Then he raised his old, battered instrument, and began to play one of the wild madrigals of the border.
The music aroused Longears, who sat up, so to speak, upon his forepaws, and with his head bent upon one side, gazed with dignified and solemn interest at his master.
The young man smiled, and continued playing; and as the rude border music floated from the instrument, the Verty of old days came back, and he was once again the forest hunter.
The old woman gazed at him with thoughtful affection, and returned his smile.

He went on playing, and the long hours of the autumn night went by like birds into the cloudland of the past.
When the forest boy ceased playing, it was nearly midnight, and the brands were flickering and dying.
Waked by the silence, Longears, who had gone to sleep again, rose up, and came and licked his master's hand, and whined.

Verty caressed his head, and laying down his violin, looked at the old Indian woman with affectionate smiles, and murmured: "We are happy still, _ma mere_!".