her bright face, laughing.

"What's the matter?" he says.

"Don't kill the poor hawk."

"Poor hawk? poor chickens!" says Verty, smiling. "Who could find fault
with me for killing him? Nothing to my deer! You ought to have seen
the chase, Redbud; how I ran him; how he doubled and turned; and when
I had him at bay, with his eyes glaring, his head drooping, how
I plunged my knife into his throat, and made the blood spout out
gurgling!"

Verty smiled cheerfully at this recollection of past enjoyment, and
added, with his dreamy look--

"But I know what I like better even than hunting. I like to come and
see you, and learn my lessons, and listen to your talking and singing,
Redbud."

By this time they had reached the house, and they saw Miss Lavinia
sitting at the window. Verty took off his white fur hat, and made the
lady a low bow, and said--

"How do you do, Miss Lavinia?"

"Thank you, Verty," said that lady, solemnly, "very well. What have
you there?"

"Some deer horns, ma'am."