The Big Otter
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
ONE OF THE DIFFICULTIES OF CORRESPONDENCE ENLARGED ON--COMING EVENTS,ETCETERA.
About six weeks after the events narrated in the last chapter, I seatedmyself before a desk in a charming attic-room in the cottage--no need tosay what cottage--and began to pen a letter.
I was in an exceedingly happy frame of mind. The weather was agreeable;neither too hot nor too cold; circumstances around me were conducive toquiet contemplation, and my brain was quite clear, nevertheless Iexperienced unusual difficulty in the composition of that letter. Ibegan it at least half-a-dozen times, and as many times threw my pendown, tore it up and began another. At last I received a summons todinner, and had then got only half-way through my letter.
Our dinner-party consisted of old Mrs Liston, her comely niece, MrsTemple, who by the way was a widow, Eve Liston, and myself. Big Otter,unable to endure the restraints of civilisation, had gone on a huntingexpedition for a few days, by way of relief!
"You is very stupid, surely, to take three hours to write one letter,"remarked Eve, with that peculiar smile to which I have before referred.
"Eve," said I, somewhat sternly, "you will never learn English properlyif you do not attend to my instructions. _You_ is plural, though _I_ amsingular, and if you address me thus you must say you _are_ not you_is_."
"You _are_ right in saying you are singular," interposed Aunt Temple,who was rather sharp witted, and had intensely black eyes. Eve hadcalled her "aunt" by mistake at first, and now stuck to it.
"I don't think there is another man in the district," continued thematron, "who would take so long to write a short letter. You said itwas going to be short didn't you?"
"Yes--short and sweet; though I doubt if the dear old man will think itso at first. But he'll change his mind when he gets here."
"No doubt we will convert him," said Aunt Temple.
"Eve will, at all events," said I.
There was not much more said at that dinner which calls for record. Iwill therefore return to the attic-room and the letter.
After at least another hour of effort, I succeeded in finishing my task,though not entirely to my satisfaction. As the letter was ofconsiderable importance and interest--at least to those concerned--I nowlay it before the reader. It ran thus:--
"My Dear Father,
"I scarcely know how to tell you--or how to begin, for I fear that youwill not only be very much surprised, but perhaps, displeased by what Ihave to write. But let me assure you, dear father, that I cannot helpit! It almost seems as if the thing had been arranged for me, and as ifI had had no say in the matter. The fact is that I have left theservice of the Fur-Traders, and am engaged to be married to a dearbeautiful half-caste girl (quite a lady, however, I assure you), andhave made up my mind to become a farmer in one of the wildest parts ofColorado! There--I've made a clean breast of it, and if that does nottake away your breath, nothing will! But I write in all humility,dearest father. Do not fancy that, having taken the bit in my teeth, Itell you all this defiantly. Very far from it. Had it been possible,nothing would have gratified me more than to have consulted you, andasked your approval and blessing, but with three thousand miles ofocean, and I know not how many hundred miles of land between us, thatyou know, was out of the question; besides, it could not have alteredmatters, for the thing is fixed.
"My Eve's mother was an Indian. A very superior woman, indeed, let mehasten to say, and an exceptionally amiable one. Her father was anEnglish gentleman named William Liston--son of a clergyman, and a highlyeducated man. He was wild and wilful in his youth, and married anIndian, but afterwards became a really good man, and, being naturallyrefined and with amiable feelings, spent his life in doing good to thepeople with whom he had cast his lot, and perished in saving the life ofhis wife. Eve evidently takes after him.
"As to my Eve herself--"
I will spare the reader what I said about Eve herself! Suffice it tosay that after an enthusiastic account of her mental and physicalqualities, in which, however, I carefully refrained from exaggeration,and giving a brief outline of my recent experiences, I wound upwith,--"And now, dear father, forgive me if I have done wrong in allthis, and make up your mind to come out here and live with us, or take afarm of your own near to us. You know there is nothing to tie you tothe old country; you were always fond of the idea of emigrating to thebackwoods; your small income will go twice as far here as there, ifproperly laid out, and you'll live twice as long. Come, dear dad, ifyou love me. I can't get married till you come. Ever believe me, youraffectionate son--George Maxby."
