Clarence Tinling tottered on through the shrubbery, which was full of terrors. Warriors, stealthy and cruel, lurked behind every rustling laurel; far away on the lawn he saw their spears through the tall pampas grass; he heard them chirping, clucking, and grunting in every direction as they lay in wait for him, until at last he gained the broad gravel path, at the end of which--oh, how far away they seemed!--were the three lighted windows of the drawing-room. He could see the interior quite plainly, and the group round the piano where the shaded lamp made a spot of brilliant colour. What were they all doing? Were they huddled together, waiting, watching in an agony of suspense? Nothing of the kind: it will be scarcely credited, perhaps, but this heartless domestic circle were positively passing the time with music, as if nothing were happening! If only he could reach that bright drawing-room before the rush came! He felt that there were lithe forms stealing along behind the flower-beds. He dared not run, but dragged his heavy feet along the gravel; and then, all at once, from the rhododendron bushes rose a wild, unearthly yell. He could bear it no longer; he would make one last effort, even if they tomahawked him on the very verandah. Somehow--he never knew how--he found himself in the midst of that quiet musical party, wild with terror, scarcely able to speak. 'The Red Indians!' he gasped. 'Don't let them get me! Save me--hide me somewhere!' and he remembered afterwards that he made a mad endeavour to get inside the piano. He was instantly surrounded by the astonished family. 'My dear Clarence,' said Mrs. Jolliffe, 'you're perfectly safe--you've been frightening yourself with your own game. There are no Indians here.' Another howl from the shrubbery seemed to contradict her. 'There, didn't you hear that?' he cried. 'Oh, you won't believe me till it's too late! There are hundreds of them round the stockade. They may have scalped Jack and Guy by this time!' 'And why ain't you being scalped too?' inquired Uncle Lambert. 'I'm sure you needn't talk!' he retorted; 'you weren't any more anxious to fight than I am.' 'But isn't that different? I thought you had fought them before, and conquered?' 'Then you thought wrong! Those--those weren't real Indians--I made them up, then!' 'Now we've got it!' said Uncle Lambert. 'Well, Master Clarence, you've made your little confession, and now it's my turn--_I_ made Yellow Vulture up!' 'Are you sure--really sure--on your honour?' he asked eagerly. 'Honest Injun!' said Lambert. 'You see, I began to think the military business was getting rather overdone; the army, like Wordsworth's world, was "too much with us," and it occurred to me to see whether the General's courage would stand an outside test--so I composed that little challenge. Yes, you see before you the only Wah Na Sa Pash Boo--no others are genuine!'