Evans and young
George Mansion.
"Mrs. Evans," said the boy, addressing her directly for the first
time, "I hoped you were fond of game. Yesterday I hunted; it was
partridge I got, and one fine deer. Will you offer me the
compliment of having some for dinner to-night?"
His voice was low and very distinct, his accent and expressions
very marked as a foreigner to the tongue, but his English was
perfect.
"Indeed I shall, Mr. Mansion," smiled the girl-bride, "but I'm
afraid that I don't know how to cook it."
"We have an excellent cook," said Mr. Evans. "She has been with
George and me ever since I came here. George is a splendid shot,
and keeps her busy getting us game suppers."
Meanwhile Lydia had been observing the boy. She had never seen an
Indian, consequently was trying to reform her ideas regarding
them. She had not expected to see anything like this self-poised,
scrupulously-dressed, fine-featured, dark stripling. She thought
all Indians wore savage-looking clothes, had fierce eyes and stern,
set mouths. This boy's eyes were narrow and shrewd, but warm and
kindly, his lips were like Cupid's bow, his hands were narrower,
smaller, than her own, but the firmness of those slim fingers, the
power in those small palms, as he had helped her from the carriage,
remained with her through all the years to come.
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