"Ah, Julie; it is so sweet to think this. And this it is which the song tells me through the delightful quiet of my heart."
"Yes, my sweet mistress; and I had forgotten the most delicious tidings in the legend. The maiden's singing is always a guarantee that no harm can come to either of the lovers." And while Annette was feasting her spirit upon this new joy, the song of the swan, which for a minute or two had been hushed, suddenly was resumed close by; and looking, the two maidens saw a bird, beautiful, and endowed with grace of motion past description, move by, sending divers shining rings of water before it. Then a sudden darkness fell and hid the bird; but the song came at frequent intervals to the girls from the midst of the lake, and whenever a shadow passed over Annette's spirit, the singing was resumed. [Footnote: There is a legend among some of the Indian tribes of the North-West territories that the swan is a metamorphosed love-sick maiden, whose function and prerogative is to watch over all young virgins who have given away their hearts. It is a fact that the Indian hunters long refrained from killing the white swan in deference to a belief in this legend.—E.C.]
There was now a stir among the brambles near the girl's tent, and to
Annette's "Qui vive?" came the response—
"It is Little Poplar."
"Oh, I am so glad that he is come," Julie said, and the eyes of this minx grew instantly larger, and ten times more bright.
Some of my fair readers may now desire to know "exactly" what this Indian chief, who is so conspicuous in the story "looked like." Well, he was just such a man as always finds an easy access to a woman's heart. It is true that he was "a savage," but if merit there be in "blood,"—and for my own part I would not have a dog unless I was sure about his pedigree,—he was descended of a long and illustrious line of chiefs, whose ancestors, mayhap, were foremost in that splendid civilization, that has left us an art mighty and full of wonders, centuries before the destroying sails of Cortez were spread upon the deep.
He was tall, and straight, and lithe; and he had a certain indefinable grace of gesture and address which fits itself only to one who, by descent and breeding, has been "to the manner born." His hair was dark, and almost silky fine; and the poise of his head would be a theme for the pen or the pencil of Rossetti. His eye was dark as night, but it revealed an immense range of expression; a capacity for great tenderness, and passion without bound. His nose approximated the aquiline type; his firm mouth was a bow of Cupid, and his skin was a light nut-brown. His dress was like that of a cow-boy, and was devoid of barbaric gauds. I suppose that is enough to say about him. [Footnote: I may say that when afterwards, through the fortunes of war, this same chief was brought as a prisoner before a certain paunchy officer, the attempt of the latter to show his dignity was a clumsy failure. The proud and splendid chief, with arms folded across his breast, and head slightly bowed, looked singularly out of place arraigned before the stumpy judge.—E. C.]
"And now," said the chief, putting down the hamper, "We shall see what your aunt has sent." Nimble fingers soon opened it, and found, besides le cafe and le the, as they were labelled, several petits pains—"Rolls!" cried Julie, smacking her hungry lips—a bunch of saucisses; of le fromage about a pound, and of la patisserie enough for a meal for the hungry girls.
"There now, Julie, we have coffee, and tea, and rolls, and sausage; a pound of cheese, fully, and pie enough for one delicious meal." Her sweet mouth was "watering," and when she came to un gigot de mouton, she cried, "What a sweet aunt she is! But when can we eat this whole leg of mutton?"
Oh, Julie was very hungry, and so was her chief; and Annette herself was like a bear. After all, very little would be left for the prairie dog.