missing from the pegs over the fireplace, and was not Bob, the very
fastest horse in all the world, gone from the barn? He was vastly
thrilled. His father would shoot millions and millions of Injins,
and they would have a house full of scalps and tommyhawks and bows
and arrers.

But he was troubled about Minda. Uncle Fred, driven to corner by
persistent inquiry, finally confessed that Minda also had gone to
the war, and at last report had killed several extremely ferocious
redskins. Despite this very notable achievement, Kenneth was troubled.
In the first place, Minda was a baby, and always screamed when she
heard a gun go off; in the second place, she always fell down when
she tried to run and squalled like everything if he did not wait
for her; in the third place, Injins always beat little girls' heads
off against a tree if they caught 'em.

Moreover, Uncle Dan, upon being consulted, declared that a
good-sized Injin could swaller Minda in one gulp if he happened to
be 'specially hungry,--or in a hurry. Uncle Dan also appeared to
be very much surprised when he heard that she had gone off to the
war. He said that Uncle Fred ought to be ashamed of himself; and
the next time he asked Uncle Fred about Minda he was considerably
relieved to hear that his little playmate had given up fighting
altogether and was living quite peaceably in a house made of a
pumpkin over yonder where the sun went down at night.

It was not until sometime after his mother went away,--after the
long-to-be-remembered "fooneral," with its hymns, and weeping, and
praying,--that he heard the grown-ups talking about the war being
over. The redcoats were thrashed and there was much boasting and