"Well, we ought to be all dirty, and bloody, and have feathers on us to be real Indians," said Billy.
Alice tried a handful of dirt on her sleeve and it streaked beautifully. Instantly all of them began smearing themselves.
"If we only had feathers," lamented Billy.
Terry disappeared and shortly returned from the garage with a feather duster. Billy fell on it with a shriek. Around each one's head he firmly tied a twisted handkerchief, and stuck inside it a row of stiffly upstanding feathers.
"Now, if we just only had some pokeberries to paint us red, we'd be real, for sure enough Indians, and we could go on the warpath and fight all the other tribes and burn a lot of them at the stake."
Alice sidled up to him. "Would huckleberries do?" she asked softly.
"Yes!" shouted Terry, wild with excitement. "Anything that's a colour!"
Alice made another trip to the refrigerator. Billy crushed the berries in his hands and smeared and streaked all their faces liberally.
"Now are we ready?" asked Alice.
Billy collapsed. "I forgot the ponies! You got to ride ponies to go on the warpath!"
"You ain't neither!" contradicted Terry. "It's the very latest style to go on the warpath in a motor. Everybody does! They go everywhere in them. They are much faster and better than any old ponies."
