It was the Indian woman, Malaeska, with a forced smile on her face and looking wildly strange. She seemed larger and more stately than when he had seen her last. In her hand she held a light bow tufted with yellow and crimson feathers. When she saw his eyes brighten at the sight of the bow, Malaeska took an arrow from the sheaf which she carried under her cloak, and fitted it to the string.
"See, this is what we learn in the woods."
The two birds were wheeling to and fro across the garden and out into the open space; their plumage flashed in the sunshine and gushes of musical triumph floated back as one shot ahead of the other. Malaeska lifted her bow with something of her old forest gracefulness—a faint twang of the bowstring—a sharp whiz of the arrow, and one of the birds fluttered downward, with a sad little cry, and fell upon the ground, trembling like a broken poplar flower.
The boy started up—his eye brightened and his thin nostrils dilated, the savage instincts of his nature broke out in all his features.
"And you learned to do this in the woods, Malaeska?" he said, eagerly.
"Yes; will you learn too?"
"Oh, yes—give hold here—quick—quick!"
"Not here; we learn these things in the woods; come with me, and I will show you all about it."
Malaeska grew pale as she spoke, and trembled in all her limbs. What if the boy refused to go with her?
"What! over the river to the woods that look so bright and so brown when the nuts fall? Will you take me there, Malaeska?"