“But you mutht,” she said, “if you’re going out to work an’ I’m going to cook the dinner, you mutht kith me good-bye. They do.”
“I don’t,” said Ginger.
She held up her small face.
“Pleath, Ginger.”
Blushing to his ears Ginger just brushed her cheek with his. William gave a derisive snort. His self-respect had returned. Douglas’s manly severity had been overborne. Ginger had been prevailed upon to kiss her. Well, they couldn’t laugh at him now. They jolly well couldn’t. Both were avoiding his eye.
“Well, go off to work, dear William and Douglas and Ginger,” said Violet Elizabeth happily, “an’ I’ll cook.”
Gladly the hunters set off.
******
The Red Indian game had palled. It had been a success while it lasted. Ginger had brought some matches and over her purple layer of blackberry juice the faithful squaw now wore a layer of black from the very smoky fire they had at last managed to make.
“Come on,” said William, “let’s set out looking for adventures.”