"To be sure they do," I answered; "but am I to understand that you are an Indian?"
"Not to-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 aloud, as follows:
"To my pail-face brother:
"'Ere another moon, Spotted Snaik will be upon the war-path, and red goar shall flo in buckkit-fulls."
"It sounds dreadful, doesn't it?" said Dorothy, hugging her kitten.