"Hildegarde shall be the fairy queen," said Gertrude "and we her attendant fays. Hail, Queen!"
"Oh yes, that is all very well for you!" said Bell; "you don't weigh one hundred and thirty pounds. A fine sylph I should make! Hilda is perfect for the queen, however."
Certainly Hilda did look very lovely, with the green chaplet crowning her fair locks, and the afternoon sunlight sifting through the leaves, checkering her white dress with light and shade. Roger Merryweather, coming through the wood in his quiet way, with his tin plant-box slung over his shoulder, thought he had never seen a fairer sight, and paused to enjoy it before announcing his presence to the girls. As he stood there, motionless, and screened by the broad leaves of a great chestnut-tree, a frightful scream was heard, a ferocious yell, which made the whole wood vibrate with horrid sound. The girls sprang to their feet in terror; little Kitty ran to Bell and hid in her gown, while the older girls with one accord turned at bay, ready to face they knew not what peril. Even Roger was startled for the moment, and was about to step hastily forward, when a second shriek rang out. He recognized the voice, and stood still, unwilling to spoil sport. And now from the thicket burst two wild forms, blanketed and feathered, uttering hideous yells, and brandishing glittering weapons over their heads. Kitty shrieked, but after one moment Bell burst into laughter.
"You imps!" she cried. "You wicked, wicked little wretches, to frighten us so! Kitty darling, it is the boys. Look up, darling! Don't you see? It is our naughty, naughty boys, playing Indian. After them, Toots! after them, Hilda! We'll give them a lesson they shall not forget."
"Huh! huh!" shouted the Indians. "Big Chief Hop-toad! big Medicine-man Put-Squills-In-His-Tea! gobble up the white squaws for supper! Huh! huh!"
And now the quiet spectator saw a merry sight. The girls flew in pursuit, the boys fled before them. In and out of the trees, laughing, shrieking, they doubled and twisted. Hildegarde ran well, and Bell had not had two years of basket-ball for nothing. As for Gertrude, she was lithe and long-limbed as a young greyhound; but even so, they could not catch their tormentors.
The long gray legs twinkled like lightning over the ground. Phil paused from time to time to shout his warhoop, and Gerald, when he could find breath, chanted wild scraps of song, accompanied by frantic gestures:
"My tom, my tom, my tommy-hawk,
With thee I'll make the pale-face squawk:
With thee I'll make them cry 'Oh, lawk!'
My tom, my tom, my tommy-hawk."
Circling round a great tree, he came full upon Hilda, flying in the other direction, and made a snatch at her green wreath.
"Pale-face squaw shall lose her hat,
Medicine-man will see to that,"