"I hope that's dinner," said Marmaduke, and I agreed with him, providing we were to be guests only, and not the choicest dainties on the bill of fare.
But we were wrong. As the gong tones were dying away a curious figure entered the hut and made its way toward the dais where the chief was sitting. It was that of an old man with a scanty snow-white beard. He carried a carved rattle in his hand and shook it as he walked.
"TAKING THE SKATE VERY GINGERLY IN HIS LEFT HAND, HE SPUN THE LITTLE WHEELS WITH HIS RIGHT."
"Well, Old Rattle-box," said Marmaduke, "I hope you will help us out of this fix. Maybe he's an interpreter."
"More likely to be the head cook," was my suggestion.
The new-comer conferred for a few moments with the chief, and then bent all his energies to the mystery of the roller-skate. Need-
