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 parl