a jig!
Well, I never before saw a pig dance a jig!

ANONYMOUS

[Illustration]

AN INDIAN STORY--I

believe tomahawks signs tongue

Many years ago two boys lived on a farm in New England.

It was so long ago that there were few white people in this country.

The farms were scattered, and around them were great forests.

The houses were made of logs, with strong, heavy doors.

Far away in the woods lived many Indians.

Sometimes the Indians would come down where the white people lived, and
would capture any white person whom they could find.

They even dared to attack, and often burned, the scattered log cabins.

The white prisoners would be taken to the Indian villages and would be
held there as captives.

One cold winter morning the two brothers, John and William, were going
skating on the river.

In order to reach the river, they had to pass through some woods.

John, the older brother, started first.

He threw his skates over his back and ran off whistling toward the
river.

William, the younger brother, had to stay behind to fill with wood the
huge box beside the fireplace.

Indians had not been seen near the farm for many years, so John was not
in the least afraid.

As he went through the woods toward the river two huge Indians, with
painted faces, jumped from behind the trees where they had been hiding.

Before John could run he was caught, and his hands were tied behind his
back.

Then they heard William shout as he ran down the path after his brother.

John knew that the Indians might kill him if he warned his brother.

But he was brave, and before they could stop him, he cried out,
"Indians! Indians!"

The Indians were angry and struck at John with their tomahawks.

But he was not afraid; he faced the Indians bravely.

William heard the shout of warning, and ran like a deer back to the log
cabin.

The heavy door was shut with a slam, and John's father, with his rifle,
waited for the Indian attack.

But the two Indians did not dare attack the log cabin.

Dragging John after them, they started up the river bank toward their
Indian town, many, many miles away.

All day long they traveled, and at night they built a small fire.

Over this fire they roasted a partridge which one of them had shot. John
was given his share of the bird and a handful of parched Indian corn.

The Indians looked at John's skates, which still hung over his shoulder.

They did not