“Why do you do that, Joe?”
“She likum Wirgin Mary.”
“I’m afraid your ideas of religion are rather mixed, Joe.”
“She likum Wirgin,” repeated the man.
“Do you really think so?” said Armour softly.
“Um,” and the Indian grunted half-contemptuously. “Me likum Wirgin girl when you cold like fish. Joe watch her always. She say, ‘Joe, in wigwam you freezum; you go some warm place; me pay.’ Joe say no, then Wirgin girl makeum this,” and throwing open his coat he displayed a bright vest of fine red cloth embroidered with gold, by the presentation of which Vivienne had won his heart forever, for she had gratified his savage fondness for gay colors, a fondness strictly repressed in his dependence on Colonel Armour for cast-off garments of sober, gentlemanly hues.
Armour’s face flushed in deep gratification. He was also much interested in the curious fact that the Indian should display ten times more attachment to Vivienne, whom he had only known for a few months, than he ever had to Stargarde, who had been a devoted friend to him for years. Probably Stargarde, with her leveling doctrine of the brotherhood of all men, did not appeal to his semi-civilized nature as did Vivienne, with her aristocratic habit of treating dependents kindly, and yet rather as if they belonged to a different order of beings from herself.
“You marryum soon?” said Joe, who, in spite of his press of work, was in an unusually loquacious mood.
“Not for a good while, Joe—four whole months.”
A sound of guttural disapproval issued from Joe’s throat. Then with a sardonic smile he inwardly reflected: “Cunnel wishum Miss Debbiline marry Mr. Val; Joe’s heart say, ‘No, Cunnel, Miss Debbiline likeum Mr. Stanton.’ Joe guessum Mr. Stanton know.”