“Well, anyway, it was a lovely shower of flowers, and we thank you lots,” said Marjorie.

“You’re a nice, polite little girl, Mehitabel, and I’m glad to see you don’t forget your manners.  Now we have a good half hour before breakfast, what shall we play?”

Kitty sidled over to Cousin Jack, and whispered, a little timidly, “You said we’d play Indians.”

“Bless my soul!  A gentle little thing like you, Susannah, wanting to play Indians!  Well, then that’s what we play.  I’ll be the Chief, and my name is Opodeldoc.  You two girls can be squaws,—­no, you needn’t either.  Mehitabel can be a Squaw, and Susannah, you are a pale-faced Maiden, and we’ll capture you.  Then Hezekiah here can be a noble young Brave, who will rescue you from our clutches!  His name will be Ipecacuanha.”

Surely Cousin Jack knew how to play Indians!  These arrangements suited the young Maynards perfectly, and soon the game was in progress.  The Indian Chief and the Squaw waited in ambush for the pale-faced Maiden to come along; the Chief meanwhile muttering dire threats of terrible tortures.

Throwing herself into the game with dramatic fervor, Kitty came strolling along.  She hummed snatches of song, she paused here and there to pick a flower, and as she neared the bush behind which the two Indians were hiding, she stopped as if startled.  Shading her eyes with her hand, she peered into the bush, exclaiming, in tragic accents, “Methinks I hear somebody!  It may be Indians in ambush!  Yes, yes,—­that is an ambush, there must be Indians in it!”

This speech so amused Cousin Jack that he burst into shouts of laughter.

Kitty, absorbed in her own part, did not smile.  “Hah!” she exclaimed, “methinks I hear the Indians warwhooping!”

Kitty’s idea of dramatic diction was limited to “Hah!” and “Methinks,” and after this speech, Cousin Jack gave way to a series of terrific warwhoops, in which Marjorie joined.  Cousin Jack was pretty good at this sort of thing, but his lungs gave out before Marjorie’s did, for, this being her specialty, her warwhoops were of a most extreme and exaggerated nature.

“Good gracious, Mehitabel, do hush up!” cried the Indian Chief, clapping his hand over his Squaw’s mouth.  “You’ll have all the neighbors over here, and the police and the fire department!  Moderate your transports!  Warwhoop a little less like a steam calliope!”

Marjorie giggled, and then gave a series of small, squeaky, lady-like warwhoops, which seemed to amuse Cousin Jack as much as the others had done.

“You are certainly great kids!” he exclaimed.  “I’d like to buy the whole bunch of you!  But come on, my Squaw, we waste time, and the pale-faced Maiden approacheth.  Hah!”

“Hah!” replied Marjorie, and from behind his own distant ambush, King muttered, “Hah!”

Kitty stood patiently waiting to be captured, and so Chief Opodeldoc hissed between his teeth, “Hah! the time is ripe!  Dash with me, oh, Squaw, and let us nab the paleface!”