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 pass 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 manuscript, 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.