She would lovingly paint my face, hang the wampum about my waist, and lead me to her wigwam in the wilderness, where she would faithfully grind my corn and fricassee my puppy.

It was for _this_ I had escaped Sally Spitfire--for _this_ that my unhappy bashfulness had driven me far from home and friends.
She unfastened the rope from the stake, and led me proudly away.

My very soul blushed with shame.

Oh, fatal, fatal blunder!.