CHAPTER XL.

AN UNWELCOME SUITOR.

When the affair of the mill was arranged, and Robert's mind's eye beheld it already built and noisily flourishing, they sauntered along the bend of the pond towards where the charcoal forest of last autumn had donned a thin veil of greenery. The sight set Davidson upon his favourite irritation--the decay of his farm Daisy Burn, under its present owner.

'He's an a'thegither gude-for-naething,' was his conclusion respecting Captain Armytage. 'Such men as he hae nae mair business settlin' in the bush than he wad hae in tryin' the life o' a fish. A mon may come without land, or money, or freends, an I'll warrant him to get on; but there's ane thing he must hae, the willingness to work hard. That will bring him the lands, and money, and freends, as plenty as blackberries. Sae far as I can see, your gentlefolk dinna do weel in the bush; they're ower proud to tak' to the axe and the hoe as they ought, an' they hae maistly fine habits o' life that mak' them unhappy. I wad like to see the captain or his son cobblin' their ain shoon! Though I'm tauld the young fellow's greatly improved sin' his hurt; but that winna mak' him handier.'

'He is much more industrious,' said Robert, 'and I hope will be able to pull up affairs on the farm, even yet.'

'Na, sir, na! Zack Bunting's got his claw on it in the shape of a mortgage already. That farm o' his below the "Corner" he grasped in just the same way; put the owner in debt to the store, foreclosed the mortgage, and ruined the puir man. I ken he has his eye on Daisy Burn for Nim, ever sin' he saw the captain. And that Yankee cam' here, Maister Robert, without as much as a red cent aboon the pack on his back!'

Just then Arthur and George came in sight round the lee of a small island, paddling swiftly along.

'Trolling for black bass and maskelongé,' remarked Robert. 'There! he has a bite.'

Arthur's line, some seventy or eighty feet long, was attached to his left arm as he paddled, which gave a most tempting tremulousness to the bait--a mock-mouse of squirrel fur; and a great pike-fish, lying deep in the clear water, beheld it and was captivated. Slowly he moved towards the charmer, which vibrated three or four feet beneath the surface; he saw not the treacherous line, the hook beneath the fur; his heavily under-jawed mouth (whence he obtained the name of masque-longue, misspelled continually in a variety of ways by his Canadian captors), his tremendous teeth, closed voraciously on the temptation. Arthur's arm received a sudden violent jerk from the whole force of a lively twenty-five pound maskelongé; a struggle began, to be ended successfully for the human party by the aid of the gaff-hook.

This was the noblest prey of the pond. Pickerel of six or seven pounds were common; and a profusion of black bass-spotted trout in all the creeks; sheep-heads and suckers _ad libitum_, the last-named being the worst fish of Canada. George thought the success far too uniform for sport; Arthur hardly cared to call the killing of God's creatures 'sport' during some time back.

'Davidson, here's a contribution for your bee,' cried Arthur, holding up the prize by its formidable snout. 'For your good wife, with my compliments.'

Mrs. Davidson was in the thick of preparations for a logging-bee, to be held two days subsequently, and whither all the Cedar Creek people were invited. Every settler's wife's housekeeping is brought to a severe test on such occasions, and the huge maskelongé was a most acceptable addition.

The four gentlemen and Mr. Callaghan went with their team of oxen to help their good neighbour on the appointed morning.

It might have been four hours afterwards that Linda was working in her garden, hoeing a strawberry bed, and singing to herself some low song, when, attracted by a slight movement at the fence, she raised her eyes. Mr. Nimrod Bunting was leaning against the rails.

'I guess you may go on, Miss,' said he, showing all his yellow teeth. 'I've been admirin' yar voice this quarter of an hour past. I've never happened to hear you sing afore; and I assure you, Miss, I'm saying the truth, that the pleasure is highly gratifyin'.'

Linda felt greatly inclined to put down her hoe and run into the house; but that would be so ridiculous. She hoed on in silence, with a very displeased colour on her cheek.

'I see all yar people at the bee: yar too high yarself to go to them kind'er meetings, I reckon, Miss? Wal, I like that. I like pride. Th' ole woman said always, so did Uncle Zack, "Nim, yar above yar means; yar only fit for a Britisher gentleman," they did, I guess!'

'The sun is getting so hot,' quoth Miss Wynn, laying down her hoe.

'I reckon I ain't agoin' to have come down from Davidson's to here to speak to you, Miss,' and Nim vaulted over the fence, 'an' let you slip through my fingers that way. Uncle Zack said he'd speak to the ole feller up at the bee, an' bade me make tracks an' speak to you, Miss. He's agoin' to foreclose the mortgage, he is.'

'What, on Daisy Burn?' Linda was immensely relieved for the moment.

''Tain't on nothen' else, I guess. 'Tis an elegant farm--ain't it?'

'Cannot your father wait for his money--even a little time? Captain Armytage would surely pay in the long run; or his son would'--

'But s'pose we don't want 'em to pay? S'pose we wants the farm, and house, and fixins, and all, for a new-married pair to set up, Miss?'

'I don't think you should allow anything to interfere with what is just and merciful,' said Miss Wynn, with a strong effort. Her tormentor stood on the path between her and the house.

'S'pose I said they wanted that new-married pair to be you an' me, Miss?'

The audacity of the speech nearly took away her breath, and sent the blood in violent crimson over her face and throat. 'Let me pass, sir,' was her only answer, most haughtily spoken.

'Uncle Zack's a rich man,' pleaded his son. 'He's always been an ole 'coon, with a fine nest of cash at his back. It's in a New York bank, 'vested in shares. He's promised me the best part of it, an' the store into the bargain. You'll be a fool if you say "No," I guess.'

Here he was seized from behind by the throat, and hurled round heavily to the ground.

'Why, then, you spalpeen of an owdacious vagabone, it's well but I smash every bone in yer skin. Of all the impudence I ever heerd in my whole life, you bate it out, clear and clane! O, murther, if I could only give you the batin' I'd like, only maybe the master 'ud be vexed!' And Mr. Callaghan danced round his victim, wielding a terrible shillelagh.