It would have been no violent fancy to have
imagined, that the spirit fluttered about the placid lips of the old
woodsman, reluctant to depart from a shell, that had so long given it
an honest and an honourable shelter.
His body was placed so as to let the light of the setting sun fall
full upon the solemn features. His head was bare, the long, thin,
locks of grey fluttering lightly in the evening breeze. His rifle lay
upon his knee, and the other accoutrements of the chase were placed at
his side, within reach of his hand. Between his feet lay the figure of
a hound, with its head crouching to the earth as if it slumbered; and
so perfectly easy and natural was its position, that a second glance
was necessary to tell Middleton, he saw only the skin of Hector,
stuffed by Indian tenderness and ingenuity in a manner to represent
the living animal. His own dog was playing at a distance, with the
child of Tachechana and Mahtoree. The mother herself stood at hand,
holding in her arms a second offspring, that might boast of a
parentage no less honourable, than that which belonged to the son of
Hard-Heart.
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