VERTY'S HEART GOES AWAY IN A CHARIOT.
Verty remained hard at work all the next day; and such was the natural
quickness of the young man's mind, that he seemed to learn something
every hour, in spite of the preoccupation which, as the reader may
imagine, his affection for our little heroine occasioned.
Roundjacket openly expressed his satisfaction at the result of the
day's labor, and hazarded a sly observation that Verty would not, on
the next day, remain so long at his desk, or accomplish so much. They
could not complain, however, Mr. Roundjacket said; Verty was a scion
of the woods, a tamed Indian, and nothing was more natural than his
propensity to follow the bent of his mind, when fancy seized him. They
must make allowances--he had no doubt, in time, everything would turn
out well--yes, Verty would be an honorable member of society, and see
the graces and attraction of the noble profession which he had elected
for his support.
Verty received these friendly words--which were uttered between many
chuckles of a private and dignified character--with dreamy silence;
then bowing to Mr. Roundjacket, mounted Cloud, called Longears, and
rode home.
On the following morning events happened pretty much as Mr.
Roundjacket had predicted.
Verty wrote for some moments--then stopped; then wrote again for one
moment--then twirled, bit, and finally threw down his pen.
Roundjacket chuckled, and observed that there was much injustice done
him in not elevating him to the dignity of prophet. And then he mildly
inquired if Verty would not like to take a ride.
Yes, Verty would like very much to do so. And in five minutes the
young man was riding joyfully toward the Bower of Nature.
Sad news awaited him.
Redbud had suffered seriously from her wetting in the storm. First,
she had caught a severe cold--this had continued to increase--then
this cold had resulted in a fever, which threatened to confine her for
a long time.
Poor Verty's head drooped, and he sighed so deeply that Fanny, who
communicated this intelligence, felt an emotion of great pity.
Could'nt he see Redbud?
Fanny thought not; he might, however, greet her as she passed through
the town. Word had been sent to Apple Orchard of her sickness, and the
carriage was no doubt now upon its way to take her thither. There it
was now--coming through the willows!
The carriage rolled up to the door; Miss Lavinia descended, and
greeting Verty kindly, passed into the house.
In a quarter of an hour the severe lady came forth again, accompanied
by the simpering Miss Sallianna, and by poor Redbud, who, wrapped in a
shawl, and with red, feverish cheeks, made Verty sigh more deeply than
before.
A bright smile from the kind eyes, a gentle pressure of the white,
soft hand, now hot with fever, and the young girl was gone from him.
The noise of the carriage-wheels died in the distance.
Verty remained for some moments gazing after it; then he rose, and
shaking hands with the pitying Fanny, who had lost all her merriment,
got slowly into the saddle and returned.
He had expected a day of happiness and laughter with Redbud, basking
in the fond light of her eyes, and rambling by her side for happy
hours.
He had seen her with fevered cheek and hand, go away from him sick and
suffering.
His arms hanging down, his chin resting on his breast, Verty returned
slowly to the office, sighing piteously--even Longears seemed to know
the suffering of his master, and was still and quiet.