“Oh, father! I am glad you have come back so soon, but dinner isn’t ready. Did you think it was? I was just telling mother——”
She paused suddenly, as she caught sight of a stranger, and with her hand on her mouth, stood, fearing to approach, and afraid to yield to the impulse of turning, and running into the house again.
“No, I didn’t think dinner-time had come, but as I had a friend to visit me, I thought I could entertain him at home better than in the woods. But where is your kiss, dear?”
The father stooped, and touched his lips to the ruby ones of his blooming child, and taking her hand, moved forward toward the cabin.
“Whew! if that ain’t a purty flower, then kick me!” exclaimed Seth Jones, in admiration. “Was she originated in these parts? Darter, I s’pose? Perhaps not, though?”
“Yes, she is my daughter, although she was not born in these parts.”
“Dew tell. Darned if she ain’t a beauty, and that makes what I said——”
The father motioned to him that the theme was forbidden, and they walked silently toward the house.
It was no wonder that Ina Haverland drew forth such encomiums from Seth Jones. She was, indeed, a beautiful creature. She had seen some fifteen or sixteen summers, several of which had been spent in the wilderness, which was now her home. She was rather small in stature, but graceful as a gazelle, free from the restraints which the conventionalities of life impose upon those of her age. She had dark hair, gathered in a roll behind, fine expressive blue eyes, a perfect Grecian nose, thin lips, and full chin, rendering the profile perfectly straight from the forehead downward. Her face was oval, and her complexion almost too light for a full enjoyment of health. Her dress was a semi-civilized one, consisting of a short skirt, with leggins beautifully wrought, and a loose sack, similar to the ones worn at the present day. Her small feet were encased in tiny mocassins, elaborately wrought with beads and Indian ornaments, and a string of wampum hung around the neck.