The Last of the Foresters eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 411 pages of information about The Last of the Foresters.

So when Verty rose to take his departure, he was a captive to Miss Sallianna’s bow and spear; or more accurately, to her fan and tongue:  and had promised to come on the very next day, after school hours, and commence the amusing trial of Reddy’s affections.  The lady tapped him with her fan, smiled languidly, and rolled up her eyes—­Verty bowed, and took his leave of her.

He mounted Cloud, and calling Longears, took his way sadly toward town.  Could he not look back and see those tender eyes following him from the lattice of Redbud’s room—­and blessing him?



The young man had just reached the foot of the hill, upon which the Bower of Nature stood—­have we not mentioned before the name which Miss Sallianna had bestowed upon the seminary?—­when he heard himself accosted by a laughing and careless voice, and raised his head, to see from whom it proceeded.

The voice, apparently, issued from a gentleman who had drawn rein in the middle of the road, and was gazing at him with great good humor and freedom.  Verty returned this gaze, and the result of his inspection was, that the new-comer was a total stranger to him.  He was a young man of about nineteen, with handsome features, characterized by an expression of nonchalance and careless good humor; clad in a very rich dress, somewhat foppish, but of irreproachable taste; and the horse he bestrode was an animal as elegant in figure and appointments as his master.

“Hallo, friend!” the new-comer had said, “give you good-day.”

Verty nodded.

“You don’t recognize me,” said the young man.

“I believe not,” replied Verty.

“Well, that’s all right; and it would be strange if you did,” the young man went on in his careless voice; “we have never met, I think, and, faith! all I recognize about you is my coat.”

“Your coat?”

“Coat, did I say?—­worse than that!  I recognize my knee-breeches, my stockings, my chapeau, my waistcoat!”

And the new-comer burst into a careless laugh.

Verty shook his head.

“They are mine, sir,” he said.

“You are mistaken.”

Verty returned the careless glance with one which seemed to indicate that he was not very well pleased.

“How?” he said.

“I maintain that you are wearing my clothes, by Jove!  Come, let us fight it out;—­or no!  I’ve got an engagement, my dear fellow, and we must put it off.  Fanny is waiting for me, and would be dying with disappointment if I didn’t come.”

With which the young fellow touched his horse, and commenced humming a song.

“Fanny?” said Verty, with a sad smile, “what! up at old Scowley’s?”

“The very place!  Why, you have caught the very form of words by which I am myself accustomed to speak of that respectable matron.”

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The Last of the Foresters from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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