been translated thither, from the far forest wilds, by the wave of
some magician's wand, so little did he appear to be a portion of the
scene. Verty looked even wilder than ever, from the contrast, and
his long bow, and rugged dress, and drooping hat of fur, would have
induced the passers-by to take him for an Indian, but for the curling
hair and the un-Indian face.

Verty gazed up into the sky and mused--the full sunlight of the bright
October morning falling in a flood upon his wild accoutrements.

By gazing at the blue heavens, over which passed white clouds,
ever-changing and of rare loveliness, the forest boy forgot the
uncongenial scenes around him, the reality;--and passing perforce of
his imagination into the bright realm of cloud-land, was again on the
hills, breathing the pure air, and following the deer.

Verty had always loved the clouds; he had dreamed of Redbud often,
while gazing on them; and now he smiled, and felt brighter as he
looked.

His forest instincts returned, and, bending his bow, he carelessly
fitted an arrow upon the leather string. What should he shoot at?

There was a very handsome fish upon a neighboring belfry, which was
veering in the wind; and this glittering object seemed to Verty an
excellent mark. As he was about to take aim, however, his quick eye
caught sight of a far speck in the blue sky; and he lowered his bow
again.

Placing one hand above his eyes, he raised his head, and fixed his