"This," said he, "is
my wife; she is a good wife--I love her very much.--She loves the
horse--she loves him a great deal--she will cry very much at losing
him.--I do not know how I shall comfort her--and that makes my heart
very sore."
What could the worthy captain do, to console the tender-hearted old
squaw, and, peradventure, to save the venerable patriarch from a curtain
lecture? He bethought himself of a pair of ear-bobs: it was true, the
patriarch's better-half was of an age and appearance that seemed to
put personal vanity out of the question, but when is personal vanity
extinct? The moment he produced the glittering earbobs, the whimpering
and whining of the sempiternal beldame was at an end. She eagerly placed
the precious baubles in her ears, and, though as ugly as the Witch of
Endor, went off with a sideling gait and coquettish air, as though she
had been a perfect Semiramis.
The captain had now saddled his newly acquired steed, and his foot was
in the stirrup, when the affectionate patriarch again stepped forward,
and presented to him a young Pierced-nose, who had a peculiarly sulky
look. "This," said the venerable chief, "is my son: he is very good; a
great horseman--he always took care of this very fine horse--he brought
him up from a colt, and made him what he is.--He is very fond of this
fine horse--he loves him like a brother--his heart will be very heavy
when this fine horse leaves the camp.
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