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Hilary and Cecily had been playing tennis, and, overhearing the alarming news, came up to the steps of the verandah. ‘Did you say Red Indians were coming here?’

Uncle Lambert shook his head lugubriously. ‘I always warned your father,’ he remarked; ‘but he would come to live in Berkshire.’

‘Why?’ inquired Cecily. ‘Is Berkshire a bad place for Red Indians, uncle?’

‘I should say it was one of the worst places in all Europe!’ he said solemnly.

Both Hilary and Cecily had heard and read a good deal about Red Indians lately, and had also, with their brothers, visited the American Exhibition, so that it did not strike either of them as unlikely just then that there should be a few scattered about in England, just as gipsies are.

‘But what are you going to do about it?’ they asked their brother.

‘Lick ’em, of course!’ said Guy. ‘Now you see that an army is some use, after all.’

‘Don’t be taken alive, there’s good boys,’ advised their frivolous uncle, who seemed still unable to realise the extreme gravity of the occasion. ‘Sell your lives as dearly as possible.’

‘What is the use of telling them that, uncle?’ exclaimed Cecily. ‘They wouldn’t get the money; and do you think any of us would touch it? How can you talk in that horrid way? Jack and Guy, don’t go to that camp. Let the Indians have it, if they want to; you can soon build another.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Jack, impatiently. ‘We can’t have a lot of Red Indians in our camp–it wouldn’t be safe for you.’

‘Oh, I shall go and speak to Clarence,’ she cried. ‘I’m sure he won’t want to fight them.’ And she ran down to the end of the lawn, where he could be seen returning with Hazel.

‘I want to speak to you quite alone,’ she said. ‘No, Hazel, it’s a secret,’ and she drew him aside.

‘Clarence,’ she said, and her blue eyes were dark with fear, ‘tell me–are the Indians really coming?’

‘You can judge for yourself,’ he said, and gave her the paper. ‘We’ve just had this thrown over the stockade. It seems to have been written by somebody who is in their secrets.’

‘How badly Red Indians do spell!’ said Cecily, shuddering as she read.

‘It may be a white man’s writing,’ he said; ‘perhaps a prisoner, or a confederate who repents.’

‘But, Clarence, dear,’ entreated Cecily (ten minutes ago she would not have added the epithet), ‘you won’t stay out and sit up for them, will you?’

‘Do you think we’re a set of cowards?’ he demanded grandly.

‘Not you, Clarence; but–but Jack and Guy are not very big boys, are they? I mean, they’re a little too young to fight full-sized Indians.’

‘There will be all sorts of sized Indians, I expect,’ said Clarence. ‘Of course, I don’t say they’ll come. They may think discretion’s the better part of valour when they find we’re prepared; but I must say I anticipate an attack myself.’

‘I wish you would do without Jack and Guy. Couldn’t you?’ suggested Cecily.

His eyes gleamed. ‘Cecily,’ he said, ‘tell me the worst–the army are getting in a funk?’

‘No,’ she cried; and then she resolved to sacrifice their reputation for their safety. ‘At least, they haven’t said anything; but I’m sure they’d feel more comfortable in the drawing-room. Can’t you order them to stay and guard us? You’re General.’

‘And I am to face the foe alone?’ he cried. ‘Well, I am older than them’ (I must decline to be responsible for the grammar of the characters of this story). ‘I have lived my life–I shall be the less missed…. Let it be as you say.’

All this was strictly according to the books, and he enjoyed himself immensely.

‘Thank you, dear, dear Clarence. I’d no idea you were so noble and brave. Try not to let those Indians hit you.’

‘I cannot answer for the future,’ he said; ‘but since you wish it I will do my best.’