them.

"Where is Mr. Ferrars?" asked Mr. Selincourt, and for all that he
was a genial, kindly man, thinking evil of none, he could not keep
a hard note out of his voice as he gazed at the mean, shifty face
of Oily Dave.

"He's away somewhere, over to Fort Garry, or perhaps he's crossed
to Akimiski Island. The fleet have been mostly round that way this
week past. Shall I show you round a bit, sir? I'm the acting
manager, formerly sole manager." Oily Dave contrived to throw a
withering emphasis on the latter adjective, and roiled up his eyes
in a manner meant to imply injured innocence, which, however, only
expressed low-down meanness and cunning.

"Ah, yes, I remember Mr. Graham spoke of you!" replied the new
owner, in a strictly non-committal tone. "But why did you say you
are acting manager? I only appointed Mr. Ferrars."

Oily Dave contracted his features into an unpleasant grin. "It
takes them as knows these waters to understand the fishing of them,
sir, and your grand drawing-room, bandbox manager would have been
pretty hard put to it many a time to know what to do for the best,
if it hadn't been for Oily Dave, which is me."

"I see," remarked Mr. Selincourt in a calm and casual tone, then
continued with quiet authority: "Please tell Mr. Ferrars when he
comes back that I have arrived, and ask him if he will come up to
Roaring Water Portage as soon as it is convenient for him to do so."

"Wouldn't you like me to come and guide you up the river?" demanded
Oily Dave, his jaw dropping in a crestfallen manner, for he had
thought what a fine chance he would have of getting ahead of Jervis
Ferrars.

"No, thank you, we have travelled too many strange waters these
last few days to need guidance up the last two miles of our
Journey. It is two miles, is it not?"

"Nearer three, sir, but we mostly call it two, because it sounds
better," said Oily Dave. Then he took his greasy old hat off with
a flourish to Mary, and the boats started on again up the main
channel of the river.

There was plenty to interest the travellers now on the left bank of
the river; the fish shed showed a weather-beaten front to the broad
waters of the bay, while beyond it, perched on a high bluff, was a
fanny brown house, with a strange-looking wing built out at the
side.

"Feather, look at that house, and the queer building at the side;
what is it?" cried Mary, who was flushed and eager; for to her this
entrance to Roaring Water R