The chief was restless.  He kept his eyes roving over everything.  Finally he began to move about.

He went into the sitting-room.  He spied the china closet door and opened it.

“Ugh!” he said, as if in delight at the pretty dishes.  He waved his hand at Lilian and pointed to the rosebud china, making an imperative gesture, as if to say, “We want to eat off those.”

Lilian, anxious to seem to want to please these terrible visitors, nodded and smiled a ghastly smile.  The very fact that she must do something seemed to relieve the spell of cold horror that had settled on her.

She took a fresh cloth from a drawer, and spread it deftly on the table.  As she straightened the corners daintily, to see if they were quite even, the Indian grumbled his approval.

She took out the dishes and set seven places.  She recalled, with a great thump of her heart, what Jack had said about scalping, but as yet there had been no warlike demonstrations.

She began to be more at ease.  But what was that uneasy chief doing?  He was prying into everything.  Lilian distinctly saw him put her scissors into his pocket.  But she dared not protest.

While thus distracted, she heard her mother in the kitchen burst into a merry laugh.  She ran hastily out to see what had come over her.

Mrs. Wyman was in the pantry, holding a corner of her apron over her mouth, as if to smother her amusement.

There sat the six Indians on the floor, with hats drawn down surlily over their faces, and with blankets shrugged about their shoulders.  “Mother, what is it?” was Lilian’s whispered inquiry.

Mrs. Wyman pointed silently at the ludicrous row of savages, and covered her lips again with her apron.

Lilian could not help laughing, too.

“New Year’s callers, after all,” she said, to herself.

Mrs. Wyman had made the circle of waiting braves move somewhat away from the stove, so that she could cook ham and warm potatoes.  Lilian returned to her table-setting.  She placed a spoon-holder on the cloth, full of bright tea-spoons.

The inquisitive chief gave a genuine whoop of delight at sight of them. 
He sprang to her side and openly began putting them in his pocket.

This was too much.  Lilian flew at him and tried to snatch them away from him.  He scowled fiercely, and jabbered at her in excited gutturals.

At once she heard a great scuffling of feet in the kitchen.  The other
Indians, attracted by the sound, were coming to his rescue.

In they filed in formidable line.

“He shan’t have them!” cried Lilian, struggling to prevent the last instalment going into his pocket.  “He has my thimble and scissors already.  Here,” to the others, “your chief is stealing.  But he can’t have my spoons.  You—­” catching hold of the nearest one—­ “Jack!  Ben!  Harry!” (for as soon as she got one good look at the faces of her callers she knew them), “Jack—­Ben—­Harry! hold him!  He’s just a common thief!”