Reader, shall we visit the dear old man in his dingy little house in oldEngland while he peruses the foregoing letter? Yes, let us go. It isworth while travelling between four and five thousand miles to see himread it. Perhaps, if you are a critical reader, you may ask, "But howcame _you_ to know how the old gentleman received the letter?" Well,although the question is impertinent, I will answer it.
I have a small cousin of about ten years of age. She dwells with myfather, and is an exceedingly sharp and precocious little girl. Shechanced to be in the parlour waiting for my father--who was rather givento being late for breakfast--when my letter arrived. The familiardomestic cat was also waiting for him. It had mounted the table and satglaring at the butter and cream, but, being aware that stealing waswrong, or that the presence of Cousin Maggie was prohibitive, itpractised self-denial. Finding a story-book, my cousin sat down on thewindow seat behind the curtain and became absorbed--so much absorbedthat she failed to notice the entrance of my father; failed to hearhis--"Ha! a letter from Punch at last!"--and was only roused to outwardevents by the crash which ensued when my father smote the table with hisfist and exclaimed, "im-possible!" The cups and saucers almost spranginto the air. The cat did so completely, and retired in horror to thefurthest corner of the room. Recovering itself, however, it soonreturned to its familiar post of observation on the table. Not soCousin Maggie, who, observing that she was unperceived, and feelingsomewhat shocked as well as curious, sat quite still, with her mouth,eyes, and especially her ears, wide-open.
From Maggie then--long afterwards--I learned the details.
My father sat down after smiting the table, gasped once or twice; pulledoff and wiped his spectacles; put them on again, and, laying strongconstraint on himself, read the whole through, aloud, and without aword of comment till he reached the end, when heejaculated--"in-con-ceivable!" laid the letter down, and, looking up,glared at the cat. As that creature took no notice of him heincontinently flung his napkin at it, and swept it off the table. Thenhe gave vent to a prolonged "wh-sh!" burst into a fiendish laugh, andgave a slap to his thigh that shattered the cat's peace of mind for theremainder of that morning, after which he re-opened the letter, spreadit carefully out on the table, and, in the most intensely cynical tones,began a disjointed commentary on it as follows:--
"Your `dear father,' indeed! That's the first piece of humbug in yourprecious letter. Very `dear' I am to you, no doubt. And _you_--you--achit--a mere boy (he forgot that several years had elapsed since I lefthim). Oh! no--I'm neither surprised nor displeased--not at all. Thestate of my mind is not to be expressed by such phraseology--by nomeans! And you were always such a smooth-faced, quiet little beggarthat--well--no matter. `Couldn't help it!' indeed. H'm. `Quite alady!' Oh! of _course_. Necessarily so, when you condescended to fallin love with her! `Humility!' well! `Given up the service,' too!`Colorado!' `One of the wildest parts'--as if a tame part wouldn't havedone just as well! A `farmer!' Much _you_ know about farming! Youdon't tell all this `defiantly.' Oh! no, certainly not, but if youdon't _do_ it defiantly, I have misunderstood the meaning of the wordself-will till I am bald. Why didn't you `consult' me, then? Much_you_ care for my blessing--and `the thing is fixed!'"
Exasperation was too much developed at this point to permit of blowingoff steam in the form of sarcastic remark. My poor father hit the tablewith such force that th
e cream spurted out of its pot over the cloth--and my father didn't care! The cat cared, however, when, at a laterperiod, it had the cleaning up of that little matter all to itself!This last explosion caused so much noise--my cousin told me--as toattract the attention of my father's only domestic, who bounced into theroom and asked, "did 'e ring." To which my father returned such athundering "No!" that the domestic fled precipitately, followed by thecat--rampant.
