Verty repeated the shake of his head.

“I may know as much as the next one about hunting,” he said; “and ma mere says that none of her tribe had as much knowledge of the habits of the deer.  Yes! yes! that is something—­to know all about life in the autumn woods, the grand life which, some day, will be told about in great poetry, or ought to be.  But what good is there in only knowing how to follow the deer, or watch for the turkeys, or kill bears, as I used to before the neighborhood was filled up?  I want to be a learned man.  I don’t think anybody would, or ought to, marry me,” added Verty, sighing.

Redbud laughed, and colored.

“Perhaps you can go to college, though,” she said.

“I’m afraid not,” said Verty; “but I won’t complain.  Why should I?  Besides, I would have to leave you all here, and I never could make up my mind to that.”

("Let it go, Ralph!” from Fanny.

To which the individual addressed, replies: 

“Oh, certainly, by all means, darling of my heart!”)

Redbud smiled.

“I think we are very happy here,” she said; “there cannot be anything in the Lowlands prettier than the mountains—­”

“Oh!  I know there is not!” exclaimed Verty, with the enthusiasm of the true mountaineer.

“Besides,” said Redbud, taking advantage of this return to brighter thoughts, “I don’t think learning is so important, Verty.  It often makes us forget simple things, and think we are better than the rest of the world—­”

“Yes,” said Verty.

“That is wrong, you know.  I think that it would be dearly bought, if we lost charity by getting it,” said the girl, earnestly.

Verty looked thoughtful, and leaning his head on his hand, said: 

“I don’t know but I prefer the mountains, then.  Redbud, I think if I saw a great deal of you, you would make me good—­”

“Oh!  I’m afraid—­”

“I’d read my Bible, and think about God,” Verty said.

“Don’t you now, Verty?”

“Yes; I read.”

“But don’t you think?”

Verty shook his head.

“I can’t remember it often,” he replied.  “I know I ought.”

Redbud looked at him with her soft, kind eyes, and said: 

“But you pray?”

“Sometimes.”

“Not every night?”

“No.”

Redbud looked pained;

“Oh! you ought to,” she said.

“I know I ought, and I’m going to,” said the young man; “the fact is, Redbud, we have a great deal to be thankful for.”

“Oh, indeed we have!” said Redbud; earnestly—­“all this beautiful world:  the sunshine, the singing of the birds, the health of our dear friends and relatives; and everything—­”

“Yes, yes,” said Verty, “I ought to be thankful more than anybody else.”

“Why?”

“You know I’m an Indian.”

Redbud looked dubious.