The Red Mans Revenge | Page 5

contemplate this view through the medium
of smoke. Thus seen it was hazy and in accord with his own idea of
most things. The sun shone warmly into the smoking-box. It sparkled
on the myriad dew-drops that hung on the willows, and swept in golden
glory over the rolling plains. The old gentleman sat down, puffed, and
was happy. The narcotic influence operated, and the irascible demon in
his breast fell sound asleep.
How often do bright sunshine and profound calm precede a storm? Is
not that a truism--if not a newism. The old gentleman had barely
reduced himself to quiescence, and the demon had only just begun to
snore, when a cloud, no bigger than a man's body, arose on the horizon.
Gradually it drew near, partially obscured the sky, and overshadowed
the smoking-box in the form of Angus Macdonald, the father of Ian.

(The demon ceased snoring!)
"Coot tay to you, sir," said Angus. "You will pe enchoyin' your pipe
this fine mornin'."
"Yes, Angus, I am," replied Ravenshaw, with as much urbanity as he
could assume--and it wasn't much, for he suspected the cause of his
neighbour's visit--"you'd better sit down and light your own."
Angus accepted the invitation, and proceeded to load with much
deliberation.
Now it must be known that the Highlander loved the view from that
knoll as much as did his neighbour. It reminded him of the old country
where he had been born and bred on a hill-top. He coveted that willow
knoll intensely, desiring to build a house on it, and, being prosperous,
was willing to give for it more than its value, for his present dwelling
lay somewhat awkwardly in the creek, a little higher up the river, so
that the willows on the knoll interfered vexatiously with his view.
"It's a peautiful spote this!" observed Angus, after a few preliminary
puffs.
"It is," answered the old trader curtly, (and the demon awoke).
Angus made no rejoinder for a few minutes, but continued to puff great
clouds with considerable emphasis from his compressed lips. Mr
Ravenshaw returned the fire with interest.
"It'll no pe for sellin' the knowl, ye are?" said Angus.
The demon was fairly roused now.
"No, Angus Macdonald," said the trader sternly, "I'll not sell it. I've told
you already more than once, and it is worse than ill-judged, it is
impertinent of you to come bothering me to part with my land."
"Ho! inteed!" exclaimed Angus, rising in wrath, and cramming his pipe
into his vest pocket; "it is herself that will pe pothering you no more

spout your dirty land, Samyool Ruvnshaw."
He strode from the spot with a look of ineffable scorn, and the air of an
offended chieftain.
Old Ravenshaw tried to resume his tranquillity, but the demon was
self-willed, and tobacco had lost its power. There were more clouds,
however, in store for him that morning.
It so fell out that Ian Macdonald, unable to bear the suspense of
uncertainty any longer, and all ignorant of his father's visit to the old
trader, had made up his mind to bring things to a point that very
morning by formally asking permission to pay his addresses to Elsie
Ravenshaw. Knowing the old man's habits, he went straight to the
smoking-box. If he had set out half an hour sooner he would have met
his own father and saved himself trouble. As it was, they missed each
other.
Mr Ravenshaw had only begun to feel slightly calmed when Ian
presented himself, with a humble, propitiatory air. The old man hated
humility in every form, even its name. He regarded it as a synonym for
hypocrisy. The demon actually leaped within him, but the old man had
a powerful will. He seized his spiritual enemy, throttled, and held him
down.
"Good-morning, Mr Ravenshaw."
"Good-morning."
Nothing more was said by either for a few minutes. Ian was
embarrassed. He had got up a set speech and forgotten it. He was shy,
but he was also resolute. Drawing himself up suddenly he said, with an
earnest, honest look, "Mr Ravenshaw, I love your daughter," (there was
only one daughter in Ian's estimation!) "and I come to ask leave to woo
her. If, by earnest devotion and--"
"Ian Macdonald," interrupted the old gentleman, in a voice of
suppressed anger, "you may save yourself and me the trouble of more

talk on this subject. Your father has just been here wanting me to sell
him this knoll. Now, look here," (he rose, and stepping out of the
smoking-box, pointed to Angus Macdonald's house, which was full in
view), "you see that house, young man. Mark what I say. I will sell this
knoll to your father, and give my daughter to you, when you take that
house, and with your own unaided