I thought, to be sure, we had got
rid of him; and though he deserved what was said to him, I was sorry
for him. Moodie took his dinner, quietly remarking, "I wonder he
could find it in his heart to leave those fine peas and potatoes."
He then went back to his work in the bush, and I cleared away the
dishes, and churned, for I wanted butter for tea.
About four o'clock Mr. Malcolm entered the room. "Mrs. Moodie,"
said he, in a more cheerful voice than usual, "where's the boss?"
"In the wood, under-bushing." I felt dreadfully afraid that there
would be blows between them.
"I hope, Mr. Malcolm, that you are not going to him with any
intention of a fresh quarrel."
"Don't you think I have been punished enough by losing my dinner?"
said he, with a grin. "I don't think we shall murder one another."
He shouldered his axe, and went whistling away.
After striving for a long while to stifle my foolish fears, I took
the baby in my arms, and little Dunbar by the hand, and ran up to
the bush where Moodie was at work.
At first I only saw my husband, but the strokes of an axe at a
little distance soon guided my eyes to the spot where Malcolm was
working away, as if for dear life. Moodie smiled, and looked at
me significantly.
"How could the fellow stomach what I said to him? Either great
necessity or great meanness must be the cause of his knocking under.
I don't know whether most to pity or despise him."
"Put up with it, dearest, for this once. He is not happy, and must
be greatly distressed."
Malcolm kept aloof, ever and anon casting a furtive glance towards
us; at last little Dunbar ran to him, and held up his arms to be
kissed. The strange man snatched him to his bosom, and covered him
with caresses. It might be love to the child that had quelled his
sullen spirit, or he might really have cherished an affection for us
deeper than his ugly temper would allow him to show. At all events,
he joined us at tea as if nothing had happened, and we might truly
say that he had obtained a new lease of his long visit.
But what could not be effected by words or hints of ours was brought
about a few days after by the silly observation of a child. He asked
Katie to give him a kiss, and he would give her some raspberries he
had gathered in the bush.
"I don't want them. Go away; I don't like you, you little stumpy man!"
His rage knew no bounds. He pushed the child from him, and vowed
that he would leave the house that moment - that she could not have
thought of such an expression herself; she must have been taught it
by us. This was an entire misconception on his part; but he would
not be convinced that he was wrong. Off he went, and Moodie called
after him, "Malcolm, as I am sending to Peterborough to-morrow, the
man shall take in your trunk." He was too angry even to turn and bid
us good-bye; but we had not seen the last of him yet.
Two months after, we were taking tea with a neighbour, who lived a
mile below us on the small lake. Who should walk in but Mr. Malcolm?
He greeted us with great warmth for him, and when we rose to take
leave, he rose and walked home by our side. "Surely the little
stumpy man is not returning to his old quarters?" I am still a babe
in the affairs of men. Human nature has more strange varieties than
any one menagerie can contain, and Malcolm was one of the oddest of
her odd species.
That night he slept in his old bed below the parlour window, and for
three months afterwards he stuck to us like a beaver.
He seemed to have grown more kindly, or we had got more used to his
eccentricities, and let him have his own way; certainly he behaved
himself much better.
He neither scolded the children nor interfered with the maid, nor
quarrelled with me. He had greatly discontinued his bad habit of
swearing, and he talked of himself and his future prospects with
more hope and self-respect. His father had promised to send him a
fresh supply of money, and he proposed to buy of Moodie the clergy
reserve, and that they should farm the two places on shares. This
offer was received with great joy, as an unlooked-for means of
paying our debts, and extricating ourselves from present and
overwhelming difficulties, and we looked upon the little stumpy
man in the light of a benefactor.
So matters continued until Christmas Eve, when our visitor proposed
walking into Peterborough, in order to give the children a treat of
raisins to make a Christmas pudding.
"We will be quite merry to-morrow," he said. "I hope we shall eat
many Christmas dinners together, and continue good friends."
He started, after breakfast, with the promise of coming back at
night; but night came, the Christmas passed away, months and years
fled away, but we never saw the little stumpy man again!
He went away that day with a stranger in a waggon from Peterborough,
and never afterwards was seen in that part of Canada. We afterwards
learned that he went to Texas, and it is thought that he was killed
at St. Antonio; but this is mere conjecture. Whether dead or living,
I feel convinced that -
"We ne'er shall look upon his like again."
OH, THE DAYS WHEN I WAS YOUNG!
Oh, the days when I was young,
A playful little boy,
When my piping treble rung
To the notes of early joy.
Oh, the sunny days of spring,
When I sat beside the shore,
And heard the small birds sing; -
Shall I never hear them more?
