“And whither bound? whither bound, Georgy?—that’s what they say in ships.”
“I am going to visit young Powell at his mother’s cabin. I promised him I should.”
“Ha!” exclaimed my sister, suddenly changing colour, and remaining for a moment in a reflective attitude.
The name had recalled that horrid scene. I was sorry I had mentioned it.
“Now, brother,” continued she, after a pause; “there is nothing I more desire to see than an Indian cabin—you know I have never seen one. Good Georgy! good Georgy! pray take me along with you!”
There was an earnestness in the appeal I could not resist, though I would rather have gone alone. I had a secret that I would not have trusted even to my fond sister. I had an indefinite feeling, besides, that I ought not to take her with me, so far from home, into a part of the country with which I was so little acquainted.
She appealed a second time.
“If mother will give her consent—”
“Nonsense, Georgy—mamma will not be angry. Why return to the house? You see I am prepared; I have my sun-bonnet. We can be back before we are missed—you’ve told me it was not far.”
“Step in, sis! Sit down in the stern. There—yo ho! we are off!”