“You are one now, sweet; your father was an English gentleman.”
Amyas looked in, and saw the two sitting together.
“You seem quite merry there,” said he.
“Come in, then, and be merry with us.”
He entered, and sat down; while Ayacanora fixed her eyes most steadfastly on her book.
“Well, how goes on the reading?” said he; and then, without waiting for an answer—“We shall be ready to clear out this day week, mother, I do believe; that is, if the hatchets are made in time to pack them.”
“I hope they will be better than the last,” said Mrs. Leigh. “It seems to me a shameful sin to palm off on poor ignorant savages goods which we should consider worthless for ourselves.”
“Well, it's not over fair: but still, they are a sight better than they ever had before. An old hoop is better than a deer's bone, as Ayacanora knows,—eh?”
“I don't know anything about it,” said she, who was always nettled at the least allusion to her past wild life. “I am an English girl now, and all that is gone—I forget it.”
“Forget it?” said he, teasing her for want of something better to do. “Should not you like to sail with us, now, and see the Indians in the forests once again?”