“Well, it certainly does great credit to your skill and taste,” rejoined the other. “I should, of course, be pleased to own it, but I have little money to pay for such things. You ought to sell it for quite a sum.”
“But I do not wish to sell it,” responded the girl, looking up to Mrs. Elwood with an expostulating and wounded expression. “I do not wish to take money for it; but hoped you would like it well enough to accept it for a gift,—a small token.”
“O, I should,” said Mrs. Elwood, “if I was entitled to any such present; but what have I ever done to deserve it of you? I do not even know who you are, kind stranger.”
“They call me Fluella,” responded the other, the blood slightly suffusing her fair, rounded cheek. “You have not seen me, I know. You have not done me the great favor that brings my gratitude. It is your brave son that has done both.”
“O, I understand now,” exclaimed Mrs. Elwood. “You are the chief’s daughter, whom Claud and Mr. Phillips helped out of a difficulty and danger on the rapids, some time since. But your token should be given to Claud, should it not?”
“It would be unsuitable, too much,” quickly replied the maiden, in a low, hurried tone. “I could not do a thing like that. But if you would accept such a small thing?”
“I cannot but appreciate and honor your delicacy,” returned Mrs. Elwood, with a look of mingled admiration and respect. “I think you must be an excellent girl; and I will accept your present,—yes, thankfully,—and never forget the manner in which it was bestowed.”
“Your words are in my heart, lady. I came, feeling much doubtful; I return, much happy,” said the maiden, rising to depart.
“Do not go yet,” interposed the matron, who was beginning to feel a lively interest in the other; “do not go yet. Claud should know you are here. I will call him,” she added, starting for the door.
“O no, no,—do not, do not. He would not wish to be troubled by one like me,” hurriedly entreated the maiden, with a look of alarmed delicacy.