Roundjacket shook his head.
"You are a Saxon, not an Aboriginal," he said; "and to tell you the truth, your origin has been the great puzzle of my life, sir."
"Has it?"
"It has, indeed."
Verty looked thoughtful, and his dreamy gaze was fixed upon vacancy.
"It has troubled me a good deal lately," he said, "and I have been thinking about it very often—since I came to live in Winchester, you know. As long as I was in the woods, it did not come into my thoughts much; the deer, and turkeys, and bears never asked," added Verty, with a smile. "The travellers who stopped for a draught of water or a slice of venison at ma mere's, never seemed to think anything about it, or to like me the worse for not knowing where I came from. It's only since I came into society here, sir, that I am troubled. It troubles me very much," added Verty, his head drooping.
"Zounds!" cried Roundjacket, betrayed by his feelings into an oath, "don't let it, Verty! You're a fine, honest fellow, whether you're an Indian or not; and if I had a daughter—which," added Mr. Roundjacket, "I'm glad to say I have not—you should have her for the asking. Who cares! you're a gentleman, every inch of you!"
"Am I?" said Verty; "I'm glad to hear that. I thought I was'nt. And so, sir, you don't think there's any objection to my marrying?"
"Hum!—the subject of marrying again!"
"Yes, sir," Verty replied, smiling; "I thought I'd marry Redbud."