ointing to Dimple's feet.

"My shoes and stockings? Well, I will give them to you," and she quickly
took them off. The Indian gravely tied them around his neck, and taking
Dimple by the hand he led her forth in triumph.

But here a disaster followed, for the captive, thinking it her duty to
struggle, knocked the hatchet out of the Indian's hand, and it fell with
its edge on Dimple's little white foot, making a bad gash.

"Oh, you've killed me, sure enough," she cried. "Oh, you wicked, wicked
thing!"

Poor Bubbles cried quite as hard as she, and begged not to be sent to
the orphan asylum.

"Oh! your mother will whip me," she cried. "I 'spect I ought to be
killed, but 'deed I didn't mean to, Miss Dimple; I wisht it had been my
old black foot."

"I wish it had," sobbed Dimple. "Oh, I am bleeding all to nothing! Take
me to mamma, Bubbles!"

Bubbles stooped down and, being a little larger and stronger, managed to
carry her to the house.

Dimple's mamma was horrified when they appeared at her door. Bubbles in
war-paint and feathers, carrying the little barefooted girl, from whose
foot blood was dropping on the floor.

"What on earth is the matter? Oh, Dimple! Oh, Bubbles! What have you
been doing?"

But Bubbles was so overcome by terror, and Dimples by the sight of the
blood, that neither could explain till the foot was washed and bandaged.

Then poor Bubbles flung herself on the floor and begged not to be sent
to the orphan asylum.

"You ridiculous child," said Dimple's mamma. "Of course you ought to be
careful, but it is not your fault any more than Dimple's. She should not
have sent you for the hatchet. I am very sorry for my little Dimple; it
is not so very serious, but she will not be able to walk for several
days. Next time you want to play Indian, do without a hatchet. Put on
your frock, Bubbles, and go into the kitchen, for I'm sure I heard Sylvy
call you."

Bubbles went meekly out and Dimple was soon asleep on the sofa.

Bubbles' real name was Barbara. She was the child of a former servant
who went away, leaving her, when she was about five years old, with Mrs.
Dallas; as the mother never came back, and no one could tell of her
whereabouts, Bubbles gradually became a fixture in Dimple's home.

Dimple, when she was just beginning to talk, tried hard to say Barbara,
but got no nearer to it than Bubbles, and Bubbles the little darkey was
always called.

Dimple herself was called so from the deep dim