Her dress strengthens the impression that she is a _sang-mele_. The skirt is of the common homespun of the backwoods, striped with a yellowish dye; but the green bodice is of finer stuff, with more pretensions to ornament; and her neck and wrists are embraced by a variety of those glancing circlets so seductive in the eyes of an Indian belle. The buskin-mocassin is purely Indian; and its lines of bead-embroidery gracefully adapt themselves to the outlines of feet and ankles of perfect form. The absence of a head-dress is another point of Indian resemblance. The luxuriant black hair is plaited, and coiled like a coronet around the head. There are no combs or pins of gold, but in their place a scarlet plumelet of feathers--from the wings of the red cardinal. This, set coquettishly behind the plaits, shows that some little attention has been given to her toilet; and simple though it be, the peculiar _coiffure_ imparts to the countenance of the maiden that air usually styled "commanding." Although there is nothing masculine in this young girl's beauty, a single glance at her features impresses you with the idea of a character of no ordinary kind--a nature more resolute than tender--a heart endowed with courage equalling that of a man. The idea is strengthened by observing that in her hand she carries a light rifle; while a horn and bullet-pouch, suspended from her left shoulder, hang under the right arm. She is not the only backwoods' maiden who may be seen thus armed and accoutred: many are even skilled in the use of the deadly weapon! In striking contrast with all this is the appearance of her companion. The impression the eye receives in looking on the latter is that of something soft and beautiful, of a glorious golden hue. It is the reflection of bright amber-coloured hair on a blonde skin, tinted with vermilion imparting a sort of luminous radiance divinely feminine. Scrutinise this countenance more closely; and you perceive that the features are in perfect harmony with each other, and harmonise with the complexion. You behold a face, such as the Athenian fancy has elaborated into an almost living reality in the goddess Cytherea. This creature of golden roseate hue is yet very young--scarcely more than a child--but in the blue sky above her burns a fiery sun; and in twelve months she will be a woman. Her costume is still more simple than that of her companion: a sleeved dress of the same striped homespun, loosely worn, and open at the breast; her fine amber-coloured hair the only covering for her head--as it is the only shawl upon her shoulders, over which it falls in ample luxuriance. A string of pearls around her neck--false pearls, poor thing!--is the only effort that vanity seems to have made in the way of personal adornment. Even shoes and stockings are wanting; but the most costly _chaussure_ could not add to the elegance of those pretty _mignon_ feet. Who are they--these fair flowers of the forest?