'You don't understand,' said Jack, impatiently. 'We can't have a lot of Red Indians in our camp—it wouldn't be safe for you.'
'Oh, I shall go and speak to Clarence,' she cried. 'I'm sure he won't want to fight them.' And she ran down to the end of the lawn, where he could be seen returning with Hazel.
'I want to speak to you quite alone,' she said. 'No, Hazel, it's a secret,' and she drew him aside.
'Clarence,' she said, and her blue eyes were dark with fear, 'tell me—are the Indians really coming?'
'You can judge for yourself,' he said, and gave her the paper. 'We've just had this thrown over the stockade. It seems to have been written by somebody who is in their secrets.'
'How badly Red Indians do spell!' said Cecily, shuddering as she read.
'It may be a white man's writing,' he said; 'perhaps a prisoner, or a confederate who repents.'
'But, Clarence, dear,' entreated Cecily (ten minutes ago she would not have added the epithet), 'you won't stay out and sit up for them, will you?'
'Do you think we're a set of cowards?' he demanded grandly.
'Not you, Clarence; but—but Jack and Guy are not very big boys, are they? I mean, they're a little too young to fight full-sized Indians.'