FOUNDER OF HIS RACE 85 



one moment, however, did she cease her abuse, terri- 

 fied though she surely must have been. 



Jones, standing at the edge of the forest, watched — 

 fearfully at first, then with curious interest. Finally he 

 sat down on the ground and gave way to uncontrollable 

 mirth. 



The Indians had paused on the river bank in consul- 

 tation. 



Suddenly, without warning apparently, two of them 

 gathered the scold in their arms and sprang into the 

 chill water. The others stood on the bank and whooped 

 mad encouragement, fiendishly, as only Indians can. 



Mistress Jones' green homespun petticoat filled quickly 

 with air and swelled around her like an enormous squash, 

 out of which her scarlet face glowed furiously. 



The savages on the bank yelled and danced. Those 

 in the water ducked their victim up and down, howling 

 with glee, cracking her over the head as she rose. 



''And there be some who say an Indian can't see a 

 joke," spluttered Jones, under his breath, holding his 

 sides. The dog looked at his master with suspicion — 

 he thought the man was choking. 



But Jones soon saw that the savages merely meant to 

 discipline his wife and give her a bath. An interruption 

 from him might disturb these laudable intentions, so he 

 remained quietly in the background. 



When they had finished to their entire satisfaction 

 they lifted the woman out of the river and flung her, 

 gasping and shivering, among the tree-roots on the bank. 

 She looked like a huge wet log. Yelling, they swam the 

 river and disappeared in the dense woods beyond. 



Trembling, Jones drew near — his mirth- turned to 

 seemly gravity ; but he found a very subdued person. 

 Cautiously Mistress Jones opened her eyes, one at a 

 time, first peering carefully between the lids to see if 



