"Did they?"
Verty nods, and replies—"In the old days, a long, long time ago."
Redbud looks down for a moment, as they walk on toward the house, perusing the pebbles. Then she raises her head and says—
"How did you ever come to be the old Indian woman's son, Verty?"
Verty's dreamy eyes fall from the sky, where a circling hawk had attracted his attention, to Redbud's face.
"Anan?" he says.
Redbud greets this exhibition of inattention with a little pout, which is far from unbecoming, and too frank to conceal anything, says, smiling—
"You are not listening to me. Indeed, I think I am worth more attention than that hawk."
"Oh yes, indeed you are!" cries Verty; "but how can you keep a poor Indian boy from his hunting? How that fellow darts now! Look what bright claws he has! Hey, come a little nearer, and you are mine!"
Verty laughs, and takes an arrow.