"Hollo! Charley, you rascal," interrupted Mr. Kennedy--"here, take
the mare to the stable, and don't drive her too fast. Mind, now, no
going off upon the wrong road for the sake of a drive, you
understand."

"All right, father," exclaimed the boy, while a bright smile lit up
his features and displayed two rows of white teeth: "I'll be
particularly careful," and he sprang into the light vehicle, seized
the reins, and with a sharp crack of the whip dashed down the road at
a hard gallop.

"He's a fine fellow that son of yours," said Mr. Grant, "and will
make a first-rate fur-trader."

"Pur-trader!" exclaimed Mr. Kennedy. "Just look at him! I'll be shot
if he isn't thrashing the mare as if she were made of leather." The
old man's ire was rising rapidly as he heard the whip crack every now
and then, and saw the mare bound madly over the snow. "And see!" he
continued, "I declare he _has_ taken the wrong turn after all."

"True," said Mr. Grant: "he'll never reach the stable by that road;
he's much more likely to visit the White-horse Plains. But come,
friend, it's of no use fretting, Charley will soon tire of his ride;
so come with me to my room and have a pipe before dinner."

Old Mr. Kennedy gave a short groan of despair, shook his fist at the
form of his retreating son, and accompanied his friend to the house.

It must not be supposed that Frank Kennedy was very deeply offended
with his son, although he did shower on him a considerable amount of