“My! isn’t that scrumptious!” exclaimed Hester.  “You’re a terribly smart family, Marjorie.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Midget, modestly.  “Kit’s pretty clever at writing rhymes, but King and I can’t do it much.  We make up songs sometimes, but Kitty makes the best ones.”

“I wish I could do it,” said Ruth; “but I couldn’t write a rhyming thing at all.”

“Well, that’s all there is in The Jolly Sandboy this week,” said King.  “I didn’t write any myself, and the things you others gave me, I’ve saved for next week.  Now, shall we go and celebrate Pocahontas’ birthday?”

“Is it really her birthday?” asked Ruth.

“No, we’re just pretending it is.  But you see, poor Poky never had her birthday celebrated; I mean,—­not legally, like Washington,—­so we’re going to give her a chance.”

The Sand Club trooped up to the house, and found Cousin Jack waiting for them.  He was a little surprised to see Hester, but he greeted her pleasantly, and Hester looked so meek and mild, one would hardly believe she had a high temper at all.  A wigwam had been built on the lawn, and though it was only a few poles covered with blankets, it looked very Indian and effective.

The Maynards had contrived costumes for all, and in a few moments the girls had on gay-fringed skirts and little shawls, with gaudy headdresses, and the boys had a nondescript Indian garb, and wonderful feathered headpieces, that hung grandly down their backs like Big Chiefs.

Also they had pasteboard tomahawks, and Cousin Jack taught them a war-whoop that was truly ear-splitting.

“First,” said Mr. Bryant, “we’ll all sing the Blue Juniata, as that is a pretty Indian song, and so, sort of appropriate to Pocahontas.”

So they all sang it, with a will, and the song of “The Indian Girl, Bright Alfarata,” was, in a way, a tribute to Pocahontas.

“Now,” Mr. Bryant went on, “some one must tell the story of Pocahontas.  Harry, will you do it?”

But the Sand Crab was too shy to speak in public, so Cousin Jack asked Ruth to do it.

“I don’t know it very well,” said Ruth, “but I guess it was like this:  Captain John Smith was about to be tommyhawked all to pieces by admiring Indians.  As the fell blows were about to fell, up rushes a beautiful Indian maiden, with her black hair streaming in the breeze.  ’Fear thou not!’ she said, wildly; ‘I will save thee!’ Whereupon she flang herself upon him, and hugged him till he couldn’t be reached by his tormentors.  The wild Indians were forced to desist, or else pierce to the heart their own Pocahontas, beloved daughter of their tribe.  So they released Captain John Smith, and so Pocahontas married Captain John Rolfe instead, and they lived happy ever after.  Hence is why we celebrate her birthday.”

Ruth clearly enjoyed the telling of this tale, and threw herself into it with dramatic fervor.

The others listened, enthralled by her graphic recital and thrilling diction.