"Yes," says Verty, "and there are his horns. Oh, how bright you look."
"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.
"Yes, indeed. I said to Cloud--that's his name you know--I told him to _crouch_; that means, in hunter language, _keep still_."
"Is it? But I like the English better, because you don't speak Delaware, my own tongue; you speak English."
"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."
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.
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!"
Redbud lays her hand upon his arm. Verty looks at the hand, then at her bright face, laughing.
"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!"