the course of true love, curiously enough, runs smooth for once, and the curtain falls.

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 solidify, 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 standing, 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 bosom; it was the only ornament she wore. mr kennedy, too, had somewhat altered his style of costume. he wore a sky-blue swallow-tailed coat, whose maker had flourished in london half a century before. it had a velvet collar about five inches deep, fitted uncommonly tight to the figure, and had a pair of bright brass buttons, very close together, situated 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 reposed 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 remarkably 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 admiration 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 bustle about the room in a state of considerable agitation.

“oh, don’t worry yourself, dear father!” cried kate, running after him, and catching 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 kindly 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 abominable mrs taddi—what’s her name—has quite addled my brains and driven me distracted with trying to get me to understand what she calls etiquette.”

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 considerably 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 portentous 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 spoke tom vanished perpendicularly, 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 jingle 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’ hoofs 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 clatter 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 haps; 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 spouse, 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 reins to tom whyte. “i am delighted to see you, sir (look after the minister’s mare, tom), glad to see you, my dear sir. some of my friends have come already. this way, mr addison.”

the worthy clergyman responded to mr kennedy’s greeting in his own hearty 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 recollect 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, pastor 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 denominations should look coldly on each other. there is far too much of this indifference 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 sect; 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 dissenter. why, sir, it seems to me just as mean-spirited and selfish as if one of our chief factors was so entirely 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 fully 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 stoutest 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 scarlet 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, ornamented, 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 specimen of a thorough backwoodsman.