"If she is an Indian, they might. I've heard of such things. I—oh, John! Look!"
"Snake?" asked John callously. Nevertheless he followed Aunt Caroline's horrified gaze and saw, with a thrill of more normal interest, a pair of dainty moccasins whose beaded toes protruded from the flap of one of the tents.
"Indian!" gasped Aunt Caroline. "Oh John!"
"Not a bit of it!" Our much tried physician spoke with salutary shortness. "They may be Indian-made but that's all. I'll eat my hat if it's an Indian who has worn them. Did you ever see an Indian with a foot like that?"
Indignation enabled Aunt Caroline to disclaim acquaintance with any Indian feet whatever.
"It's a white girl's moccasin," he assured her. "Lots of girls wear them in camp. Or," hastily, "it may be a curiosity. Benis may be making a collection."
Aunt Caroline snorted. Her gaze was fixed with almost piteous intensity upon the tent.
"D'you think I might go in?" she faltered.
"You might" said John carefully.
Aunt Caroline sighed.