“Ah! that was real wisdom, for if we make up our minds to stay the winter, a sheltered position may make a great difference in our comfort,” she said quickly, then stretched out her hand for the glass to have another look.

“You still think you want to spend next winter so far north?” said her father, in a questioning tone.

“Why not?” she replied, with a weary note coming into her voice.  “One place is as good as another, only this would be better than some, if only there is work of some sort to do.”

“We shall see how we like it,” he answered, then was silent, gazing at the scene before him, which was looking its fairest on this June afternoon.

The man mending nets on the shore, who was no other than Oily Dave, had by this time become aware of the approaching boats, and was rushing to and fro in a great state of bustle and excitement.  They could hear him calling to someone out of sight, and the sound of his raucous voice only served to deepen the unpleasant impression given by his appearance.

“Father, don’t say much to that man, I don’t like him,” Mary said in a low tone; and Mr. Selincourt nodded in reply, as the boats drew in to the landing by the fish shed, and Oily Dave came hurrying forward to greet 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?”