"Thirteen."
"Just my age," she said.
"I know who Tecumseh was," said Dallas; "he was an Indian brave who fought against us Americans and you British made him a brigadier-general."
"That's so," said the big boy, his rather small eyes flashing, "and my nickname is Big Chief."
Dallas shrugged his shoulders. He didn't like Big Chief. The younger children were howling with laughter. Here were two boys barely introduced, and one of them was glowering at the other.
"All dressed up, and no one to fight," giggled the merry-eyed younger girl.
Big Chief scuffed his way behind the circle of children and Jeanne, or Cassowary, as they called her, drew Merry-Eyes to the front.
"This is Marguerite Bourgeoys Devering, and she is eleven and a half and is named for a young French girl who came to New France, built schools, cared for the sick and was called Sister Bourgeoys."
"Now she ought to have a nice pet name," said Dallas smiling at the cheerful little girl.
"She has—she's called Dovey 'cause most people think doves are so dear, but we know they're the worst fighters in the lot, don't we, Dovey?" and Cassowary shook her sturdy young sister, who gave her a good thump on the back.