me, you know; and you can pray
to your name saint to help you."

The little lass was delighted to have the question settled in this
manner, and from that time strove to insist upon her proper title. But
it was not easy to drop the pet name, and Tilderee she was oftenest
called, till long after the date of this story. For several days she
tried very hard to be good; she said her prayers night and morning with
special earnestness, always closing with: "Please, God, take care of
Tilderee, and keep her and Fudge out of mischief."

Joan, on her part, endeavored to be more gentle with her little sister;
for, while every day she lamented the fate of the doll, she could not
think of it without feeling a trifle uncomfortable about the way she
had spoken to Tilderee.

The two little girls were not allowed to go beyond the enclosure which
surrounded the house, unless accompanied by their father or mother.
The few Indians in the vicinity had hitherto been peaceable and
friendly; but it was considered well to be cautious, and the country
was too sparsely settled to render it safe for one to wander about
alone. When Mrs. Prentiss, mounted on the old grey horse, rode to the
Fort to sell her butter and eggs, Peter went with her on Twinkling
Hoofs; and each took the precaution to carry a pistol for self-defence
in case of attack.

This being the state of affairs, great was the alarm of all one day as
it became evident that Tilderee was missing. The ranch was a scene of
intense excitement when, after an exploration of the neighborhood, the
child was not found. The news spread like a prairie fire. The
settlers for miles around joined the party which set out to continue
the search. The poor mother was frantic. The father went about
helplessly, like a man dazed by a terrible blow. Peter galloped wildly
to and fro upon Twinkling Hoofs, without an idea where he was going.
Joan cried as though her heart would break.

Fudge had disappeared also. Had he gone with Tilderee? There was a
grain of comfort in the suggestion; yet, even so, what could a poor
baby do, astray and with no other defender? Evening came, and still
there was no trace of the child. All through the night they continued
to seek her, guided by the light of the stars and the glimmer of their
pine torches. But in vain.

II.

On that memorable day, shortly after dinner, if mother had not been so
absorbed by the discovery that certain wee, blundering finger