"_Your_ `Eve!' indeed," said my father, resuming the sarcastic vein."`Mother an Indian'--a Hottentot, I suppose, or something of that sort--short skirt of peacock feathers; no upper part worth mentioning, flatnose and lips, and smeared all over with fat, I dare say. Charmingmother-in-law. Calculated to create some impression on English society.No wonder you've chosen the _wilds_ of Colorado! Ah, now, as to `myEve herself'--just let us have it strong, my boy--h'm, `sweet'--yes,yes--`amiable,' exactly, `fair hair and blue eyes'--ha, you expect me toswallow _that_! oh, `graceful,' ha! `perfection,' undoubtedly.`Forgive' you! No--boy, I'll _never_ forgive you. You're the mostarrant ass--idiot--but this caps all--`come out here and live with us!'They'll give me one quarter of the wigwam, I suppose--curtained off withbirch-bark, _perhaps_, or deerskin. `Your affectionate'--dolt! wh-why--what do you glare like _that_ for?"
This last question was put to my small cousin, who, in the horror of herbelief that my father had gone mad, had agitated the window-curtain andrevealed herself!
My poor dear father! I can imagine the scene well, and would not havedetailed it so minutely here if--but enough. I must not forecast.
The afternoon on which this letter was despatched Big Otter returned toSunny Creek cottage with a haunch of fat venison on his lusty shoulders.
He found us all grouped round the rustic table in front of the door,enjoying a cup of fragrant tea, and admiring the view. Eve was sittingon a low stool at the feet of Mrs Liston, engaged in ornamenting abright blue fire-bag with bead and quill work of the most gorgeouscolouring and elegant design. The design, of course, was her own. MrsListon was knitting small squares of open cotton-work, of a stitch solarge that wooden needles about the size of a goose-quill werenecessary. It was the only work that the poor old lady's weak eyesightand trembling hands could accomplish, and the simple stitch requiredlittle exercise of mind or muscle. When Mrs Liston completed a squareshe rolled it away. When sixteen squares were finished, she sewed themtogether and formed a strip about eight feet long and six inches broad.When sixteen such strips were completed, she sewed them all together andthus produced a bed-quilt. Quilts of this sort she presentedperiodically, with much ceremony and demonstration of regard, to hermost intimate friends. In that region the old lady had not manyintimate friends, but then it luckily took much time to produce a quilt.
The quilt then in hand--at that time near its completion--was for Eve.
"Thank you _so_ much for your venison," said Mrs Liston, as the hunter,with an air of native dignity, laid the haunch at her feet. "Take it tothe kitchen, dear," she added to Mrs Temple, who was pouring out thetea.
"It has just come in time," said Mrs Temple, with a pleasant nod to BigOtter; "we had quite run out of fresh meat, and your friend Muxbee issuch a lazy boy that he never touches a gun. In fact I don't know howto get him out of the house even for an hour."
As this was said in English, Big Otter did not understand it, but whenhe saw the speaker stoop to pick up the venison, he stepped quicklyforward and anticipated her. "Thank you, carry it this way," said AuntTemple (as I had begun to style her), leading the Indian to the pantryin rear of the cottage.
"Well, Big Otter," said I, when they returned, "now do you find thecountry round here in regard to game?"
"There is much game," he answered.
"Then you'll make up your mind to pitch your wigwam here, I hope, andmake it your home."
"No, Big Otter's heart is in his own land in the far north. He will goback to it."
"What! and forsake Waboose?" said Eve, looking up from her work with anexpression of real concern.
With a gratified air the Indian replied, "Big Otter will return."
"Soon!" I asked.
"Not very long."
"When do you start?"
"Before yon sun rises again," said Big Otter, pointing to the westward,where the heavens above, and the heavens reflected in the lake below,were suffused with a golden glow.
"Then I shall have to spend the most of the night writing," said I, "forI cannot let you go without a long letter to my friend Lumley, and ashorter one to Macnab. I have set my heart on getting them both toleave the service, and come here to settle alongside of me."
