that everything there is arranged for putting up the horses. It will be pretty full to-night, Tom, and will require some management. Then, let me see—ah, yes, bring me my pipe, Tom, my big meerschaum.—I’ll sport that to-night in honour of you, Kate.”
“Please, sir,” began Tom, with a slightly disconcerted air, “I’m afeard, sir, that—um—”
“Well, Tom, what would you say? Go on.”
“The pipe, sir,” said Tom, growing still more disconcerted—“says I to cook, says I, ‘Cook, wot’s been an’ done it, d’ye think?’ ‘Dun know, Tom,’ says he, ‘but it’s smashed, that’s sartin. I think the gray cat—’”
“What!” cried the old trader, in a voice of thunder, while a frown of the most portentous22 ferocity darkened his brow for an instant. It was only for an instant, however. Clearing his brow quickly, he said with a smile, “But it’s your wedding-day, Kate, my darling. It won’t do to blow up anybody to-day, not even the cat.—There, be off, Tom, and see to things. Look sharp! I hear sleigh-bells already.”
As he spoke23 Tom vanished perpendicularly24, Kate hastened to her room, and the old gentleman himself went to the front door to receive his guests.
The night was of that intensely calm and still character that invariably accompanies intense frost, so that the merry jingle25 of the sleigh-bells that struck on Mr Kennedy’s listening ear continued to sound, and grow louder as they drew near, for a considerable time ere the visitors arrived. Presently the dull, soft tramp of horses’ hoofs26 was heard in the snow, and a well-known voice shouted out lustily, “Now then, Mactavish, keep to the left. Doesn’t the road take a turn there? Mind the gap in the fence. That’s old Kennedy’s only fault. He’d rather risk breaking his friends’ necks than mend his fences!”
“All right, here we are,” cried Mactavish, as the next instant two sleighs emerged out of the avenue into the moonlit space in front of the house, and dashed up to the door amid an immense noise and clatter27 of bells, harness, hoofs, snorting, and salutations.
“Ah, Grant, my dear fellow!” cried Mr Kennedy, springing to the sleigh and seizing his friend by the hand as he dragged him out. “This is kind of you to come early. And Mrs Grant, too. Take care, my dear madam, step clear of the haps28; now, then—cleverly done” (as Mrs Grant tumbled into his arms in a confused heap). “Come along now; there’s a capital fire in here.—Don’t mind the horses, Mactavish—follow us, my lad; Tom Whyte will attend to them.”
Uttering such disjointed remarks, Mr Kennedy led Mrs Grant into the house, and made her over to Mrs Taddipopple, who hurried her away to an inner apartment, while Mr Kennedy conducted her spouse29, along with Mactavish and our friend the head clerk at Fort Garry, into the parlour.
“Harry, my dear fellow, I wish you joy,” cried Mr Grant, as the former grasped his hand. “Lucky dog you are. Where’s Kate, eh? Not visible yet, I suppose.”
“No, not till the parson comes,” interrupted Mr Kennedy, convulsing his left cheek.—“Hollo, Charley, where are you? Ah! bring the cigars, Charley.—Sit down, gentlemen; make yourselves at home.—I say, Mrs Taddi—Taddi—oh, botheration—popple! that’s it—your name, madam, is a puzzler—but—we’ll need more chairs, I think. Fetch one or two, like a dear!”
As he spoke the jingle of bells was heard outside, and Mr Kennedy rushed to the door again.
“Good-evening, Mr Addison,” said he, taking that gentleman warmly by the hand as he resigned the reins30 to Tom Whyte. “I am delighted to see you, sir (look after the minister’s mare31, Tom), glad to see you, my dear sir. Some of my friends have come already. This way, Mr Addison.”
The worthy32 clergyman responded to Mr Kennedy’s greeting in his own hearty33 manner, and followed him into the parlour, where the guests now began to assemble rapidly.
“Father,” cried Charley, catching his sire by the arm, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, but you dance about like a will-o’-the-wisp. Do you know, I’ve invited my friends Jacques and Redfeather to come to-night, and also Louis Peltier, the guide with whom I made my first trip. You recollect34 him, father?”
“Ay, that do I, lad, and happy shall I be to see three such worthy men under my roof as guests on this night.”
