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ed Squire. "Look, Rushton! did you ever see finer!" "Often," growled a voice in reply; and the Squire and his companion entered. Mr. Rushton was a rough-looking gentleman of fifty or fifty-five, with a grim expression about the compressed lips, and heavy grey eyebrows, from beneath which rolled two dark piercing eyes. His hair was slowly retreating, and thought or care had furrowed his broad brow from temple to temple. He was clad with the utmost rudeness, and resembled nothing so much as a half-civilized bear. He nodded curtly to Miss Lavinia, and took no notice whatever of either Redbud or Verty. "Why, thank for the antlers, Verty!" said the good-humored Squire. "I saw Cloud, and knew you were here, but I had no idea that you had brought me the horns." And the Squire extended his hand to Verty, who took it with his old dreamy smile. "I could have brought a common pair any day," he said, "but I promised the best, and there they are. Oh, Squire!" said Verty, smiling, "what a chase I had! and what a fight with him! He nearly had me under him once, and the antlers you see there came near ploughing up my breast and letting out my heart's blood! They just grazed--he tried to bite me--but I had him by the horn with my left hand, and before a swallow could flap his wings, my knife was in his throat!" As Verty spoke, his eyes became brighter, his lips more smiling, and pushing his tangled curls back from his face, he bestowed his amiable glances even upon Miss Lavinia. Mr. Rushton scowled. "What do you mean by saying this barbarous fight was pleasant?" he asked. Verty smiled again:--he seemed to know Mr. Rushton well. "It is my nature to love it," he said, "just as white people love books and papers." "What do you mean by white people?" growled Mr. Rushton, "you know very well that you are white." "I?" said Verty. "Yes, sir; no affectation: look in that mirror." Verty looked. "What do you see!" "An Indian!" said Verty, laughing, and raising his shaggy head. "You see nothing of the sort," said Mr. Rushton, with asperity; "you see simply a white boy tanned--an Anglo-Saxon turned into mahogany by wind and sun. There, sir! there," added Mr. Rushton, seeing Verty was about to reply, "don't argue the question with me. I am sick of arguing, and won't indulge you. Take this fine little lady here, and go and make love to her--the Squire and myself have business." Then Mr. Rushton scowled u
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