Aunt Mary brought bread and milk, which she devoured like a hungry
animal. While she was eating, the wagon arrived with Willie's older
brother, Charley, who had been to the far-off mill with the hired man.
The sturdy boy came in, all aglow, calling out,--"Oh, mother! the boy at
the mill has caught a prairie-dog. Such a funny-looking thing!"
He halted suddenly before the small stranger, gave a slight whistle, and
exclaimed,--
"Halloo! here's a funny-looking prairie-puss!"
"She a'n't a prairie-puss," cried Willie, pushing him back with doubled
fists. "She's a little girl; and she's _my_ little girl. I found her."
"She's a great find," retorted the roguish brother, as he went behind
her, and pulled the long black hair that fell over her shoulders.
"Now you let her alone!" shouted Willie; and the next moment the two
boys were rolling over on the piazza, pommelling each other, half in
play, half in earnest. The little savage sat coiled up on the floor,
watching them without apparent emotion; but when a hard knock made
Willie cry out, she sprang forward with the agility of a kitten, and,
repeating some Indian word with strong emphasis, began to beat Charley
with all her might. Instinctively, he was about to give blows in return;
but his father called out,--
"Hold there, my boy! Never strike a girl!"
"And never harm a wanderer that needs protection," said Uncle George.
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