The Deerslayer (Barnes & Noble Classics) - James Fenimore Cooper [223]
“Judith, you can’t be in ‘arnest!” exclaimed Deerslayer, taken so much by surprise as to betray more emotion than it was usual for him to manifest on ordinary occasions. “Such a gift would be fit for a ra’al king to make; yes, and for a ra’al king to receive.”
“I never was more in earnest in my life, Deerslayer, and I am as much in earnest in the wish as in the gift.”
“Well, gal, well; we’ll find time to talk of this ag’in. You mustn’t be downhearted, Hurry, for Judith is a sprightly young woman, and she has a quick reason; she knows that the credit of her father’s rifle is safer in my hands than it can possibly be in your’n; and, therefore, you mustn’t be downhearted. In other matters, more to your liking, too, you’ll find she’ll give you the preference.”
Hurry growled out his dissatisfaction; but he was too intent on quitting the lake, and in making his preparations, to waste his breath on a subject of this nature. Shortly after, the supper was ready; it was eaten in silence, as is so much the habit of those who consider the table as merely a place of animal refreshment. On this occasion, however, sadness and thought contributed their share to the general desire not to converse; for Deerslayer was so far an exception to the usages of men of his cast, as not only to wish to hold discourse on such occasions, but as often to create a similar desire in his companions.
The meal ended, and the humble preparations removed, the whole party assembled on the platform to hear the expected intelligence from Deerslayer on the subject of his visit. It had been evident he was in no haste to make his communications; but the feelings of Judith would no longer admit of delay. Stools were brought from the ark and the hut, and the whole six placed themselves in a circle near the door, watching each other’s countenances, as best they could, by the scanty means that were furnished by a lovely starlight night. Along the shore, beneath the mountains, lay the usual body of gloom; but in the broad lake no shadow was cast, and a thousand mimic stars were dancing in the limpid element, that was just stirred enough by the evening air to set them all in motion.
“Now, Deerslayer,” commenced Judith, whose impatience resisted further restraint; “now, Deerslayer, tell us all the Hurons have to say, and the reason why they have sent you on parole, to make us some offer.”
“Furlough, Judith; furlough is the word; and it carries the same meaning with a captyve at large as it does with a soldier who has leave to quit his colors. In both cases the word is passed to come back; and now I remember to have heard that’s the ra‘al signification, ‘furlough,’ meaning a ‘word’ passed for the doing of anything, or the like. Parole, I rather think, is Dutch, and has something to do with the tattoos of the garrisons. But this makes no great difference, since the vartue of a pledge lies in the idee, and not in the word. Well, then, if the message must be given, it must; and perhaps there is no use in putting it off. Hurry will soon be wanting to set out on his journey to the river, and the stars rise and set, just as if they cared for neither Injin nor message. Ah’s me! ‘tisn’t a pleasant, and I know it’s a useless arr’nd; but it must be told.”
“Harkee, Deerslayer,” put in Hurry, a little authoritatively; “you’re a sensible man in a hunt, and as good a fellow on a march as a sixty-miler-a-day could wish to meet with; but you’re oncommon slow about messages, especially them that you think won’t be likely to be well received. When a thing is to be told, why, tell it, and don’t hang back like a Yankee lawyer pretending he can’t understand a Dutchman’s English, just to get a double fee out of him.”
“I understand you, Hurry, and well are you named tonight, seeing you’ve no time to lose. But let us come at once to the p‘int, seeing that’s the object of