"Oh," groaned Alan, taking off his hat as he helped himself to a macaroon; "I didn't much think I should ever breathe again, to say nothing of eating, after Pocahontas came down on me. Polly, I do wish you'd go and get weighed, in the morning." "There's one favor I'd like to ask," said Jessie. "If we ever play it over again, I wish that when you get ready to kill us, you'd put us inside the curtain. You were so eager about untying Alan that you forgot all about me, and when the curtain came down, I was half inside it and half outside, so that Mrs. Adams had to come and pull me back, before I could get up." "If we ever play it again!" echoed Jean. "But you never will, with my consent. I thought 'twas splendid, while I was writing it; when we were rehearsing it, I thought 'twas pretty good; but while we were playing it to-night before all those people, I thought it was simply dreadful, and I was ashamed of myself for ever trying to write such trash." "If you don't like it, you can write us another," said Jessie; "but, for my part, this is good enough for me." "Are you through eating, children?" asked Mrs. Adams, putting her head in at the door. "Mrs. Hapgood wants you all to sing something, just to finish up the evening." It was an unexpected request, and for a moment, the actors demurred, then held a hasty consultation. A few minutes later, they appeared in Indian file, John Smith and his sailor leading the way, and the rest following in their Indian costumes. Katharine sat down at the piano and played a few solemn, slow chords, then the others took up the chorus, the words of which they had adapted for the occasion: "John Smith had a little Injun, One little Injun girl." CHAPTER XVI. JOB GOES TO A FUNERAL. "Do you know what a first-rate substitute for roast oysters these are?" asked Alan, twirling the great metal spider with purplish back and spiral wire legs that hung from the gas fixture. "No, nor you either, Alan," said Jessie. "They do, now honestly. If you heat them up real hot, they smell just like roast oysters. I knew a family once, that always kept one on hand, and when provisions ran low, they'd set it to frying, and all sit round and smell of it. It was 'most as good as eating them," persisted the boy soberly. "Alan Hapgood," said his sister, "if you tell any more such taradiddles, I'll send you home." "But what if I don't choose to go?" returned Alan. "Mrs. Adams asked me here to spend the afternoon, and you wouldn't any of you have known what was going on, if it hadn't been for me." "You shall stay and tell all the stories you like, Alan," said Polly, coming to his defence as usual. "And if Molly doesn't like it, she shall go home, her own self." "Come, Alan," urged Florence; "tell us another story, a real long one, to help pass the time."