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 reach