"Why, Lilian, if you saw even one Indian coming down the road, you'd run and hide under the bed."
"No, indeed I wouldn't. I'd make my very best courtesy and wish him a Happy New Year. I would spread the table with the rose-bud china, make coffee for him, and—"
"Y-e-s—but before you'd half done, he would whip out his tomahawk, grasp you by the hair—this way—and, w-h-o-o-p! off would come your scalp. Then he'd tuck your braids into his belt, and away he'd go to the reservation to hang them up on the ridge-pole of his wigwam!"
"All the same, I wish he'd come."
Jack laughed.
"Say, Ben," he called, "Sis wants visitors so badly, she even wishes a Comanche would call."
"I do," persisted Lilian. "I wish a whole tribe would come!"
Harry stormed into the sitting-room, in search of his heavy leather gloves.
"Where are you going, Harry?" asked Lilian, eagerly.
"Out on business," he answered. "Are you ready, Jack?"