“why so grave, robin?” inquired mrs gore, when her husband returned to the parlour after seeing wapaw laid in a warm corner of the kitchen, and committed to the care of larry o’dowd.
“molly, my dear, it’s of no use concealin’ things from you, ’cause when bad luck falls we must just face it. this injun—wapaw, he calls himself—tells me he has com’d here a-purpose, as fast as he could, to say that his tribe have resolved to attack me, burn the fort, kill all the men, and carry you off into slavery.”
“god help me! can this be true?”
“true enough, i don’t doubt, ’cause wapaw has the face of an honest man, and i believe in faces. he says some of the worst men of his tribe are in power just now; that they want the contents of my store without paying for them; that he tried to get them to give up the notion, but failed. on seeing that they were bent on it, he said he was going off to hunt, and came straight here to warn me. he says they talked of starting for the fort two days after he did, and that he pushed on as fast as he could travel, so it’s not likely they’ll be here for two or three days yet. i’ll get ready for them, hows’ever, and when the reptiles do come they’ll meet with a warm reception, i warrant them; meanwhile, do you go and get dinner ready. we won’t let such varmints interfere with our new year’s feast.”
while robin’s wife went to her larder, his children were in the kitchen tending the indian with earnest solicitude, and larry was preparing a little soup for him.
“do you like rabbit soup?” asked nelly, kneeling beside the pallet of pine branches on which wapaw lay.
the indian smiled, and said something in his native tongue.
“sure he don’t onderstan’ ye,” exclaimed larry, as he bustled in an energetic way amongst his pots and pans.
“let me try him with cree,” said roy, kneeling beside his sister, “i know a little—a very little cree.”
roy tried his “very little cree,” but without success.
“it’s o’ no use,” he said, “father must talk to him, for he knows every language on earth, i believe.”
roy’s idea of the number of languages “on earth” was very limited.
“och! don’t bother him, see, here is a lingo that every wan onderstan’s,” cried larry, carrying a can of hot soup towards wapaw.
“oh, let me! do let me!” cried nelly, jumping up and seizing the can.
“be all manes,” said larry, resigning it.
the child once more knelt by the side of the indian and held the can to him, while he conveyed the soup to his lips with a trembling, unsteady hand. the eyes of the poor man glittered as he gazed eagerly at the food, which he ate with the avidity of a half-famished wolf.
his nurses looked on with great satisfaction, and when wapaw glanced up from time to time in their faces, he was advised to continue his meal with nods and smiles of goodwill.
great preparations were made for the dinner of that new year’s day. those who “dwell at home at ease” have no idea of the peculiar feelings with which the world’s wanderers hail the season of christmas and new year. surrounded as they usually are by strange scenes, and ignorant as they are of what friends at home are doing or thinking, they lay hold of this season as being one point at least in the circle of the year in which they can unite with the home circle, and, at the same time, commemorate with them the birth of the blessed saviour of mankind, and think with them of absent friends. much, therefore, as the “happy” season is made of in the “old country,” it is made more of, if possible, in the colonies; especially on the outskirts of the world, where the adventurous and daring have pitched their tents.
of course robin gore and his household did not think of the “old country,” for they were descendants of settlers; but they had imbibed the spirit of the old country from their forefathers, and thought of those well-remembered friends whom they had left behind them in the settlements.
notwithstanding the delay caused by the conveying of wapaw to the fort, the hunters had walked so fast that there was still some time to spare before dinner should be ready.
roy resolved to devote this time to a ramble in the woods with his sister nelly. accordingly the two put on their snow-shoes, and, merely saying to their mother that they were going to take a run in the woods, set forth.
now, it must be known that mrs gore had looked forward to new year’s day dinner with great interest and much anxiety. there was a general feeling of hilarity and excitement among the male members of the self-exiled family that extended itself to the good woman, and induced her to resolve that the entire household should have what walter styled a “rare blow-out!” during the whole morning she had been busy with the preparation of the various dishes, among which were a tart made of cloudberry jam, a salt goose, and a lump of bear’s ham, besides the rabbits and ptarmigan which had been shot that day.
“that’s the way to do it, molly,” cried robin, as he opened the door and peeped in upon his wife during the height and heat of her culinary labours; “keep the pot bilin’, my dear, and don’t spare the butter this day. it only comes once a year, you know.”
“twice,” muttered larry in a low voice, as he stirred the contents of a large pot which hung over the fire.
“and see that you look after wapaw,” continued robin. “don’t give him too much at first, it’ll hurt him.”
“no fear of that,” replied larry, “he’s got so much a’ready that he couldn’t howld another morsel av he was to try.”
“well, well, take care of him, anyhow,” said robin, with a laugh; “meanwhile i’ll go see after the defences o’ the fort, and make all snug.”
by dint of unwearied perseverance the dinner was cooked, and then it occurred to robin to ask where the children were, but no one could tell, so the hunter remarked quietly that they would “doubtless make their appearance in a short while.”
gradually the dinner reached that interesting point which is usually styled “ready to dish.” whereupon robin again asked where the children were. still no one could tell, so he said he would go out and hail them. loudly and long did the hunter call, but no one answered; then he made a rapid search in and about the fort, but they were not to be found. moreover, a snow-storm had begun to set in, and the drift rendered it difficult to distinguish tracks in the snow.
at last the day’s labours were brought to a close. dinner was served, and smoked invitingly on the table. the party only awaited the return of robin with the children. in a few minutes robin entered hastily.
“molly,” said he, in a tone of anxiety, “the foolish things have gone into the woods, i think. come, lads, we must hunt them down. it’s snowin’ hard, so we’ve no time to lose.”
walter and larry at once put on their capotes, fur-caps, and snow-shoes, and sallied forth, leaving mrs gore seated alone, and in a state of deep anxiety, by the side of her untasted new year’s day dinner.
