"Really! And why were you to say 'Hist'?"
"Oh, because all Indians always say 'Hist!' you know."
"To be sure they do," I answered; "but am I to understand that you are an Indian?"
"Not ta-day," replied Dorothy, shaking her head. "Last time Reginald painted me Auntie was awfull' angry—it took her and nurse ages to get it all off—the war-paint, I mean—so I'm afraid I can't be an Indian again!"
"That's very unfortunate!" I said.
"Yes, isn't it; but nobody can be an Indian chief without any war-paint, can they?"
"Certainly not," I answered. "You seem to know a great deal about it."
"Oh, yes," nodded Dorothy. "Reginald has a book all about Indians and full of pictures—and here's the letter," she ended, and slipped it into my hand.
Smoothing out its many folds and creases, I read as follows:
To my pail-face brother: