"That is a
place, though not an inn, where the owner, if he is at home, will
receive the likes of you very hospitably. He is a capital fellow in
his way, but as hot as pepper. His name is Peter McDonald, and he is
considerable well to do in the world. He is a Highlander; and when
young went out to Canada in the employment of the North-west Fur
Company, where he spent many years, and married, broomstick fashion, I
suppose, a squaw. Alter her death he removed, with his two half-caste
daughters, to St John's, New Brunswick; but his girls I don't think
were very well received, on account of their colour, and he came down
here and settled at Ship Harbour, where some of his countrymen are
located. He is as proud as Lucifer, and so are his galls. Whether it
is that they have been slighted, and revenge it on all the rest of the
world, I don't know; or whether it is Highland and Indian pride mixed,
I ain't sartified; but they carry their heads high, and show a stiff
upper lip, I tell you. I don't think you will get much talk out of
them, for I never could."
"Well, it don't follow," said I, "by no manner of means, Eldad,
because they wouldn't chat to you, that they wouldn't open their
little mugs to me. First and foremost recollect, Mr Nickerson, you are
a married man, and it's no use for a gall to talk it into you; and
then, in the next place, you see you know a plaguey sight more about
the shape, make, and build of a craft like this than you do about the
figure-head, waist, and trim of a gall.
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