ent of my leisure
hours. It's not very interesting here, if your Honor would please to
remember. I have no society--none, sir. What can I do but compose?"

"You want company?"

"I want a wife, sir; I acknowledge it freely."

Mr. Rushton smiled grimly.

"Why don't you get one, then?" he said; "but this is not what I meant.
I'm going to give you a companion."

"A companion?"

"An assistant, sir."

"Very well," said Mr. Roundjacket, "I shall then have more time to
devote to my epic."

"Epic, the devil! You'll be obliged to do more than ever."

"More?"

"Yes--you will have to teach the new comer office duty."

"Who is he?"

"An Indian."

"What?"

"The Indian boy Verty--you have seen him, I know."

Mr. Roundjacket uttered a prolonged whistle.

"There!" cried Mr. Rushton--"you are incredulous, like everybody!"

"Yes, I am!"

"You doubt my ability to capture him?"

"Precisely."

"Well, sir! we'll see. I have never yet given up what I have once
undertaken. Smile as you please, you moon-struck poet; and if you
want an incident to put in your trashy law-epic, new nib your pen to
introduce a wild Indian. Stop! I'm tired talking! Don't answer me. If
any one calls, say I'm gone away, or dead, or anything. Get that old
desk ready for the Indian. He will be here on Monday."

And Mr. Rushton passed into his sanctum, and slammed the door after
him.

On the next day the lawyer set out toward the pine hills. On the
road he met Verty strolling along disconsolately. A few words passed
between them, and they continued their way in company toward the old
Indian woman's hut. Mr. Rushton returned to Winchester at twilight.

On Monday morning Verty rode into the town, and dismounted at the door
of the law office.

CHAPTER VII.

IN WHICH ROUNDJACKET READS HIS GREAT POEM.

Three days after the events which we have just related, or rather
after the introduction of the reader to the three localities with
which our brief history will concern itself, Mr. Roundjacket was
sitting on his high stool in one corner of the office, preparing the
papers in a friendly suit in Chancery.

It was about ten o'clock in the morning, and Verty, who rode home
every evening, had just come in and had taken his seat at the desk
in the corner appropriated to him, beneath the small dingy window,
looking out upon the yard. Longears was stretched at his feet.

Verty's face was more dreamy and thoughtful than ever. The dim smile