Redbud is sauntering over the sward, and listening to the wind in the beautiful fallwoods, when, from those woods which stretch toward the West, emerges a figure, which immediately rivets her attention. It is a young man of about eighteen, mounted on a small, shaggy-coated horse, and clad in a wild forest costume, which defines clearly the outline of a person, slender, vigorous, and graceful. Over his brown forehead and smiling face, droops a wide hat, of soft white fur, below which, a mass of dark chestnut hair nearly covers his shoulders with its exuberant and tangled curls. Verty—for this is Verty the son, or adopted son of the old Indian woman, living in the pine hills to the west—Verty carries in one hand a strange weapon, nothing less than a long cedar bow, and a sheaf of arrows; in the other, which also holds his rein, the antlers of a stag, huge and branching in all directions; around him circle two noble deer-hounds. Verty strongly resembles an amiable wild cat; and when he sees Redbud, smiles more than ever.

The girl runs toward him, laughing gaily—

"Oh, Verty!" she says, "indeed I am very glad to see you. Where have you been?"

With which, she gives him her hand.

"At home," says Verty, with his bright, but dreamy smile; "I've got the antlers for the Squire, at last."

And Verty throws the rein on the neck of his little horse, who stands perfectly still, and leaps lightly to the ground. He stands for a moment gazing at Redbud with his dreamy and smiling eyes, silent in the sunshine like a shadow, then he pushes back his tangled chestnut curls, and laughs.

"I had a long chase," he says.

"For the deer?"

"Yes," says Verty, "and there are his horns. Oh, how bright you look."

Redbud returns his smile.

"I think I didn't live before I knew you; but that was long years ago," says Verty, "a very long time ago."

And leaning for a moment on his bow, the forest boy gazes with his singular dreamy look on Redbud, who smiles.

"Papa has gone out riding," she says, "but come, let's go in, and put up the antlers."

Verty assents readily to this, and speaking to his horse in some outlandish tongue, leaves him standing there, and accompanies Redbud toward the house.

"What was that you said?" she asked; "I didn't understand."

"Because you don't know Delaware," said Verty, smiling.

"Was it Indian?"

"Yes, indeed. I said to Cloud—that's his name you know—I told him to crouch; that means, in hunter language, keep still."

"How strange!"

"Is it? But I like the English better, because you don't speak
Delaware, my own tongue; you speak English."

"Oh, yes!" Redbud says.

"I don't complain of your not speaking Delaware," says Verty, "for how could you, unless ma mere had taught you? She is the only Indian about here."

"You say ma mere—that means, 'my mother,' don't it?"

"Yes; oh, she knows French, too. You know the Indian and the French—I wonder who the French are!—used to live and fight together."

"Did they?"

Verty nods, and replies—"In the old days, a long, long time ago."

Redbud looks down for a moment, as they walk on toward the house, perusing the pebbles. Then she raises her head and says—

"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."

Redbud shook her head with a sorrowful expression.

"I don't think I can," she said. "I'm so sorry!"

"Don't think you can!"

"No."

"Not read the Bible to me?" Verty said, smiling.

"I'm going away."

Verty started.

"Going away!—you going away? Oh no! Redbud, you mus'nt; for you know
I can't possibly get along without you, because I like you so much."

"Hum!" said Miss Lavinia, who seemed to be growing more and more dissatisfied with the interview.

"I must go, though," Redbud said, sorrowfully, "I can't stay."

"Go where?" asked the boy. "I'll follow you. Where are you going?"

"Stop, Verty!" here interposed Miss Lavinia, with dignity. "It is not a matter of importance where Redbud is going—and you must not follow her, as you promise. You must not ask her where she is going."

Verty gazed at Miss Lavinia with profound astonishment, and was about to reply, when a voice was heard at the door, and all turned round.