Therefore was it that Verty had become a lawyer's clerk; and it was the recollection of these causes of sadness which had made the boy so dull and languid.
Without Redbud, everything seemed dim to him; and he could not ask whither she had flown.
This was his sad predicament.
After receiving the assurance of Roundjacket's pardon, Verty, as we have said, began scrawling over the copy of the deed he was making the name of Redbud. This persevering and thoughtful occupation at last attracted the attention of his companion.
"Redbud!" asked the poet, "who is Redbud, my young friend? I should conjecture that she was a young lady, from the name.—Stay, is there not a Miss Redbud Summers, daughter of the Squire of said name?"
Verty nodded.
"A friend of yours?"
"Yes," sighed Verty.
Mr. Roundjacket smiled.
"Perhaps you are making love to her?" he said.