"Don't do it," Betty, coming in from the kitchen, advised. "Make him work a little."
"Oh, you're only jealous because I didn't ask you," Frank teased. "I always knew you thought a good deal of me, Betty."
She made a little face at him, but did not deign to reply. Indeed, why should she—the accusation was so plainly absurd?
Long before they had expected, voices were heard in the distance and the most unearthly noises broke the woodland stillness. There was a banging of wood upon tin and the clatter of utensils mingling with the outrageous uproar from three pairs of sound and healthy lungs. There were shouts and war cries and yells, combining in a weird clamor that could be heard for miles around—or so it seemed to the girls.
The girls looked at each other inquiringly—then made a concerted rush for the door.
"Oh, what a noise!" cried Betty. "It's just as well there isn't anybody else in this part of the wood."
A moment later the boys rushed upon them, vigorously pounding utensils, and shouting at the top of their voices. The girls gave way before them, and the roisterers tumbled in and took possession as though they were really the Redskins, whose cries they were successfully imitating. They raced about the house like madmen, while the girls watched their antics in a peculiar frame of mind. If the truth must be told, they were undecided whether to be displeased or amused. Amusement conquered in the end, however, for the boys were irresistibly funny, and the girls laughed till they ached and the tears rolled down their cheeks.
After considerable time they all managed to quiet down enough to talk sense.
"The girls want us to make a fire, fellows," said Frank. "The idea looks good to me."
"It is good," Allen agreed. "Give us the wood and matches, and we will have a fire going in no time."