The Last of the Foresters | Page 3

father, dewy like the morning, and angelic generally, behold our little heroine--Miss Redbud Summers.
Redbud--she received this pretty name when she was a baby, and as usually befalls Virginia maidens, never has been able to get rid of it. Redbud is a lovely little creature, whom it is a delight to look upon. She has a profusion of light, curling hair, a fine fresh, tender complexion, deep, mild eyes, and a mouth of that innocent and artless expression which characterizes childhood. She is about sixteen, and has just emerged from short dresses, by particular request and gracious permission from Miss Lavinia, who is major-domo and manager in general. Redbud is, therefore, clad in the morning-dress of young ladies of the period. Her sleeves are ornamented with fluttering ribbons, and her hair is brushed back in the fashion now styled Pompadour, but quite unpowdered. Her ears, for even heroines are possessed of them, are weighed down by heavy golden ear-rings, and a cloud of plain lace runs round her neck, and gently rubs her throat. Pensiveness and laughter chase each other over her fresh little face, like floating clouds;--she is a true child of the South.
The Squire sits down in the large chair, in the corner of the fire-place, and takes Miss Redbud on his knee. Then commences a prattle on the part of the young lady, interrupted by much laughter from the old gentleman; then the Squire swears profanely at indolent Caesar, his spaniel, who, lying on the rug before the fire, stretches his hind feet sleepily, and so makes an assault upon his master's stockings; then breakfast is ready, and grace being devoutly said, they all sit down, and do that justice to the meal which Virginians never omit. Redbud is the soul of the room, however, and even insists upon a romp with the old gentleman, as he goes forth to mount his horse.
The Squire thus disappears toward the barn. Miss Lavinia superintends the household operation of "washing up the tea things," and Redbud puts on her sun-bonnet, and goes to take a stroll.

CHAPTER II.
VERTY AND HIS COMPANIONS.
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