The Last of the Foresters | Page 7

droop--a dim smile would glimmer upon his lips,
and his long, curling hair would fall in disordered masses around his
burnt face, almost hiding it from view. At such moments Verty
dreamed--the real world had disappeared--perforce of that imagination
given him by heaven, he entered calm and happy into the boundless
universe of reverie and fancy.
For a time he would go along thus, his arms hanging down, his head
bent upon his breast, his body swinging from side to side with every
movement of his shaggy little horse. Then he would rouse himself, and
perhaps fit an arrow to his bow, and aim at some bird, or some wild
turkey disappearing in the glades. Happy birds! the arrow never left the
string. Verty's hand would fall--the bow would drop at his side--he
would fix his eyes upon the autumn woods, and smile.
He went on thus through the glades of the forest, over the hills, and
along the banks of little streams towards the west. The autumn reigned
in golden splendor--and not alone in gold: in purple, and azure and
crimson, with a wealth of slowly falling leaves which soon would pass

away, the poor perished glories of the fair golden year. The wild geese
flying South sent their faint carol from the clouds--the swamp sparrow
twittered, and the still copse was stirred by the silent croak of some
wandering wild turkey, or the far forest made most musical with that
sound which the master of Wharncliffe Lodge delighted in, the "belling
of the hart."
Verty drank in these forest sounds, and the full glories of the Autumn,
rapturously--while he looked and listened, all his sadness passed away,
and his wild Indian nature made him happy there, in the heart of the
woods. Ever and anon, however, the events of the morning would occur
to him, sweeping over his upraised brow like the shadow of a cloud,
and dimming the brightness of his dreamy smiles.
"How red the maples grow!" he said, "they are burning away--and the
dogwood! Poor oaks! I'm sorry for you; you are going, and I think you
look like kings--going? That was what Redbud said! She was going
away--going away!"
And a sigh issued from Verty's lips, which betrayed the importance he
attached to Redbud's departure. Then his head drooped; and he
murmured--"going away!"
Poor Verty! It does not require any very profound acuteness to divine
your condition. You are one more added to the list which Leander
heads in the old Grecian fable. Your speech betrays you.
"Wild geese! They are early this year. Ho, there! good companions that
you are, come down and let me shoot at you. 'Crake! crake!' that is all
you say--away up there in the white clouds, laughing at me, I suppose,
and making fun of my bow. Listen! they are answering me from the
clouds! I wish I could fly up in the clouds! Travelling, as I live, away
off to the south!--leaving us to go and join their fellows. They are wild
birds; I've shot many of em'. Hark, Longears! see up there! There they
go--'crake! crake! crake!' I can see their long necks stretched out
toward the South--they are almost gone--going away from me--like
Redbud!"

And Verty sighed piteously.
"I wonder what makes my breast feel as if there was a weight upon it,"
he said, "I'll ask ma mere."
And putting spurs to Cloud, Verty scoured through the pine hills, and in
an hour drew near his home.
It was one of those mountain huts which are frequently met with to this
day in our Virginian uplands. Embowered in pines, it rather resembled,
seen from a distance, the eyrie of some huge eagle, than the abode of
human beings, though eagles' eyries are not generally roofed in, with
poles and clapboards.
The hut was very small, but not as low pitched as usual, and the place
had about it an air of wild comfort, which made it a pleasant object in
the otherwise unbroken landscape of pines, and huge rocks, and
browling streams which stretched around it. The door was approached
by a path which wound up the hill; and a small shed behind a clump of
firs was visible--apparently the residence of Cloud.
Verty carefully attended to his horse, and then ascended the hill toward
the hut, from whose chimney a delicate smoke ascended.
He was met at the door by an old Indian woman, who seemed to have
reached the age of three-score at least. She was clad in the ordinary
linsey of the period; and the long hair falling upon her shoulders was
scarcely touched with grey. She wore beads and other simple trinkets,
and the expression of her countenance was very calm and collected.
Verty approached her with a bright smile, and taking