Snowflakes and Sunbeams | Page 7

give way to little bursts of passion on almost every
occasion in which his feelings were at all excited. These bursts,

however, were like the little puffs that ripple the surface of the sea on a
calm summer's day. They were over in a second, and left his
good-humoured, rough, candid countenance in unruffled serenity.
Charley knew this well, and loved his father tenderly, so that his
conscience frequently smote him for raising his anger so often; and he
over and over again promised his sister Kate to do his best to refrain
from doing anything that was likely to annoy the old man in future. But,
alas! Charley's resolves, like those of many other boys, were soon
forgotten, and his father's equanimity was upset generally two or three
times a day; but after the gust was over, the fur-trader would kiss his
son, call him a "rascal," and send him off to fill and fetch his pipe.
Mr. Grant, who was in charge of Fort Garry, led the way to his
smoking apartment, where the two were soon seated in front of a
roaring log-fire, emulating each other in the manufacture of smoke.
"Well, Kennedy," said Mr. Grant, throwing himself back in his chair,
elevating his chin, and emitting a long thin stream of white vapour
from his lips, through which he gazed at his friend complacently--
"well, Kennedy, to what fortunate chance am I indebted for this visit? It
is not often that we have the pleasure of seeing you here."
Mr. Kennedy created two large volumes of smoke, which, by means of
a vigorous puff, he sent rolling over towards his friend, and said,
"Charley."
"And what of Charley?" said Mr. Grant with a smile, for he was well
aware of the boy's propensity to fun, and of the father's desire to curb it.
"The fact is," replied Kennedy, "that Charley must be broke. He's the
wildest colt I ever had to tame, but I'll do it--I will--that's a fact."
If Charley's subjugation had depended on the rapidity with which the
little white clouds proceeded from his sire's mouth, there is no doubt
that it would have been a "fact" in a very short time, for they rushed
from him with the violence of a high wind. Long habit had made the
old trader and his pipe not only inseparable companions, but part and
parcel of each other--so intimately connected that a change in the one

was sure to produce a sympathetic change in the other. In the present
instance, the little clouds rapidly increased in size and number as the
old gentleman thought on the obstinacy of his "colt."
"Yes," he continued, after a moment's silence, "I've made up my mind
to tame him, and I want you, Mr. Grant, to help me."
Mr. Grant looked as if he would rather not undertake to lend his aid in a
work that was evidently difficult; but being a good-natured man, he
said, "And how, friend, can I assist in the operation?"
"Well, you see, Charley's a good fellow at bottom, and a clever fellow
too--at least so says the schoolmaster; though I must confess, that so far
as my experience goes, he's only clever at finding out excuses for not
doing what I want him to. But still I'm told he's clever, and can use his
pen well; and I know for certain that he can use his tongue well. So I
want to get him into the service, and have him placed in a situation
where he shall have to stick to his desk all day. In fact, I want to have
him broken into work; for you've no notion, sir, how that boy talks
about bears and buffaloes and badgers, and life in the woods among the
Indians. I do believe," continued the old gentleman, waxing warm,
"that he would willingly go into the woods to-morrow, if I would let
him, and never show his nose in the settlement again. He's quite
incorrigible. But I'll tame him yet--I will!"
Mr. Kennedy followed this up with an indignant grunt, and a puff of
smoke, so thick, and propelled with such vigour, that it rolled and
curled in fantastic evolutions towards the ceiling, as if it were unable to
control itself with delight at the absolute certainty of Charley being
tamed at last.
Mr. Grant, however, shook his head, and remained for five minutes in
profound silence, during which time the two friends puffed in concert,
until they began to grow quite indistinct and ghost-like in the thick
atmosphere.
At last he broke silence.

"My opinion is that you're wrong, Mr. Kennedy. No doubt you know
the disposition of your son better than I do; but even judging of it from
what you have said, I'm quite sure that a