“Thank you,” said Herbert, politely, “but I don't smoke.”
“Don't smoke! How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen years old, and don't smoke! Why, where was you raised?”
“In the East,” answered Herbert, smiling.
“Why, I smoked before I was three foot high, I was goin' to say. I couldn't get along without smokin'.”
“Nor I without reading.”
“Well, folks will have their different tastes, I allow. I reckon I'll be goin' back.”
“Shan't you bury him?” asked Herbert, with a glance at the dead Indian.
“No; he wouldn't have buried me.”