"'That is an Indian, Rosalie. Let us run to the house, and tell father.'
"They ran to the house as fast as they could, and told their father. When their father came out he said in a stern tone. 'Where is that strange figure that you saw, Rosalie?'
"Rosalie looked all around, and then said: 'There, father; he is up in that tree. I see his red blanket.'
"'That is an Indian, Rosalie, coming here to camp. I will get rid of him. Go into the house, and do your lessons.'
"So Rosalie went into the house and did her lessons. When her father came in she asked, 'How did you get rid of him, father?'
"Then her father answered: 'I did not get rid of him, Rosalie. He was John, the coachman, coming home from the village with some red blankets. Neither was it an Indian you saw in the tree, but only a red heron, and remember, I do not want you ever again to tell me a thing until you are quite sure it is true. Now, run off and play.'—THE END."
"A very nice little story," said Miss Warren, smiling approvingly, as Winifred paused; "I shall certainly use it in my book."
"I wanted her to make it longer," observed Lulu regretfully, "but she said she couldn't possibly think of another word to say."
[Note.—The above stories were written word for word by two little girls eight and ten years of age.]