The Last of the Foresters Part 65

"I know I ought, and I'm going to," said the young man; "the fact is, Redbud, we have a great deal to be thankful for."

"Oh, indeed we have!" said Redbud; earnestly--"all this beautiful world: the suns.h.i.+ne, the singing of the birds, the health of our dear friends and relatives; and everything--"

"Yes, yes," said Verty, "I ought to be thankful more than anybody else."

"Why?"

"You know I'm an Indian."

Redbud looked dubious.

"At least _ma mere_ is my mother," said Verty; "and if I am not an Indian, I don't know what I am. You know," he added, "I can't be like a deer in the woods, that n.o.body knows anything about."

Redbud smiled; then, after a moment's thought, said:

"I don't think you are an Indian, Verty."

And as she spoke, the young girl absently pa.s.sed the coral necklace, we have spoken of, backward and forward between her lips.

Verty pondered.

"I don't know," he said, at last; "but I know it was very good in G.o.d to give me such a kind mother as _ma mere_; and such friends as you all. I'm afraid I am not good myself."

Redbud pa.s.sed the necklace through her fingers thoughtfully.

"That is pretty," said Verty, looking at it. "I think I have seen it somewhere before."

Redbud replied with a smile:

"Yes, I generally wear it; but I was thinking how strange your life was, Verty."

And she looked kindly and softly with her frank eyes at the young man, who was playing with the beads of the necklace.

"Yes," he replied, "and that is just why I ought to be thankful. If I was somebody's son, you know, everybody would know me--but I aint, and yet, everybody is kind. I often try to be thankful, and I believe I am," he added; "but then I'm often sinful. The other day, I believe I would have shot Mr. Jinks--that was very wrong; yes, I know that was very wrong."

And Verty shook his head sadly.

"Then I am angry sometimes," he said, "though not often."

"Not very often, I know," said Redbud, softly; "you are very sweet tempered and amiable."

"Do you think so, Redbud?"

"Yes, indeed," smiled Redbud.

"I'm glad you think so; I thought I was not enough; but I have been talking about myself too much, which, Miss Lavinia says, is wrong.

But, indeed, Redbud, I'll try and be good in future--look! there is f.a.n.n.y quarreling with Ralph!"

They rose, and approached the parties indicated, who were, however, not more quarrelsome than usual: f.a.n.n.y was only struggling with Ralph for the string of the kite. The contention ended in mutual laughter; and as a horn at that moment sounded for the servants to stop work for dinner, the party determined to return to Apple Orchard.

The kite was tied to a root, and they returned homeward.

CHAPTER XLVII.

DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE.

"Oh!" cried f.a.n.n.y, as they were again walking upon the smooth meadow, in the afternoon, "I think we ought to go and get some apples!"

"And so do I," said Ralph.

"Of course, I expected you to agree with me, sir."

"Naturally; I always do."

This observation was remotely satirical, and Miss f.a.n.n.y resented it.

"You are the most contentious person I ever knew," she said.

"Am I?" asked Ralph.

"Yes, sir."

"That is fortunate."

"Why?"

"Because, difference of opinion is the soul of conversation, and as you never disagree with anybody, we could not converse. Observe how the syllogism comes out?"

"Fine logician!"

"Lovely damsel!"

"Mr. College-Graduate!"

"Miss School-Girl!"

"School-girl!"

"College-graduate!"

And after this exchange of compliments, the parties walked on, mutually pleased with each other.

Redbud and Verty followed them, and they soon arrived at the old orchard.

Behind the party followed Longears, whose presence, throughout the day, we have very improperly neglected to mention; but as that inquisitive animal was, during the whole morning, roaming, at his own wild will, the neighboring fields--prying into the holes of various wild animals, and exchanging silent commentaries with the Apple Orchard dogs--this omission will not appear very heinous.