“My!” exclaimed Midget, as she finished, “I didn’t know you knew so many big words, Ruth.”

“I didn’t, either,” said Ruth, calmly; “they sort of came to me as I went along.”

“Well, that’s just as smart as writing poetry,” declared King, and Ruth was greatly pleased at the compliments.

“Now, my dear young friends,” Cousin Jack said, by way of a speech, “the exercises will now begin.  As you know, we are celebrating the birthday of a noble Indian Princess.  Therefore, our sports or diversions will all be of an Indian character.  First, we will have an Indian Club Drill.”

He produced Indian clubs for all, the boys’ being heavier ones than the girls.

These were new to the Maynards, but Cousin Jack soon taught them how to use them, and instructed them in a simple drill.

Hester learned more quickly than Marjorie, for she was more lithe and agile, and swung her clubs around with greater ease.  Ruth seemed to know instinctively how to use them, which was partly due to her proficiency in fancy dancing.  But they all learned, and greatly enjoyed the interesting exercise.

Cousin Jack presented the children with the clubs they used, and they promised to practise with them often.

“It’ll be good for you growing young people,” said Mr. Maynard, “and you can form a sort of a Pocahontas Club.”

Then he had a gramophone brought out to the lawn, and they whisked their clubs about to inspiriting Indian music.

“Now, I dare say you’re tired,” said Cousin Jack, “for Indian club exercise is a strain on the muscles.  So sit in a circle on the grass, and we’ll all smoke pipes of peace and swap stories for a while.”

The “pipes of peace” turned out to be pipes made of chocolate, so they were all willing to “smoke” them.

“Mine’s a pipe of pieces!” said Midget, as she broke the stem in bits, and ate them one by one.

The others followed her example, and the pipes had disappeared before the story-telling fairly began.

But Cousin Jack told them some thrilling Indian tales, and so interested were his hearers that they gathered close about him, and listened in absorbed silence.

“Was that true, Cousin Jack?” asked King, after an exciting yarn.

“Well, it’s in a story-book written by James Fenimore Cooper.  You’re old enough to read his books now, and if I were you children, I’d ask my parents to buy me some of Cooper’s works.”

“I’m going to do that,” cried Hester, her eyes dancing at the thought of reading such stories for herself.  “I never heard of them before.”

“Well, you’re young yet to read novels, but Cooper’s are all right for you.  You might read one aloud in your Sand Club.”

“Yes, we will!” said King.  “That’ll be fine.  Then one book would do for us all.  Or we might each get one, and then lend them around to each other.  My, we’re getting lots of new ideas from our celebration.  Indian club exercises and Cooper’s stories are worth knowing about.”