"Fanged Wolf!" I repeated; "no, I'm afraid not. I shouldn't object so much to becoming a red-skin--for a time--but Fanged Wolf! Really, Dorothy, I'm afraid I couldn't manage that."
"He was very brave," returned Dorothy, "and awfull' strong, and could--could 'throw his lance with such unerring aim as to pin his foe to the nearest tree--in the twinkle of an eye.' That's in the book, you know."
"There certainly must be a great deal of satisfaction in pinning one's foe to a tree," I nodded.
"Y-e-e-s, I suppose so," said Dorothy rather dubiously.
"And where is Spotted Snake--I mean, what is he doing?"
"Oh, he's down by the river, with his bow and arrow, scouting for canoes. It was great fun! He shot at a man in a boat--and nearly hit him, and the man got very angry indeed, so we had to hide among the bushes, just like real Indians. Oh, it was fine!"
"But your Auntie Lisbeth said you weren't to play near the river, you know," I said.
"That's what I told him," returned Dorothy, "but he said that Indians didn't have any aunts, and then I didn't know what to say. What do you think about it, Uncle Dick?"
"Well," I answered, "now I come to consider, I can't remember ever having heard of an Indian's aunt."
"Poor things!" said Dorothy, giving the fluffy kitten a kiss between the ears.
"Yes, it's hard on them, perhaps, and yet," I added thoughtfully, "an aunt is sometimes rather a mixed blessing. Still, whether an Indian possesses an aunt or not, the fact remains that water has an unpleasant habit of wetting one, and, on the whole, I think I'll go and see what Spotted Snake is up to."
"Then I think I'll come with you a little way," said Dorothy, as I rose. "You see, I have to get Louise her afternoon's milk."
"And how is Louise?" I inquired, pulling the fluffy kitten's nearest ear.
"Very well, thank you," answered Dorothy demurely; "but oh, dear me! kittens 'are such a constant source of worry and anxiety'! Auntie Lisbeth sometimes says that about Reginald and me. I wonder what she would say if we were kittens!"
"By the by, where is your Auntie Lisbeth?" I asked, in a strictly conversational tone.
"Yes," nodded Dorothy; "when it's nice and warm and sleepy, like to-day, she takes a book, and a pillow, and a sunshade, and she goes and lies in the old boat under the water-stairs. There, just look at this naughty Louise!" she broke off, as the kitten scrambled up to her shoulder and stood there, balancing itself very dexterously with curious angular movements of its tail; "that's because she thinks I've forgotten her milk, you know; she's dreadfully impatient, but I suppose I must humour her this once. 'Good afternoon!'" And, having given me her hand in her demure old-fashioned way, Dorothy hurried off, the kitten still perched upon her shoulder, its tail jerking spasmodically with her every step.