Mr. Roundjacket was busy at some more law papers, and did not observe
the object which he carried. Verty sat down at his desk; betook
himself to copying, having rejected the sketch-ornamented sheet; and
by evening had done a very fair day's work.

Then he put on his hat, placed the wounded pigeon in his bosom, and,
mounting his horse, set forward toward the hills.

"In three days," he said, "you will be cured, pretty pigeon, and then
I will let you go; and it will be hard if I don't follow your flight,
and find out where your mistress lives. Oh, me! I must see Redbud--I
can't tell why, but I know I must see her!"

And Verty smiled, and went on with a lighter heart than he had
possessed for many a day.




CHAPTER IX.

HAWKING WITHOUT A HAWK.


Verty nursed the wounded pigeon with the tenderness of a woman and the
skill of a physician; so that on the third day, as he had promised
himself, the bird was completely "restored to health." The wing had
healed, the eyes grown bright again, every movement of the graceful
head and burnished neck showed how impatient the air-sailer was to