The Last of the Foresters | Page 8

John Esten Cooke
her hand in his
own, placed it upon his head; then saying something in the Delaware
tongue, he entered the hut.
Within, the mountain dwelling was as wild as without. From the brown
beams overhead were suspended strings of onions, tin vessels, bridles,
dried venison, and a thousand other things, mingled in inextricable
confusion. In the wide fire-place, which was supplied with stones for

and-irons, a portion of the lately slaughtered deer was broiling on an
impromptu and primitive species of gridiron, which would have
disgusted Soyer and astonished Vatel. This had caused the smoke; and
as Verty entered, the old woman had been turning the slices. Longears
and Wolf were already stretched before the fire, their eyes fixed upon
the venison with admiring attention and profound seriousness.
In ten minutes the venison was done, and Verty and his mother ate in
silence--Verty not forgetting his dogs, who growled and contended for
the pieces, and then slept upon the rude pine floor.
The boy then went to some shelves in the corner, just by the narrow
flight of steps which led to the old woman's room above, and taking
down a long Indian pipe, filled it with tobacco, and lit it. This having
been accomplished, he took his seat on a sort of wicker-work bench,
just outside of the door, and began to smoke with all the gravity and
seriousness of a Sachem of the Delawares.
In a moment he felt the hand of the old woman on his shoulder.
"Verty has been asleep and dreamed something," she said, calmly, in
the Delaware tongue.
"No, ma mere, Verty has been wide awake," said the boy, in the same
language.
"Then the winds have been talking to him."
"Hum," said Verty.
"Something is on my son's mind, and he has tied his heart up--mal!"
"No, no," said Verty, "I assure you, ma mere, I'm quite happy."
And having made this declaration, Verty stopped smoking and sighed.
The old woman heard this sigh, slight as it was, with the quick ear of
the Indian, and was evidently troubled by it.

"Has Verty seen the dove?" she said.
The young man nodded with a smile.
"Did they laugh?"
"They laughed."
"Did he come away singing?"
Verty hesitated, then said, with an overshadowed brow--
"No, no, _ma mere_--I really believe he did not."
The old woman pressed his hand between her own.
"Speak," she said, "the dove is not sick?"
Verty sighed.
"No; but she is going away," he said, "and Miss Lavinia would not tell
me where. What a hawk she is--oh! she shall not harm my dove!"
And Verty betook himself to gazing with shadowy eyes upon the sky.
The old Indian was silent for some time. Then she said--
"Trust in the Good Spirit, my son. We are not enough for ourselves. We
think we are strong and mighty, and can do everything; but a wind
blows us away. Listen, there is the wind in the pines, and look how it is
scattering the leaves. Men are like leaves--the breath of the Great Spirit
is the wind which scatters them."
And the old Indian woman gazed with much affection on the boy.
"What you say is worthy to be written on bark, mother," he said,
returning her affectionate glance; "the Great Spirit holds everything in
the hollow of his hand, and we are nothing. Going away!" added Verty
after a pause--"Going away!"

And he sighed.
"What did my son say?" asked the old woman.
"Nothing, _ma mere. Ah le bon temp que ce triste jour_!" he
murmured.
The old woman's head drooped.
"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
Continue reading on your phone by scaning this QR Code

 / 135
Tip: The current page has been bookmarked automatically. If you wish to continue reading later, just open the Dertz Homepage, and click on the 'continue reading' link at the bottom of the page.