wonder who the French are!--used to live and fight together."

"Did they?"

Verty nods, and replies--"In the old days, a long, long time ago."

Redbud looks down for a moment, as they walk on toward the house,
perusing the pebbles. Then she raises her head and says--

"How did you ever come to be the old Indian woman's son, Verty?"

Verty's dreamy eyes fall from the sky, where a circling hawk had
attracted his attention, to Redbud's face.

"Anan?" he says.

Redbud greets this exhibition of inattention with a little pout, which
is far from unbecoming, and too frank to conceal anything, says,
smiling--

"You are not listening to me. Indeed, I think I am worth more
attention than that hawk."

"Oh yes, indeed you are!" cries Verty; "but how can you keep a poor
Indian boy from his hunting? How that fellow darts now! Look what
bright claws he has! Hey, come a little nearer, and you are mine!"

Verty laughs, and takes an arrow.

Redbud lays her hand upon his arm. Verty looks at the hand, then at