Redbud sat down and watched him.
Placed thus, they presented a singular contrast, and, together, formed a picture, not wanting in a wild interest—Verty, clothed in his forest costume of fur and beads, his long, profusely-curling hair hanging upon his shoulders, and his swarthy cheeks, round, and reddened with health, presented rather the appearance of an Indian than an Anglo-Saxon—a handsome wild animal rather than a pleasant young man. Redbud's face and dress were in perfect contrast with all this—she was fair, with that delicate rose-color, which resembles the tender flush of sunset, in her cheeks; her hair was brushed back from her forehead, and secured behind with a large bow of scarlet ribbon; her dress was of rich silk, with hanging sleeves; a profusion of yellow lace, and a dozen rosettes affixed to the dress, in front, set off the costume admirably, and gave to the young girl that pretty attractive toute ensemble which corresponded with her real character.
As she followed Verty's movements, the frank little face wore a very pleasant smile, and at times she would pick up and hand to him a leaf or a bud, which attention he rewarded with a smile in return.
At last the wreath was finished, and, rising up, Verty placed it on
Redbud's forehead.
"How nicely it fits," he said; "who would have imagined that my awkward fingers could have done it?"
Redbud sat down with a slight color in her cheek.
"I am very much obliged to you, Verty," she said; "it was very good in you to make this for me—though I don't deserve it."
"Indeed you do—you are my queen: and here is the right place for me."
So saying, Verty smiled, and lay down at the feet of Redbud, leaning on the trellised bench, and looking up into that young lady's eyes.
"You look so pretty!" he said, after a silence of some moments, "so nice and pretty, Redbud!"