One day, his wife’s temper and tongue being worse than usual, he found it expedient to go hunting, and stayed away over night. There are times when a silent dog is sweet company and the peaceful forest a haven of refuge. On the second afternoon, thinking it might be safe to return, Jones approached his home cautiously. Stranger sounds than usual greeted his listening ear. He paused, alert and intent, silencing his intelligent dog with a gesture. Creeping stealthily forward under the shadow of the trees, he beheld a small band of Indians in the act of breaking open his hut-door. He waited tensely, to see them drag his wife out and scalp her. Instead, from inside came her familiar voice raised in vituperation and upbraiding. Jones could scarcely believe his ears, and for the first time since his marriage he grinned. “This time those red imps have met their match,” he murmured to his dog with an audible chuckle. Hardly had he spoken when out came half a dozen Indians dragging the shrew between them. Not for one moment, however, did she cease her abuse, terrified though she surely must have been. Jones, standing at the edge of the forest, watched--fearfully at first, then with curious interest. Finally he sat down on the ground and gave way to uncontrollable mirth. The Indians had paused on the river bank in consultation. Suddenly, without warning apparently, two of them gathered the scold in their arms and sprang into the chill water. The others stood on the bank and whooped mad encouragement, fiendishly, as only Indians can. Mistress Jones’ green homespun petticoat filled quickly with air and swelled around her like an enormous squash, out of which her scarlet face glowed furiously. The savages on the bank yelled and danced. Those in the water ducked their victim up and down, howling with glee, cracking her over the head as she rose. “And there be some who say an Indian can’t see a joke,” spluttered Jones, under his breath, holding his sides. The dog looked at his master with suspicion--he thought the man was choking. But Jones soon saw that the savages merely meant to discipline his wife and give her a bath. An interruption from him might disturb these laudable intentions, so he remained quietly in the background. When they had finished to their entire satisfaction they lifted the woman out of the river and flung her, gasping and shivering, among the tree-roots on the bank. She looked like a huge wet log. Yelling, they swam the river and disappeared in the dense woods beyond. Trembling, Jones drew near--his mirth turned to seemly gravity; but he found a very subdued person. Cautiously Mistress Jones opened her eyes, one at a time, first peering carefully between the lids to see if the approaching footsteps were those of her tormenters returning. When she saw her husband she groaned feebly. “Have they gone?” she whispered. “Yes,” replied Jones, with becoming seriousness.