So sit in a circle on the grass, and we'll all smoke pipes of peace and swap stories for a while." The "pipes of peace" turned out to be pipes made of chocolate, so they were all willing to "smoke" them.
"Mine's a pipe of pieces!" said Midget, as she broke the stem in bits, and ate them one by one.
The others followed her example, and the pipes had disappeared before the story-telling fairly began.
But Cousin Jack told them some thrilling Indian tales, and so interested were his hearers that they gathered close about him, and listened in absorbed silence.
"Was that true, Cousin Jack ?" asked King, after an exciting yarn.
"Well, it's in a story-book written by James Fenimore Cooper.

You're old enough to read his books now, and if I were you children, I'd ask my parents to buy me some of Cooper's works." "I'm going to do that," cried Hester, her eyes dancing at the thought of reading such stories for herself.

"I never heard of them before." "Well, you're young yet to read novels, but Cooper's are all right for you.

You might read one aloud in your Sand Club." "Yes, we will!" said King.

"That'll be fine.