“How did you ever come to be the old Indian woman’s son, Verty?”

Verty’s dreamy eyes fall from the sky, where a circling hawk had attracted his attention, to Redbud’s face.

“Anan?” he says.

Redbud greets this exhibition of inattention with a little pout, which is far from unbecoming, and too frank to conceal anything, says, smiling—­

“You are not listening to me.  Indeed, I think I am worth more attention than that hawk.”

“Oh yes, indeed you are!” cries Verty; “but how can you keep a poor Indian boy from his hunting?  How that fellow darts now!  Look what bright claws he has!  Hey, come a little nearer, and you are mine!”

Verty laughs, and takes an arrow.

Redbud lays her hand upon his arm.  Verty looks at the hand, then at her bright face, laughing.

“What’s the matter?” he says.

“Don’t kill the poor hawk.”

“Poor hawk? poor chickens!” says Verty, smiling.  “Who could find fault with me for killing him?  Nothing to my deer!  You ought to have seen the chase, Redbud; how I ran him; how he doubled and turned; and when I had him at bay, with his eyes glaring, his head drooping, how I plunged my knife into his throat, and made the blood spout out gurgling!”

Verty smiled cheerfully at this recollection of past enjoyment, and added, with his dreamy look—­

“But I know what I like better even than hunting.  I like to come and see you, and learn my lessons, and listen to your talking and singing, Redbud.”

By this time they had reached the house, and they saw Miss Lavinia sitting at the window.  Verty took off his white fur hat, and made the lady a low bow, and said—­

“How do you do, Miss Lavinia?”

“Thank you, Verty,” said that lady, solemnly, “very well.  What have you there?”

“Some deer horns, ma’am.”

“What for?”

“Oh, the Squire said he wanted them,” Verty replied.

“Hum,” said Miss Lavinia, going on with her occupation of sewing.

Verty made no reply to this latter observation, but busied himself fixing up the antlers in the passage.  Having arranged them to his satisfaction, he stated to Redbud that he thought the Squire would like them; and then preferred a request that she would get her Bible, and read some to him.  To this, Redbud, with a pleasant look in her kind eyes, gave a delighted assent, and, running up stairs, soon returned, and both having seated themselves, began reading aloud to the boy.

Miss Lavinia watched this proceeding with an elderly smile; but
Verty’s presence in some way did not seem agreeable to her,

Redbud closed the book, and said:—­

“That is beautiful, isn’t it, Verty?”

“Yes,” replied the boy, “and I would rather hear it than any other book.  I’m coming down every day to make you read for me.”

“Why, you can read,”

“So I can, but I like to hear it,” said Verty; “so I am coming.”