“Come in, Reginald,” she said; “if I am rather late it is your fault; for your adventures of yesterday have driven sleep from my pillow; and even when I did fall asleep, I dreamt of nothing but your Indian hero.”
“Say you so, faithless one?” replied Reginald; “I shall tell that to——“
“Hush, now, Reginald,” said the blushing girl, putting her little hand upon his mouth; “did you not promise me yesterday that you would not do so again?”
“Perhaps I did,” said her brother; “and I will keep it if you will come down stairs and give me a very good cup of coffee.”
In the breakfast–room they were joined by the Colonel and Aunt Mary; and while they discuss that most comfortable of family meals, we will give the reader a slight sketch of the house in which they were assembled.
It was built of substantial brick of a dun red colour, and had originally been a regular and solid building of moderate dimensions; but the Colonel had added on one side a wing, containing a library and sitting–rooms for himself and his son, while on the opposite side he had built additional apartments for Aunt Mary, and a small conservatory for Lucy. Thus the building had gradually assumed a straggling and irregular shape, the back court being occupied by stables, barns, and extensive farm offices. The site of the house was on a gentle elevation, sloping down to a little brook, which wound its bubbling way through a deep grove of oak, maple, and sycamore, and circling round the base of the hill, fell at the distance of half a mile into the Muskingum river. The spot still retained the name of “Mooshanne” (signifying, in the Delaware language, Elk Creek), probably owing to the little streamlet above mentioned having been a favourite resort of an animal which the rifles of Reginald and Baptiste had rendered somewhat scarce in the neighbourhood.
We left the family assembled at the breakfast–table, where the conversation still turned upon the adventures of the preceding day.
“Reginald,” said Lucy, “I should like to go with you to–day, to see your Indian brother, and that heroic boy.”
“I fear,” replied her brother, “it is farther than you could easily walk; and, moreover, Wingenund will scarcely accompany his chief; he must be still too weak from his wound.”
“Nay, Reginald; if the distance is the only difficulty, I can ride Snowdrop; and if Wingenund does come, I will reward him for his brave defence of my brother, by giving him some little trinket, which he may take back to his sister. You cannot refuse me now,” added she, in a coaxing tone, the power of which over her brother was all but despotic.