Verty caught the pigeon, and drew the arrow from its wing, which was all stained with blood. "Oh, what large eyes you have!" he said, smiling; "you're a handsome pigeon. I will not kill you. I will take you home and cure your wing, and then, if ever I again see Redbud, I will give you to her, my pretty bird." Poor Verty sighed, and his eyes drooped as he thought of the girl. Suddenly, however, a small scroll of yellow paper encircling the pigeon's neck, and concealed before by the ruffled plumage, caught his eye. "Paper! and writing on it!" he said; "why, this is somebody's pet-pigeon I have shot!" And tearing off the scroll, Verty read these words, written in a delicate, running-hand: "_I am Miss Redbud's pigeon; and Fanny gave me to her_!" Verty remained for a moment motionless--his eyes expanded till they resembled two rising moons;--"I am Miss Redbud's pigeon!" Then Redbud was somewhere in the neighborhood of the town--she had not gone far out into the wide, unknown world--this pigeon might direct him;--Verty found a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind, like so many deer in a herd, jostling each other, and entangling their horns. Surely, it would not be wrong for him to embrace this chance of discovering Redbud's residence--a chance which seemed to have been afforded him by some unseen power. Why should he not keep the bird until its wing was healed, and then observe the direction of its flight? Why not thus find the abode of one in whose society so much of his happiness consisted? Was there any thing wrong in it--would any one blame him? These were the questions which Verty asked himself, standing in the October sunshine, and holding the wounded pigeon to his breast. And the conclusion was ere long reached. He decided, to his own perfect satisfaction, that he had the full right to do as he wished; and then he re-entered the office. 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.