“This is a thousand times better than poky old Deerfield,” asserted Ben.  “There was nothing to do there but slide down hill on a hand-sled, and here we have the ponies, and the cattle, and—­”

“But you are a boy, Ben,” interposed Mrs. Wyman, “and can do a great variety of things.  Lilian isn’t strong enough for hard riding, and, besides, she misses her friends.”

“Let her make new ones,” piped up Jamie.  “There’s lots of nice people all over these prairies.”

“She will find them in time,” said Mrs. Wyman.  “But you must cheer her all you can meanwhile.”

Lilian overheard herself discussed, and began to sob afresh.

Jack went into the sitting-room and playfully pulled her ears, and tried to laugh her out of her gloom.

“Come now, Lil.  What is it you want—­a gallop, a sleigh-ride?”

Lilian could confess anything to Jack.

She told him all that had been in her thoughts—­how the Deerfield girls were getting ready for callers, what pretty dresses they would have, and what gay, good times.

“Do you want callers?  Is that what you want, Lilian?”

“Oh, you stupid fellow!  I want anything except this awful experience.  I told mother I even wished the Indians would drop down on us.”

“Why, Lilian, if you saw even one Indian coming down the road, you’d run and hide under the bed.”

“No, indeed I wouldn’t.  I’d make my very best courtesy and wish him a Happy New Year.  I would spread the table with the rose-bud china, make coffee for him, and—­”

“Y-e-s—­but before you’d half done, he would whip out his tomahawk, grasp you by the hair—­this way—­and, w-h-o-o-p! off would come your scalp.  Then he’d tuck your braids into his belt, and away he’d go to the reservation to hang them up on the ridge-pole of his wigwam!”

“All the same, I wish he’d come.”

Jack laughed.

“Say, Ben,” he called, “Sis wants visitors so badly, she even wishes a Comanche would call.”

“I do,” persisted Lilian.  “I wish a whole tribe would come!”

Harry stormed into the sitting-room, in search of his heavy leather gloves.

“Where are you going, Harry?” asked Lilian, eagerly.

“Out on business,” he answered.  “Are you ready, Jack?”

“Are you all going off?” cried Lilian, in alarm, lest she should lose even the doubtful pleasure of her brothers’ company.

“We’re going on the ponies, to look up some stray cattle for Uncle Abner.”

“But mamma said you would take me for a drive?”

“Can’t this morning—­too busy!”

“We’re all to go this evening, you know,” comforted Jamie.

“This evening!  What am I to do alone all day?”

A flood of tears again threatened.

“Oh, entertain your callers!” said Harry, with scant sympathy.

Lilian watched the four boys on their ponies go down the poplar-lined lane to the highway, and then, too desperate for reading or study, or even helping her mother, she flung herself on a sofa and hid her face.