15. CHAPTER XV.
THE PEDLAR AND THE NECKLACE.
Verty mounted Cloud again, and set forward toward Apple
Orchard. That place very soon rose upon his sight, and riding
up to the house Verty encontered the good-humored Squire, who
was just coming in from the fields.
“Good morning, Squire,” said the boy, smiling, “may I go
and see Redbud, if you please?”
The Squire laughed.
“Redbud? What, at school, yonder?”
“Yes, sir.”
The good-natured old gentleman looked at the boy's frank face,
and admired its honest, ingenuous expression.
“I don't see why you should'nt, Verty,” he replied, “if you
don't go too often, and keep my little 'But from her lessons.”
“Oh! no, sir.”
“Go, go by all means—it will be of service to her to see
home faces, and you are something like home to her. Short as
the distance is, I can't leave my farm, and we can't have 'Bud
with us every week, as I should wish.”
“Ive just come from there,” said Verty, “and Redbud is very
well, and seems to like the place. There is a man who comes
there to see Miss Sallianna, and Redbud most dies laughing at
him—I mean, I suppose she does. His name is Mr. Jinks.”
“What! the great Jinks? the soldier, the fop, the coxcomb
and swaggerer!” laughed the Squire.
Verty nodded.
“That's the very man, sir,” he said, “and I saw him to-day.
I came back, and found Mr. Rushton wanted to be quiet, and
Mr. Roundjacket said I might go and hunt some for ma mere.”
“Go, then, Verty; that is, if you won't stop to dinner.”
“I don't think I can, sir—I should like to see Miss Lavinia,
though, if—”
“Out visiting,” said the Squire.
This removed all Verty's scruples; he had virtually done
what he promised Redbud, and would now go and see her, because
the Squire had a better right to decide than even Miss
Lavinia. He, therefore, bowed, with a smiling look, to the old
gentleman, and continued his way toward the lodge of his
mother.
He had reached the foot of the hill upon which the cabin was
situated, when he saw before him, seated on a log by the side of
the bridle-path he was following, one of those pedlars of former
times, who were accustomed to make the circuit of the country-side
with their packs of wares and stuffs—peripatetic merchants,
who not unfrequently practised the trade of Autolycus.
This man seemed to be a German; and when he spoke, this
impression was at once verified. He informed Verty that
he was tired, very hungry, had travelled a long way, and
would be obliged to his honor for a little bit of something, just
to keep body and soul together till he reached “Wingester.” He
had gone toward the house, he said, but a dog there had scared
him, and nobody seemed stirring.
Verty very readily assented to this request, and first stabling
Cloud, accompanied the German pedlar to the cabin. The old
Indian woman was out in the woods gathering some herbs or
roots, in the properties of which she was deeply learned; and in
her absence, Wolf had mounted guard over the lodge and its
contents. The pedlar had approached, intent on begging, and, if
possible, larceny; but Wolf had quickly bared a double row of
long, sharp teeth, which ceremony he had accompanied with an
ominous growl, and this had completely daunted Autolycus, who
had retreated with precipitation.
Wolf now made no further objection to his entry, seeing that
Verty accompanied him; and the two persons went into the
house.
“Ma mere's away somewhere,” said Verty; “but we can broil
some venison. Wait here: I'll go and get it.”
The boy, humming one of the old border songs, opened a door
in the rear of the lodge, and passed into a sort of covered shed,
which was used as a store-room by the old woman.
The door closed behind him.
The pedlar looked around; the two hounds were lazily pawing
each other in the sun, before the door, and no sound disturbed
the silence, but their low whining, as they yawned, or the faint
cry of some distant bird.
The pedlar muttered a cautious “goot!” and looked warily
around him. Nothing worth stealing was visible, at least nothing
small enough to carry away.
His prying eye, however, detected an old chest in the corner,
half covered with deer and other skins, and the key of this chest
was in the lock.
The pedlar rose cautiously, and listened.
The young man was evidently preparing the venison steaks
from the noise he made, an occupation which he accompanied
with the low, Indian humming.
The pedlar went on the points of his toes to the chest, carefully
turned the key, and opened it. With a quick hand he
turned over its contents, looking round cautiously.
After some search, he drew forth a silver spoon, and what
seemed to be a necklace of red beads, the two ends of which
were brought together by a circular gold plate. Just as the pedlar
thrust these objects into his capacious breast-pocket, the door
opened, and Verty entered.
But the boy did not observe him—he quickly and cautiously
closed the chest, and began examining one of the skins on the
lid.
Verty looked up from the steaks in his hand, observed the
occupation of the pedlar, and began to laugh, and talk of his
hunting.
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.
