f her
meditations. As she started up in her confusion, rolling her eyes from
one laughing maiden to another, her very trepidation imparted an interest
to her features, which were in themselves pretty enough, though not so
much as to attract observation, when in a state of rest. Then it was that
the observer might see, or fancy he saw, a world of latent expression in
her wild dark eyes, and trace the workings of a quick and sensitive
spirit, whose existence would have been otherwise unsuspected, in the
tremulous movement of her lips. And then, too, one might have been struck
with the exquisite contour of a slight figure, which even the coarse
garments, spun, and perhaps shaped, by her own hands, could not entirely
conceal. At such times of excitement, there was something in her
appearance both striking and singular--Indian-like, one might almost have
said. Such an epithet might have been borne out by the wildness of her
looks, the darkness of her eyes, the simple arrangement of her coal-black
hair--which instead of being confined by comb or fillet, was twisted
round a thorn cut from the nearest locust-tree--and by the smallness of
her stature, though the lightness and European tinge of her complexion
must have instantly disproved the idea.

Her discomposure dispelled from the bosoms of her companions all the
little resentment produced by the matron's invidious comparison; and each
now did her best to increase it by cries of "Jump, Telie, the Indians
will catch you!" "Take care, Telie, Tom Bruce will kiss you!" "Run,
Telie, the dog will bite you!" and other expressions, of a like alarming
nature, which, if they did not augment her terror, divided and distracted
her attention, till quite bewildered, she stared now on one, now on the
other, and at each mischievous assault, started, and trembled, and gasped
for breath, in inexpressible confusion. It was fortunate for her that
this species of baiting, which from the spirit and skill with which her
youthful tormentors pursued it, seemed no uncommon infliction, the
reforming mother considered to be, at least at that particular moment,
unworthy the daughters of a colonel in the militia.

"Do behave yourselves, you ungenteel critturs," said she; "Phoebe Bruce,
you're old enough to know better; don't expose yourself before
stranngers. Thar they come now; thar's Cunnel Bruce that is, talking to
Captain Forrester that is, and a right-down soldier-looking captain he
is, too. I wonde