oppsy, in fact, cut her finger with her pater's pocket-knife
and because of this physical disability declined to don her
bathing-suit when we made ready for the water.

The slough-water was enticingly warm, under the hot July sun, and we
ventured in at the west end where a firmer lip of sand and alkali gave
us footing. And I enjoyed the swim, although Dinky-Dunk made fun of my
improvised bathing-suit. It seemed like old times, to bask lazily in
the sun and float about on my back with my fingers linked under my
head. My lord and master even acknowledged that my figure wasn't so
bad as he had expected, in a lady of my years. I splashed him for
that, and he dove for my ankles, and nearly drowned me before I could
get away.

It was all light-hearted enough, until Dinky-Dunk happened to notice
that Dinkie wasn't enjoying the water as an able-bodied youngster
ought. The child, in fact, was afraid of it--which was only natural,
remembering what a land-bird he had been all his life. His father,
apparently, decided to carry him out and give him a swimming-lesson.

I was on shore by this time, trying to sun out my sodden mop of hair,
which I had fondly imagined I could keep dry. I heard Dinkie's cry as
his father captured him, and I called out to Dinky-Dunk, through my
combed out tresses, to have a heart.

Dinky-Dunk called back that the Indian way, after all, was the only
way to teach a youngster. I didn't give much thought to the matter
until the two of them were out in deeper water and I heard Dinkie's
scream of stark terror. It came home to me then that the Indian method
in such things was to toss the child into deep water and leave him
there to struggle for his life.

Dinky-Dunk, I suppose, hadn't intended to do quite that. But the boy
was naturally terrified at being carried out beyond his depth, and
when I looked up I could see his bony little body struggling to free
itself. That timidity, I take it, angered the boy's father. And he
intended to cure it. He was doing his best, in fact, to fling the
clutching and clawing little body away from him when I heard those
repeated short screams of horror and promptly took a hand in the
matter. Something snapped in my skull, and I saw red. I hated my
husband for what he was doing. I hated him for the mere thought that
he could do it. And I hated him for calling out that this was what
people got by mollycoddling their children.

But that didn't stop me. I made for Dinky-Dunk l