"To see Redbud, ma'am?"
"Yes."
"I've been once," Verty said, "and I'm going again."
Miss Lavinia's face assumed a dignified expression of reproof, and she gazed at the young man in silence. This look, however, was far from daunting him, and he returned it with the most fascinating smile.
"The fact is, Miss Lavinia," he added, "Redbud wants somebody to talk to up there. Old Scowley, you know, is'nt agreeable, at least, I should'nt think she was; and Miss Sallianna is all the time, I reckon, with Mr. Jinks. I did'nt see any scholars with Redbud; but there ARE some there, because you know Redbud's pigeon had a paper round his neck, with some words on it, all about how 'Fanny' had given him to her; and so there's a 'Fanny' somewhere—don't you think so? But I forgot, you don't know about the pigeon—do you?"
Miss Lavinia was completely astounded. "Old Scowley," "Mr. Jinks," "pigeon," "paper round his neck," and "Fanny,"—all these objects were inextricably mingled in her unfortunate brain, and she could not disentangle them from each other, or discover the least clue to the labyrinth. She, therefore, gazed at Verty with more overwhelming dignity than ever, and not deigning to make any reply to his rhapsody, sailed by with a stiff inclination of the head, toward the door. But Verty was growing gallant under Mr. Roundjacket's teaching. He rose with great good humor, and accompanied Miss Lavinia to her carriage—he upon one side, the gallant head clerk on the other—and politely assisted the lady into her chariot, all the time smiling in a manner which was pleasant to behold.
His last words, as the door closed and the chariot drove off, were—
"Recollect, Miss Lavinia, please don't forget to give my love to
Redbud!"
Having impressed this important point upon Miss Lavinia, Verty returned to the office, with the sighing Roundjacket, humming one of his old Indian airs, and caressing Longears.