"Grey, Zane - Betty Zane" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grey Zane)

courage in a deed that had tried even his own nerve, and, withal, she was a
bright, happy girl, earnest and true, possessing all the softer graces of his
sisters, and that exquisite touch of feminine delicacy and refinement which
appeals more to men than any other virtue.

"Have you not met Mr. Miller before he came here from Fort Pitt?" asked Betty.

"Why do you ask?"

"I think he mentioned something of the kind."

"What else did he say?"

"Why--Mr. Clarke, I hardly remember."

"I see," said Alfred, his face darkening. "He has talked about me. I do not
care what he said. I knew him at Fort Pitt, and we had trouble there. I
venture to say he has told no one about it. He certainly would not shine in
the story. But I am not a tattler."

"It is not very difficult to see that you do not like him. Jonathan does not,
either. He says Mr. Miller was friendly with McKee, and the notorious Simon
Girty, the soldiers who deserted from Fort Pitt and went to the Indians. The
girls like him however."

"Usually if a man is good looking and pleasant that is enough for the girls. I
noticed that he paid you a great deal of attention at the dance. He danced
three times with you."

"Did he? How observing you are," said Betty, giving him a little sidelong
glance. "Well, he is very agreeable, and he dances better than many of the
young men."

"I wonder if Wetzel got the turkey. I have heard no more shots," said Alfred,
showing plainly that he wished to change the subject.

"Oh, look there! Quick!" exclaimed Betty, pointing toward the hillside.

He looked in the direction indicated and saw a doe and a spotted fawn wading
into the shallow water. The mother stood motionless a moment, with head erect
and long ears extended. Then she drooped her graceful head and drank thirstily
of the cool water. The fawn splashed playfully round while its mother was
drinking. It would dash a few paces into the stream and then look back to see
if its mother approved. Evidently she did not, for she would stop her drinking
and call the fawn back to her side with a soft, crooning noise. Suddenly she
raised her head, the long ears shot up, and she seemed to sniff the air. She
waded through the deeper water to get round a rocky bluff which ran out into
the creek. Then she turned and called the little one. The fawn waded until the
water reached its knees, then stopped and uttered piteous little bleats.
Encouraged by the soft crooning it plunged into the deep water and with great