war-dance, when I got her to understand. This was when we'd reached our
Island. There was one across the river from us, and on a corner of it we
used to picnic and play.

Mr. Turner's children all were girls, and they went to school, or had
music-lessons, or something, so I only had them once in a while to play
with, and then they always wanted to play fairy-tales, and make me the
Prince. I hate Princes because they're always bothering about finding
some Princess. I'd rather have been an Ogre or a Dwarf or a Bad Giant.
They had some fun. But the girls always got their Indian Boy to be
those. He was a big boy from the Carlisle Indian School, who came in the
summer to help about the house and the grounds, and he was great fun. He
showed me how to make bows and arrows, and taught me how to swim and
things like that, and how to push off a canoe. But mostly Aunty May was
the one I had to play with right on the spot, and just when you'd made
up your mind that she was a grown-up and wouldn't do it, she'd begin
some funny thing, and she was almost as good as a real boy.

Well, Mr. Turner had a man visiting him, a painting-man, and he came
down to see Aunty Edith, and they put their heads on one side and
screwed up their eyes, and looked at paintings, and had tea, and talked
about art so long that Aunty May and I couldn't be quiet any longer, but
just had to go down into the garden and play Wild Men of Borneo. That
means taking a beanpole and yelling and dancing and trying to see who
can vault and jump the farthest with the pole, and when you win you
say, "Glug-Glug."

We were right in the middle of this, and Aunty May was a little
red-faced, and her hair was kind of wild, when we heard somebody laugh,
and there was the painter-man down by the river, laughing as hard as he