The Last of the Foresters | Page 5

all turned
round.

CHAPTER III.
INTRODUCES A LEGAL PORCUPINE.
This was the voice of the Squire. It came just in time to create a
diversion.
"Why, there are my antlers!" cried the good-humored 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 upon the company generally, and pushed
them out of the room, so to speak, with his eyes; even Miss Lavinia
was forced to obey, and disappeared.
Five minutes afterwards, Verty might have been seen taking his way
back sadly, on his little animal, toward the hills, while Redbud was
undergoing that most disagreeable of all ceremonies, a "lecture," which
lecture was delivered by Miss Lavinia, in her own private apartment,
with a solemnity, which caused Redbud to class herself with the
greatest criminals which the world had ever produced. Miss Lavinia
proved, conclusively, that all persons of the male sex were
uninterruptedly engaged in endeavoring to espouse all persons of the
female sex, and that the world, generally, was a vale of tears, of
scheming and deception. Having elevated and cheered Redbud's spirits,
by this profound philosophy, and further enlivened her by declaring
that she must leave Apple Orchard on the morrow, Miss Lavinia
descended.
She entered the dining-room where the Squire and Mr. Rushton were
talking, and took her seat near the window. Mr. Rushton immediately
became dumb.
Miss Lavinia said it was a fine day.

Mr. Rushton growled.
Miss Lavinia made one or two additional attempts to direct the
conversation on general topics; but the surly guest strangled her
incipient attempts with pitiless indifference. Finally, Miss Lavinia
sailed out of the room with stately dignity, and disappeared.
Mr. Rushton looked after her, smiling grimly.
"The fact is, Squire," he said, "that your cousin, Miss Lavinia, is a true
woman. Hang it, can't a man come and talk a little business with a
neighbor without being intruded upon? Outrageous!"
The Squire seemed to regard his guest's surliness with as little attention
as Verty had displayed.
"A true woman in other ways is she, Rushton," he said, smiling--"I
grant you she is a little severe and prim, and fond of taking her
dignified portion of every conversation; but she's a faithful and
high-toned woman. You have seen too much character in your Courts
to judge of the kernel from