Marmaduke complied, and the sheriff led him to a little distance in the bushes, and continued:
“First, ‘Duke, let me thank you for your friendly interest with the Council and the Governor, without which I am confident that the greatest merit would avail but little.
But we are sisters’ children—we are sisters’ children, and you may use me like one of your horses; ride me or drive me, ‘Duke, I am wholly yours.
But in my humble opinion, this young companion of Leather-Stocking requires looking after.
He has a very dangerous propensity for turkey.”
“Leave him to my management, Dickon,” said the Judge, “and I will cure his appetite by indulgence.
It is with him that I would speak.
Let us rejoin the sportsmen.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
“Poor wretch! the mother that him bare,
If she had been in presence there,
In his wan face, and sunburnt hair,
She had not known her child.”
—Scott.
It diminished, in no degree, the effect produced by the conversation which passed between Judge Temple and the I young hunter, that the former took the arm of his daughter and drew it through his own, when he advanced from the spot whither Richard had led him to that where the youth was standing, leaning on his rifle, and contemplating the dead bird at his feet.
The presence of Marmaduke did not interrupt the sports, which were resumed by loud and clamorous disputes concerning the conditions of a chance that involved the life of a bird of much inferior quality to the last.
Leather-Stocking and Mohegan had alone drawn aside to their youthful companion; and, although in the immediate vicinity of such a throng, the following conversation was heard only by those who were interested in it.
“I have greatly injured you, Mr. Edwards,” said the Judge; but the sudden and inexplicable start with which the person spoken to received this unexpected address, caused him to pause a moment. As no answer was given, and the strong emotion exhibited in the countenance of the youth gradually passed away, he continued:
“But fortunately it is in some measure in my power to compensate you for what I have done.
My kinsman, Richard Jones, has received an appointment that will, in future, deprive me of his assistance, and leave me, just now, destitute of one who might greatly aid me with his pen.
Your manner, notwithstanding appearances, is a sufficient proof of your education, nor will thy shoulder suffer thee to labor, for some time to come.” (Marmaduke insensibly relapsed into the language of the Friends as he grew warm.)
“My doors are open to thee, my young friend, for in this infant country we harbor no suspicions; little offering to tempt the cupidity of the evil-disposed.
Be come my assistant, for at least a season, and receive such compensation as thy services will deserve.”
There was nothing in the manner of the offer of the Judge to justify the reluctance, amounting nearly to loathing, with which the youth listened to his speech; but, after a powerful effort for self-command, he replied:
“I would serve you, sir, or any other man, for an honest support, for I do not affect to conceal that my necessities are very great, even beyond what appearances would indicate; but I am fearful that such new duties would interfere too much with more important business; so that I must decline your offer, and depend on my rifle, as before, for subsistence.”
Richard here took occasion to whisper to the young lady, who had shrunk a little from the foreground of the picture:
“This, you see, Cousin Bess, is the natural reluctance of a half-breed to leave the savage state.
Their attachment to a wandering life is, I verily believe, unconquerable.”
“It is a precarious life,” observed Marmaduke, without hearing the sheriff’s observation, “and one that brings more evils with it than present suffering.
Trust me, young friend, my experience is greater than thine, when I tell thee that the unsettled life of these hunters is of vast disadvantage for temporal purposes, and it totally removes one from the influence of more sacred things.”
“No, no, Judge,” interrupted the Leather-Stocking, who was hitherto unseen, or disregarded; “take him into your shanty in welcome, but tell him truth.
I have lived in the woods for forty long years, and have spent five at a time without seeing the light of a clearing bigger than a window in the trees; and I should like to know where you’ll find a man, in his sixty-eighth year, who can get an easier living, for all your betterments and your deer laws; and, as for honesty, or doing what’s right between man and man, I’ll not turn my back to the longest-winded deacon on your Patent.”
“Thou art an exception, Leather-Stocking,” returned the Judge, nodding good-naturedly at the hunter; “for thou hast a temperance unusual in thy class, and a hardihood exceeding thy years.
But this youth is made of I materials too precious to be wasted in the forest—I entreat thee to join my family, if it be but till thy arm is healed.
My daughter here, who is mistress of my dwelling, wilt tell thee that thou art welcome.”
“Certainly,” said Elizabeth, whose earnestness was a little checked by female reserve.
“The unfortunate would be welcome at any time, but doubly so when we feel that we have occasioned the evil ourselves,”
“Yes,” said Richard, “and if you relish turkey, young man, there are plenty in the coops, and of the best kind, I can assure you.”
Finding himself thus ably seconded, Marmaduke pushed his advantage to the utmost.
He entered into a detail of the duties that would attend the situation, and circumstantially mentioned the reward, and all those points which are deemed of importance among men of business.
The youth listened in extreme agitation.
There was an evident contest in his feelings; at times he appeared to wish eagerly for the change, and then again the incomprehensible expression of disgust would cross his features, like a dark cloud obscuring a noonday sun.
The Indian, in whose manner the depression of self-abasement was most powerfully exhibited, listened to the offers of the Judge with an interest that increased with each syllable.
Gradually he drew nigher to the group and when, with his keen glance, he detected the most marked evidence of yielding in the countenance of his young companion, he changed at once from his attitude and look of shame to the front of an Indian warrior, and moving, with great dignity, closer to the parties, he spoke.
“Listen to your father,” he said; “his words are old.
Let the Young Eagle and the Great Land Chief eat together; let them sleep, without fear, near each other.
The children of Miquon love not blood: they are just, and will do right.
The sun must rise and set often, be fore men can make one family; it is not the work of a day, but of many winters.
The Mingoes and the Delawares are born enemies; their blood can never mix in the wigwam; it never will run in the same stream in the battle.
What makes the brother of Miquon and the Young Eagle foes?