“She’s my little girl. I found her.”

“I thought he’d been to the land of Nod to get him a wife,” said Uncle George, smiling.

Little Bessie, with clean apron, and flaxen hair nicely tied up with ribbons, was rather shy of the stranger.

“She’th dirty,” lisped she, pointing to her feet.

“Well, s’pose she is?” retorted William.  “I guess you’d be dirty, too, if you’d been running about in the mud, without any shoes.  But she’s pretty.  She’s like my black kitten, only she a’n’t got a white nose.”

Willie’s comparison was received with shouts of laughter; for there really was some resemblance to the black kitten in that queer little face.  But when the small mouth quivered with a grieved expression, and she clung closer to Willie, as if afraid, kind Uncle George patted her head, and tried to part the short, thick, black hair, which would not stay parted, but insisted upon hanging straight over her eyebrows.  Baby Emma had been wakened in her cradle by the noise, and began to rub her eyes out with her little fists.  Being lifted into her mother’s lap, she hid her face for a while; but finally she peeped forth timidly, and fixed a wondering gaze on the new-comer.  It seemed that she concluded to like her; for she shook her little dimpled hand to her, and began to crow.  The language of children needs no interpreter.  The demure little Indian understood the baby-salutation, and smiled.

Aunt Mary brought bread and milk, which she devoured like a hungry animal.  While she was eating, the wagon arrived with Willie’s older brother, Charley, who had been to the far-off mill with the hired man.  The sturdy boy came in, all aglow, calling out,—­“Oh, mother! the boy at the mill has caught a prairie-dog.  Such a funny-looking thing!”

He halted suddenly before the small stranger, gave a slight whistle, and exclaimed,—­

“Halloo! here’s a funny-looking prairie-puss!”

“She a’n’t a prairie-puss,” cried Willie, pushing him back with doubled fists.  “She’s a little girl; and she’s my little girl.  I found her.”

“She’s a great find,” retorted the roguish brother, as he went behind her, and pulled the long black hair that fell over her shoulders.

“Now you let her alone!” shouted Willie; and the next moment the two boys were rolling over on the piazza, pommelling each other, half in play, half in earnest.  The little savage sat coiled up on the floor, watching them without apparent emotion; but when a hard knock made Willie cry out, she sprang forward with the agility of a kitten, and, repeating some Indian word with strong emphasis, began to beat Charley with all her might.  Instinctively, he was about to give blows in return; but his father called out,—­

“Hold there, my boy!  Never strike a girl!”

“And never harm a wanderer that needs protection,” said Uncle George.  “It isn’t manly, Charley.”