"You see, your friend Muxbee," said Aunt Temple, using the Indian'spronunciation of my name, "is like the fox which lost his tail. Hewishes all other foxes to cut off _their_ tails so as to resemble him."
"Am I to translate that?" I asked.
"If you can and will."
Having done so, I continued,--"But seriously, Big Otter, I hope you willtry to persuade them to come here. Give them a glowing account of thecountry and the climate, and say I'll not marry till they come to danceat my wedding. I would not wait for that however, if it were not thatEve thinks she is a little too young yet, and besides, she has set herheart on my father being present. I'll explain all that in my letters,of course, but do you press it on them."
"And be sure you tell the dark-haired pale-face," said Eve, "thatWaboose expects her to come. Give these from her friend Fairhair--shewas fond of calling me Fairhair."
Eve rose as she spoke, and produced a pair of beautiful moccasins, whichhad been made and richly ornamented by her own hands. At the same timeshe presented the fire-bag to the Indian, adding that she was glad tohave had it so nearly ready when he arrived.
"For whom are these pretty things, my dear?" asked Mrs Liston.
"The fire-bag, mother, is for Big Otter, and the moccasins is--"
"Are, Eve--are--plural you know."
"_Is_," replied Eve, with emphasis, "for my dear friend, Jessie, theblack-haired pale-face."
"Well done, Waboose!" exclaimed Aunt Temple. "I'm glad to see that youimprove under my tuition."
"You _can't_ spoil her," I retorted, quietly.
"Well, my dear," said Mrs Liston, "send a message from me to yourdark-haired pale-face that I shall begin a quilt for her next week."
"I hope she will come to receive it," said Aunt Temple. "Tell her that,Muxbee, with my love, and add that I hope we shall be good friends whenwe meet. Though I doubt it, for I can't bear Highlanders--they're sodreadfully enthusiastic."
"How much of that message am I to send?" I asked.
"As much as you please. I can trust to your discretion."
That evening I retired to my snug little attic-room earlier than usual,and, spreading out a large sheet of narrow-ruled foolscap paper beforeme, began a letter to my old chum on the banks of lake Wichikagan. Ihad much to relate, for much had happened since I had sent off the briefnote by Salamander, and I found it difficult to check my pen when onceit had got into the flow of description and the rush of reminiscence andthe gush of reiterative affection. I had covered the whole of the firstsheet of narrow-ruled foolscap, and got well into the second sheet--which I had selected unruled, that I might write still more narrowly--when I heard a gentle tap at the door.
I knew the tap well--sprang up and opened the door. Eve stood there,looking as modest and beautiful and elegant as ever--which is saying agood deal, for, in deference to Mrs Liston's prejudices, she hadexchanged her old graceful tunic reaching to a little below the knee,and her pretty bead-wrought leggings, and other picturesqueaccompaniments of Indian life, for the long dress of civilisation.However, I consoled myself with the fact that _nothing_ could spoil her,and recalled with satisfaction the words (I don't quite remember them),which refer to a rose smelling equally sweet under any other name.
"Prayers," said Eve.
Lest any one should feel perplexed by the brevity of her announcement,
Imay mention that dear old Mrs Liston's habit was to recognise her "BestBenefactor" night and morning by having worship in the household, andinvariably conducted it herself in her soft, slightly tremulous, butstill musical voice.
As we descended the stairs, Eve said,--"You must sit beside me to-night,Geo'ge. When you sit opposite you gaze too much and make meuncomfortable."
"Certainly, dear one," said I. "But pray don't call me Geo'ge--sayGeo-r-ge. There's an r in it, you know."
"Yes, Geo-o-o-r-r-r-r-ge!"
"Eve," I whispered, as we sat on the sofa together, while Mrs Listonwas wiping her spectacles, "I've been earnestly considering that lastattempt of yours, and I think upon the whole, that `Geo'ge' is better."