At the far end of the meadow, near to the fort, I met young Hamor, alone, flushed, and hurrying back to the more populous part of the field.
“Not yet mated?” I asked. “Where are the maids' eyes?”
“By—!” he answered, with an angry laugh. “If they're all like the sample I've just left, I'll buy me a squaw from the Paspaheghs!”
I smiled. “So your wooing has not prospered?”
His vanity took fire. “I have not wooed in earnest,” he said carelessly, and hitched forward his cloak of sky-blue tuftaffeta with an air. “I sheered off quickly enough, I warrant you, when I found the nature of the commodity I had to deal with.”
“Ah!” I said. “When I left the crowd they were going very fast. You had best hurry, if you wish to secure a bargain.”
“I'm off,” he answered; then, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “If you keep on to the river and that clump of cedars, you will find Termagaunt in ruff and farthingale.”
When he was gone, I stood still for a while and watched the slow sweep of a buzzard high in the blue, after which I unsheathed my dagger, and with it tried to scrape the dried mud from my boots. Succeeding but indifferently, I put the blade up, stared again at the sky, drew a long breath, and marched upon the covert of cedars indicated by Hamor.
As I neared it, I heard at first only the wash of the river; but presently there came to my ears the sound of a man's voice, and then a woman's angry “Begone, sir!”
“Kiss and be friends,” said the man.