As to poor Redbud, she could only lean her head on her hand, and endeavor to suppress her gathering tears.

“Verty is an Indian, and a young man of obscure birth—­wholly uneducated, and, generally speaking, a savage, though a harmless one,” said the lady, returning to the charge.  “Now, Redbud, you cannot fail to perceive that it is impossible for you to marry an Indian whom nobody knows anything about.  Your family have claims upon you, and these you cannot disregard, and unite yourself to one of an inferior race, who—­”

“Oh, cousin Lavinia! cousin Lavinia!” cried Redbud, with a gush of tears, “please don’t talk to me anymore about this; you make me feel so badly!  Verty never said a word to me about marrying, and it would be foolish.  Marry!  Oh! you know I am nothing but a child, and you make me very unhappy by talking so.”

Redbud leaned her forehead on her hand, and wiped away the tears running down her cheeks.

“It is not agreeable to me to mention this subject,” Miss Lavinia said, solemnly, smoothing Redbud’s disordered hair, “but I consider it my duty, child.  You have said truly that you are still very young, and that it is ridiculous to talk about your being married.  But, Redbud, the day will come when you will be a woman, and then you will find this intimacy with Verty a stone around your neck.  I wish to warn you in time.  These early friendships are only productive of suffering, when in course of time they must be dissolved.  I wish to ward off this suffering from you!”

“Oh, ma’am!” sobbed Redbud.

“I love you very much.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And as I have more experience than you,” said Miss Lavinia, grimly—­“more knowledge of the wiles of men, I consider it my duty to direct your conduct.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Redbud, seeing the wall closing round her inexorably.

“If, then, you would spare Verty suffering, as well as yourself, you will gradually place your relations on a different basis.”

“On—­a—­dif—­ferent—­basis,” said Redbud; “Yes, ma’am.”

“It may be done,” said Miss Lavinia; “and do not understand me, child, to counsel an abrupt and violent breaking off of all the ties between yourself and this young man.”

“No, ma’am.”

“You may do it gradually; make your demeanor toward him calmer at every interview—­if he must come—­do not have so many confidential conversations—­never call him ‘Verty’”—­

“Oh, ma’am!” said Redbud, “but I can’t call him Mr. Verty.”

“Don’t call him anything,” said the astute enemy of the male sex, “and gradually add ‘sir’ to the end of your observations.  In this manner, Redbud, you may place your relations on an entirely different footing.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Miss Lavinia looked at the child for some moments with a singular expression of commiseration.  Then smoothing the small head again, she said more softly:—­