which he would
read, slowly and carefully explaining, as he went along, any
difficulties.

Verty received this announcement with great good humor, and then began
tracing over his paper, listlessly, the word "Redbud." That word had
been the key-note of his mind throughout the morning--that was the
real secret of his abstraction.

Miss Lavinia had informed him on that morning, when she had dismissed
him from Apple Orchard, that Redbud was going away for the purpose of
being educated; and that he, Verty, would act very incorrectly if he
asked any one whither Redbud was going. Thus the boy had been rendered
gloomy and sad--he had wandered about Apple Orchard, never daring to
ask whither the young girl had gone--and so, in one of his wanderings,
had encountered Mr. Rushton, who indeed was seeking him. He had easily
yielded to the representations of that gentleman, when he assured him
that he ought to apply his mind to something in order to provide for
all the wants of his Indian mother--and this scheme was all the more
attractive, as the neighborhood of Apple Orchard, to which his steps
ever wandered, occasioned him more sadness than he had ever felt
before. Redbud was gone--why should he go near the place again? The
sunshine had left it--he had better seek new scenes, and try what
effect they would have.

Therefore was it that Verty had become a lawyer's clerk; and it was
the recollection of these causes of sadness which had made the boy so
dull and languid.

Without Redbud, everything seemed dim to him; and he could not ask
whither she had flown.

This was his sad predicament.

After receiving the assurance of Roundjacket's pardon, Verty, as we
have said, began scrawling over the copy of the deed he was making the
name of Redbud. This persevering and thoughtful occupation at last
attracted the attention of his companion.

"Redbud!" asked the poet, "who is Redbud, my young friend? I should
conjecture that she was a young lady, from the name.--Stay, is there
not a Miss Redbud Summers, daughter of the Squire of said name?"

Verty nodded.

"A friend of yours?"

"Yes," sighed Verty.

Mr. Roundjacket smiled.

"Perhaps you are making love to her?" he said.

"Making love?" asked Verty, "what is that?"

"How!" cried the poet, "you don't mean to say you are ignorant of the
nature of that divine sentiment which elevates and ennobles in so
remarkable a degree--hem!--all humanity!"

"Anan!" said Verty, with an in