The Last of the Foresters | Page 3

superintending the movements of the brisk negro
boy who attends to breakfast, when the Squire himself, a fat, rosy,
good-humored old gentleman, in short breeches and ruffles, makes his
appearance, rubbing his hands and laughing.
Then, behind him, rosier than her 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