The Great Spirit has put evil into his heart--it is cold." "No, no," said Verty, earnestly--"my heart is red, not white; every drop of my life-blood is yours, _ma mere_; you have loved me, cherished me: when my muscles were soft and hot with fever, you laid my head upon your bosom, and rocked me to sleep as softly as the topmost bough of the oak rocks the oriole; you loved me always.

My heart shall run out of my breast and soak the ground, before it turns white; yet, I love you, and you love me.

But, _ma mere_, I have grown well nigh to manhood; the bird's song is changed, and the dove has flown to me--the dove yonder at Apple Orchard--" "Ough!" groaned the old woman, rocking to and fro; "she is black! She has made you bad!" "No, no! she is white--she is good.

She told me about the Great Spirit, and makes me pure." "Ough! ough!" "She is as pure as the bow in the cloud," continued Verty; "and I did not mean that the dove was the bird who whispered, that I was no Delaware.

No--my own heart says, 'know--find out.'" "And why should the heart say 'know ?'" said the old woman, still rocking about, and looking at Verty with anxious affection.