As Peter stopped at the spring
to quench his thirst, Margery was, in truth, the first to approach
and to speak to him.
"You seem weary, Peter," said the young wife, somewhat timidly as to
voice and air, but with a decided and honest manifestation of
interest in what she was about. Nor had Margery gone empty-handed.
She took with her a savory dish, one of those that the men of the
woods love--meat cooked in its own juices, and garnished with
several little additions, that her skill in the arts of civilized
life enabled her to supply.
"You seem tired, Peter, and if I did not fear to say it, I should
tell you that you also seem sad," said Margery, as she placed her
dish on a rude table that was kept at the spot, for the convenience
of those who seldom respected hours, or regularity of any sort in
their meals. "Here is food that you like, which I have cooked with
my own hands."
The Indian looked intently at the timid and charming young creature,
who came forward thus to contribute to his comforts, and the
saddened expression of his countenance deepened. He was fatigued and
hungry, and he ate for some time without speaking, beyond uttering a
brief expression of his thanks.
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