spoken to your father about selling the field with
the knoll to my father?"

"Yes, and he flatly refused to sell it. I'm really sorry, Ian, but you
know how determined my father is. Once he says a thing he sticks to it,
even though it should be to his own disadvantage."

"That's bad, Victor, very bad. It will raise ill-blood between them,
and estrange our families. You think there's no chance?"

"None whatever."

"One more word before we part. Do you know much about that redskin whom
your father called Petawanaquat?"

"Not much, except that he has come from a considerable distance to make
inquiries, he says, about the Christian religion. He has been prowling
about our place for a few days, and father, who has no great love to
missionaries, and has strong suspicions of converted Indians, has twice
treated him rather roughly."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Victor. These fellows are sometimes very
revengeful. If you'll be advised by me you'll keep a sharp eye upon
Petawanaquat. There, I'll say no more. You know I'm not an alarmist.
Good-bye."

"Good-bye, old boy."

"I say."

"Well?"

"It was an _awfully_ bad shot, that last of mine."

"It was," admitted Victor, with a laugh, "to miss a thing as big as a
door at a hundred yards is only so-so."

"No chance of improvement, I fear," said Ian, with a sigh.

"Oh, don't say that," replied Victor. "Practice, perseverance, and
patience, you know, overcome every--"

"Yes, yes. I know that well. Good-bye." They shook hands again, and
were soon striding over the snow to their respective homes.

CHAPTER TWO.

CONFLICTING ELEMENTS AND A CATASTROPHE.

Hoary winter passed away, and genial spring returned to rejoice the
land.

In a particularly amiable frame of mind, old Ravenshaw went out one
morning to smoke.

Everything had gone well that morning. Breakfast had been punctual;
appetite good; rheumatics in abeyance; the girls lively; and Miss Trim
less of a torrent than was her wont. Mrs Ravenshaw's intellect had
more than once almost risen to the ordinary human average, and Master
Tony had been better--perhaps it were more correct to say less wicked--
than usual.

Old Ravenshaw was what his friends styled a heavy smoker, so was his
kitchen chimney; but then the chimney had the excuse of being compelled
to smoke, whereas its owner's insane act was voluntary.

Be not afraid, reader. We have no intention of entering into an
argument with smoke