You two girls can be squaws,--no, you needn't either.
Mehitabel can be a Squaw, and Susannah, you are a pale-faced Maiden, and we'll capture you.

Then Hezekiah here can be a noble young Brave, who will rescue you from our clutches! His name will be Ipecacuanha." Surely Cousin Jack knew how to play Indians! These arrangements suited the young Maynards perfectly, and soon the game was in progress.

The Indian Chief and the Squaw waited in ambush for the pale-faced Maiden to come along; the Chief meanwhile muttering dire threats of terrible tortures.
Throwing herself into the game with dramatic fervor, Kitty came strolling along.

She hummed snatches of song, she paused here and there to pick a flower, and as she neared the bush behind which the two Indians were hiding, she stopped as if startled.

Shading her eyes with her hand, she peered into the bush, exclaiming, in tragic accents, "Methinks I hear somebody! It may be Indians in ambush! Yes, yes,--that _is_ an ambush, there must be Indians in it!" This speech so amused Cousin Jack that he burst into shouts of laughter.
Kitty, absorbed in her own part, did not smile.