tation.

When the train got in from New England, however, and Ruth and the Indian
girl, following a red-capped porter with their bags, walked through the
gateway of entrance to the concourse of the Grand Central Terminal,
there were both Jennie and Helen waiting to spy them.

"Mr. Hammond told me to come to the Borneaux. He has made reservations
there," Ruth said.

"That's all right for to-morrow," declared Jennie bruskly. "Hotel rooms
are all right to make up in, or anything like that. But you are both
going to my house for to-night"

"Now, Jennie--"

"No buts or ands about it!" exclaimed her friend. "If you don't come,
Ruthie Fielding, I'll never speak to you again. And if Wonota doesn't
come I declare I'll tell Dakota Joe where she is, and he'll come after
her and steal her. In fact," Jennie added, wickedly smiling, "his old
Wild West Show is playing right here in the Big Town this week."

"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Ruth, while the Indian girl shrank a
little closer to her friend.

"Sure do. In Brooklyn. A three-day stand in one of the big armories over
there, I believe. So a telephone call--"

"Shucks!" exclaimed Helen. "Don't you believe her, Wonota. Just the same
you folks had better come to the Stone house. Mr. Stone has taken a
whole box to-night for one of the very best musical shows that ever
was!"

Ruth could see that the Indian girl was eager to agree. She did show
some small emotions which paleface girls displayed. She laughed more
than at first, too. But she was often downright gloomy when thinking of
Chief Totantora.

However, seeing Wonota wished to accept the invitation, and desiring
herself to please Helen and Jennie, Ruth agreed. They telephoned a
message to the Hotel Borneaux and then went off to dinner at the Stone
house. It was a very nice party indeed, and even busy Mr. Stone did his
best to put Wonota at her ease.

"Some wigwam this, isn't it, Wonata?" said Helen, smiling, as the girls
went upstairs after dinner to prepare for the theatre.

"The Osage nation does not live in wigwams, Miss Cameron," said Wonota
quietly. "We are not blanket Indians and have not been for two
generations."

"Well, look at the clothes you wore in that show!" cried Jennie. "That
head-dress looked wild enough, I must say--and those fringed leggings
and all that."

Wonota smiled rather grimly. "The white people expect to see Indians in
their national costumes. Otherwise it would be no novelty, woul