Overhead the shadows played upon the rafters; around him, the firelight lit up the wild and uncouth interior, with its sleeping hounds, and guns, and fishing-rods, and chests; on the opposite side of the fire-place, the old Indian woman was indulging, like Verty, in a reverie.
From time to time, Longears or Wolf would stir in their sleep, and growl, engaged in dreaming of some forest adventure which concerned itself with deer or other game; or the far cry of the whip-poor-will would echo through the forest; or the laughter of the owl suddenly come floating on, borne on the chill autumn wind.
This, with the crackle of the twigs, was all which disturbed the silence of the solitary lodge.
The silence lasted for half an hour, at the end of which time Verty changed his position, and sighed. Then looking at the old woman with great affection, the young man said:
"I was thinking who I was; and I wanted to ask you, ma mere—tell me."
The old woman looked startled at this address, but concealing her emotion with the marvellous skill of her people, replied in her guttural accent—
"My son wants to know something?"
"Yes, ma mere, that is it. I want to know if I really am your son."
The old woman turned her eyes from Verty.
"The fawn knows the deer, and the bear's cub knows his fellows," continued Verty, gazing into the fire; "but they laugh at me. I don't know my tribe."