n of the drawing-room not being large, but
it was very select and remarkably hearty. Plump little Gambart was
there, beaming with good-will. His plump little partner was also there,
radiant with matronly smiles, his plump little daughters too, bewitching
with youthful beauty, set off by indescribable flounces, combined with
flutterings of white lace. Their aspect was also rendered more
captivating and charmingly confused by ribbons, rings, and ringlets, for
the reader must remember that we write of those good old times before
the introduction of that severely classic style of hair-dressing which
converts now nine-tenths of the fair sex into human cockatoos.

Among the guests assembled were McLeod and his three sons, clad, not in
the half trapper halt Indian style in which they were introduced to the
reader, but in superfine broadcloth garments, the admirable fit of which
suggested the idea that they must have been sewed on in Regent Street,
London, and sent out to Canada with their owners in them, in separate
boxes, labelled "this side up, with care." There was also present Mr
Bob Smart, smarter in personal appearance than he had ever been before,
in virtue of a blue surtout with brass buttons which had lain for many
years on sale in the store at the Cliff Fort, but never had been bought
because the Indians who coveted were too poor to purchase it, and no
other human being in his senses would have worn it, its form being
antique, collar exceedingly high, sleeves very tight, and the two brass
buttons behind being very close together and unreasonably high up. But
Bob was not particular. Nothing, he said, would prevent him being at
that party. He saw as well as felt that he looked like a maniac in the
blue coat, but not possessing a dress-coat, and being possessed of moral
heroism, he shut his mental eyes, ignored taste and feeling, put on the
coat, and went.

Jonas Bellew was also there, in a new blue cloth capote, scarlet belt,
and moccasins, in which he looked every inch a man, if not a gentleman.
Sometimes in the kitchen, often in the pantry, occasionally in the
passages, and always in the way, for he was excitedly abrupt in his
motions, might have been seen the face and figure of Francois Le Rue.
Francois was obviously performing the part of a waiter, for he wore a
badly-fitting suit of black, white cotton gloves three sizes too large,
and pumps, with white socks, besides which he flourished a white napkin
as