"That's very unfortunate!" I said. 

 "Yes, isn't it; but nobody can be an Indian chief without any war-paint, can they?" 

 "Certainly not," I answered.  "You seem to know a great deal about it." 

 "Oh, yes," nodded Dorothy.  "Reginald has a book all about Indians and full of pictures—and here's the letter," she ended, and slipped it into my hand. 

 Smoothing out its many folds and creases, I read as follows: 

 To my pail-face brother: 

 Ere another moon, Spotted Snaik will be upon the war-path, and red goar shall flo in buckkit-fulls. 

 "It sounds dreadful, doesn't it?" said Dorothy, hugging her kitten. 

 "Horrible!" I returned. 

 "He got it out of the book, you know," she went on, "but I put in the part about the buckets—a bucket holds such an awful lot, don't you think? But there's some more on the other page."  Obediently I turned, and read: 

 'ere another moon, scalps shall dangel at belt of Spotted Snaik, for in his futsteps lurk deth, and distruksion. But fear not pail-face, thou art my brother—fairwell. Sined SPOTTED SNAIK. 

 

 "There was lots more, but we couldn't get it in," said Dorothy. Squeezed up into a corner I found this postscript: 

 If you will come and be an Indian Cheef unkel dick, I will make you a spear, and you can be Blood-in-the-Eye. He was a fine chap and nobody could beat him except Spotted Snaik, will you Unkel dick? 

 "He wants you to write an answer, and I'm to take it to him," said Dorothy. 

 "Blood-in-the-Eye!" I repeated; "no, I'm afraid not. I shouldn't object so much to becoming a red-skin—for a time—but Blood-in-the-Eye! Really, Dorothy, I'm afraid I couldn't manage that." 

 "He was very brave," returned Dorothy, "and awfull' strong, and could—could 'throw his lance with such unerring aim, as to pin his foe to the nearest tree—in the twinkle of an eye.' That's in the book, you know." 

 "There certainly must be a great deal of satisfaction in pinning 

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