“Yes, yes, I know that, father; but I don’t see them here. Have they come yet?”
“Can’t say, boy. By the way, Pastor35 Conway is also coming, so we’ll have a meeting between an Episcopalian and a Wesleyan. I sincerely trust that they won’t fight!” As he said this the old gentleman grinned and threw his cheek into convulsions—an expression which was suddenly changed into one of confusion when he observed that Mr Addison was standing close beside him, and had heard the remark.
“Don’t blush, my dear sir,” said Mr Addison, with a quiet smile, as he patted his friend on the shoulder. “You have too much reason, I am sorry to say, for expecting that clergymen of different denominations36 should look coldly on each other. There is far too much of this indifference37 and distrust among those who labour in different parts of the Lord’s vineyard. But I trust you will find that my sympathies extend a little beyond the circle of my own particular body. Indeed, Mr Conway is a particular friend of mine; so I assure you we won’t fight.”
“Right, right,” cried Mr Kennedy, giving the clergyman an energetic grasp of the hand; “I like to hear you speak that way. I must confess that I have been a good deal surprised to observe, by what one reads in the old-country newspapers, as well as by what one sees even hereaway in the backwood settlements, how little interest clergymen show in the doings of those who don’t happen to belong to their own particular sect38; just as if a soul saved through the means of an Episcopalian was not of as much value as one saved by a Wesleyan, or a Presbyterian, or a Dissenter39. Why, sir, it seems to me just as mean-spirited and selfish as if one of our chief factors was so entirely40 taken up with the doings and success of his own particular district that he didn’t care a gun-flint for any other district in the Company’s service.”
There was at least one man listening to these remarks, whose naturally logical and liberal mind fully41 agreed with them. This was Jacques Caradoc, who had entered the room a few minutes before, in company with his friend Redfeather and Louis Peltier.
“Right, sir! That’s fact, straight up and down,” said he, in an approving tone.
“Ha! Jacques, my good fellow, is that you?—Redfeather, my friend, how are you?” said Mr Kennedy, turning round and grasping a hand of each.—“Sit down there, Louis, beside Mrs Taddi—eh!—ah!—popple.—Mr Addison, this is Jacques Caradoc, the best and stoutest42 hunter between Hudson’s Bay and Oregon.”
Jacques smiled and bowed modestly as Mr Addison shook his hand. The worthy hunter did indeed at that moment look as if he fully merited Mr Kennedy’s eulogium. Instead of endeavouring to ape the gentleman, as many men in his rank of life would have been likely to do on an occasion like this, Jacques had not altered his costume a hairbreadth from what it usually was, excepting that some parts of it were quite new, and all of it faultlessly clean. He wore the usual capote, but it was his best one, and had been washed for the occasion. The scarlet43 belt and blue leggings were also as bright in colour as if they had been put on for the first time; and the moccasins, which fitted closely to his well-formed feet, were of the cleanest and brightest yellow leather, ornamented44, as usual, in front. The collar of his blue-striped shirt was folded back a little more carefully than usual, exposing his sunburned and muscular throat. In fact, he wanted nothing, save the hunting-knife, the rifle, and the powder-horn, to constitute him a perfect specimen45 of a thorough backwoodsman.
The End.
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1
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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2
solidify
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| v.(使)凝固，(使)固化，(使)团结 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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5
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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6
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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7
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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8
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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10
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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11
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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13
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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14
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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15
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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16
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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17
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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18
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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19
addled
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| adj.（头脑）糊涂的，愚蠢的；（指蛋类）变坏v.使糊涂( addle的过去式和过去分词 )；使混乱；使腐臭；使变质 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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21
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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22
portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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23
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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perpendicularly
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| adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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25
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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26
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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27
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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28
haps
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| n.粗厚毛披巾；偶然，机会，运气( hap的名词复数 ) | |
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29
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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30
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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32
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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33
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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34
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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35
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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36
denominations
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| n.宗派( denomination的名词复数 )；教派；面额；名称 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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38
sect
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| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
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39
dissenter
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| n.反对者 | |
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40
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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41
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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42
stoutest
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| 粗壮的( stout的最高级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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43
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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44
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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