way, I very much fear that he'll--"

"What?" inquired Mr. Kennedy abruptly.

"Take it," said Mr. Grant.

The puff that burst from Mr. Kennedy's lips on hearing this would
have done credit to a thirty-six pounder.

"Take it!" said he; "he'd _better_ not."

The latter part of this speech was not in itself of a nature
calculated to convey much; but the tone of the old trader's voice,
the contraction of his eyebrows, and above all the overwhelming flow
of cloudlets that followed, imparted to it a significance that
induced the belief that Charley's taking his own way would be
productive of more terrific consequences than it was in the power of
the most highly imaginative man to conceive.

"There's his sister Kate, now," continued the old gentleman; "she's
as gentle and biddable as a lamb. I've only to say a word, and she's
off like a shot to do my bidding; and she does it with such a sweet
smile too." There was a touch of pathos in the old trader's voice as
he said this. He was a man of strong feeling, and as impulsive in his
tenderness as in his wrath. "But that rascal Charley," he continued,
"is quite different. He's obstinate as a mule. To be sure, he has a
good temper; and I must say for him he never goes into the sulks,
which is a comfort, for of all things in the world sulking is the
most childish and contemptible. He _generally_ does what I bid him,
too. But he's _always_ getting into scrapes of one kind or other. And