The Last of the Foresters Part 18

The pedlar drew a long breath, returned to his pack, and sat down.

As he did so, the old Indian woman came in, and the boy ran to her, and kissed her hand, and placed it on his head. This was Indian fashion.

"Oh, _ma mere_!" he cried, "I've seen Redbud, and had such a fine time, and I'm so happy! I'm hungry, too; and so is this honest fellow with the pack. There go the steaks!"

And Verty threw them on the gridiron, and burst out laughing.

In a quarter of an hour they were placed on the rude table, and the three persons sat down--Verty laughing, the old woman smiling at him, the pedlar sullen and omnivorous.

After devouring everything on the table, the worthy took his departure with his pack upon his shoulders.

"I don't like that man, but let him go," said Verty. "Now, _ma mere_, I'm going out to hunt a bit for you."

The old woman gazed fondly on him, and this was all Verty needed. He rose, called the dogs, and loaded his gun.

"Good-bye, _ma mere_" he said, going out; "don't let any more of these pedlar people come here. I feel as if that one who has just gone away, had done me some harm. Come, Longears! come, Wolf!"

And Verty took his way through the forest, still humming his low, Indian song.

CHAPTER XVI.

MR. ROUNDJACKET MAKES HIMSELF AGREEABLE.

On the morning after the scenes which we have just related, Mr.

Roundjacket was seated on his tall three-legged stool, holding in his left hand the MS. of his poem, and brandishing in his right the favorite instrument of his eloquence, when, chancing to raise his eyes, he saw through the window an approaching carriage, which carriage had evidently conceived the design of drawing up at the door of Mr. Rushton's office.

A single glance showed Mr. Roundjacket that this carriage contained a lady; a second look told him that the lady was Miss Lavinia.

We might very rationally suppose that the great poet, absorbed in the delights of poesy, and thus dead to the outer world, would have continued his recitation, and permitted such real, sublunary things as visitors to pa.s.s unheeded. But such a conclusion would not indicate a very profound acquaintance with the character of Mr. Roundjacket--the most chivalric and gallant of cavaliers.

Instead of going on with his poem, he hastily rolled up the ma.n.u.script, thrust it into his desk, and hastening to a small cracked mirror, which hung over the fire-place, there commenced arranging his somewhat disordered locks and apparel, with scrupulous care.

As he finished this hasty toilette, the Apple Orchard carriage drew up and stopped at the door, and Mr. Roundjacket rushed forth.

Then any body who would have taken the trouble to look, might have seen a gentleman opening the door of a chariot with profuse bows, and smiles, and graceful contortions; and then a lady accepting the proffered hand with solemn courtesy; and then Mr. Roundjacket might have been observed leading the lady elegantly into the office.

"A delightful morning--a _very_ delightful morning, madam," said Mr.

Roundjacket.

"Yes, sir," said Miss Lavinia, solemnly.

"And you look in the best of health and spirits, madam."

"Thank you, sir; I feel very well, and I am glad to think that you are equally blest."

"Blest!" said Mr. Roundjacket; "since you came, madam, that may be very truly said."

A ghost of a smile lit, so to speak, upon Miss Lavinia's face, and then flew away. It was very plain that this inveterate man-hater had not closed her ears entirely to the voice of her enemy.

Roundjacket saw the impression he had made, and followed it up by gazing with admiring delight upon his visitor;--whose countenance, as soon as the solemnity was forgotten, did not by any means repel.

"It is a very great happiness," said the cavalier, seating himself on his stool, and, from habit, brandishing his ruler around Miss Lavinia's head,--"it is a great happiness, madam, when we poor professional slaves have the pleasure to see one of the divine s.e.x--one of the ladies of creation, if I may use the phrase. Lawbooks and papers are--ahem!--very--yes, exceedingly--"

"Dull?" suggested the lady, fanning herself with a measured movement of the hand.

"Oh! worse, worse! These objects, madam, extinguish all poetry, and gallantry, and elevated feeling in our unhappy b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, my dear madam, and after a while we become so dead to all that is beautiful and charming in existence"--that was from Mr.

Roundjacket's poem--"that we are incapable even of appreciating the delightful society of the fairest and most exquisite of the opposite s.e.x."

Miss Lavinia shook her head with a ghostly smile.

"I'm afraid you are very gallant, Mr. Roundjacket."

"I, madam? no, no; I am the coldest and most prosaic of men."

"But your poem?"

"You have heard of that?"

"Yes, indeed, sir."

"Well, madam, that is but another proof of the fact which I a.s.sert."

"How, indeed?"

"It is on the prosaic and repulsive subject of the Certiorari."

And Mr. Roundjacket smiled after such a fashion, that it was not difficult to perceive the small amount of sincerity in this declaration.

Miss Lavinia looked puzzled, and fanned herself more solemnly than ever.

"The Certiorari, did you say, sir?" she asked.

"Yes, madam--one of our legal proceedings; and if you are really curious, I will read a portion of my unworthy poem to you--ahem!--"

As Mr. Roundjacket spoke, an overturned chair in the adjoining room indicated that the occupant of the apartment had been disturbed by the noise, and was about to oppose the invasion of his rights.

Roundjacket no sooner heard this, than he restored the poem to his desk, with a sigh, and said:

"But you, no doubt, came on business, madam--I delay you--Mr.

Rushton--"