"MOTHER TUCKED YOU BOTH INTO BED AND KISSED YOU"
"Why, Lizbeth," said Mother from the dark.
Quick as a flash you snuggled up to Lizbeth's side. "The Gummy-gum 'll get you if you don't stop," you whispered, warningly—but with one dismal wail Lizbeth was out of bed and in Mother's arms. Then you knew all was over. Desperately you awaited retribution, humming a little song, and so it was to the tune of "I want to be an angel" that you heard Lizbeth sob out her awful tale:
"Harry ... he ... he said the Gummy-gum 'd get me ... if I told about the p'serves."
And it was you the Gummy-gum got that time, and your blood, you thought, almost came.
But other nights when you went to bed—nights after days when you had both been good and loved each other—it was fine to lie there in the dark with Lizbeth, playing Make-Believe before you fell asleep.
"I tell you," you said, putting up your foot so that the covers rose upon it, making a little tent—"I tell you; let's be Indians."
"Let's," said Lizbeth.
"And this is our little tent, and there's bears outside what 'll eat you up if you don't look out."
Lizbeth shivered and drew her knees up to her chin, so that she was nothing but a little warm roll under the wigwam.