ped.

"My son does not speak with a straight tongue," she said; "his words
are crooked."

"_Non non_" said Verty, smiling; "but I am a little unwell, _ma mere_.
All the way coming along, I felt my breast weighed down--my heart was
oppressed. Look! even Longears knows I'm not the Verty of the old
time."

Longears, who was standing at the door in a contemplative attitude,
fancied that his master called him, and, coming up, licked Verty's
hand affectionately.

"Good Longears!" said. Verty, caressing him, "lie down at my feet."

Longears obeyed with much dignity, and was soon basking in the
sunlight before the door.

"Now, _ma mere_" Verty said, with his habitual smile, "we have been
calling for the clouds to come up, and shut out the sun; let us call
for the sunlight next. You know I am your Verty, and every day as I
grow, I get able to do more for you. I shall, some day, make a number
of pistoles--who knows?--and then think how much I could buy for you.
Good mother!--happy Verty!"

And taking the old woman's hand, Verty kissed it.

Then, leaning back, he reached through the window, and took down a
rude violin, and began to play an old air of the border, accompanying
the tune with a low chant, in the Indian fashion.

The old woman looked at him for some moments with great affection, a
sad smile lighting up her aged features; then saying in a low tone, as
if to herself, "good Verty!" went into the house.

Verty played for some time longer. Tired at last of his violin, he
laid it down, and with his eyes fixed upon the sand at his feet, began
to dream. As he mused, his large twilight eyes slowly drooped their
long lashes, which rested finally on the ruddy cheek.

For some moments, Verty amused himself tracing figures on the sand
near Longears' nose, causing that intelligent animal to growl in his
sleep, and fight imaginary foes with his paws.

From the window, the old Indian woman watched the young man with great
affection, her lips moving, and her eyes, at times, raised toward the
sky.

Verty reclined more and more in his wicker seat; the scenes and images
of the day were mingled together in his mind, and became a dim wrack
of cloud; his tangled hair shaded his face from the sun; and, overcome
by weariness, the boy sank back, smiling even in his sleep. As he did
so, the long-stemmed Indian pipe fell from his hand across Longears'
nose, half covering the letters he had traced with it on the sand.

Those let