Verty hesitated, then said, with an overshadowed brow—
"No, no, ma mere—I really believe he did not."
The old woman pressed his hand between her own.
"Speak," she said, "the dove is not sick?"
Verty sighed.
"No; but she is going away," he said, "and Miss Lavinia would not tell me where. What a hawk she is—oh! she shall not harm my dove!"
And Verty betook himself to gazing with shadowy eyes upon the sky. The old Indian was silent for some time. Then she said—
"Trust in the Good Spirit, my son. We are not enough for ourselves. We think we are strong and mighty, and can do everything; but a wind blows us away. Listen, there is the wind in the pines, and look how it is scattering the leaves. Men are like leaves—the breath of the Great Spirit is the wind which scatters them."
And the old Indian woman gazed with much affection on the boy.
"What you say is worthy to be written on bark, mother," he said, returning her affectionate glance; "the Great Spirit holds everything in the hollow of his hand, and we are nothing. Going away!" added Verty after a pause—"Going away!"