Wid that he turns a pink an' white surface a yawnin' for decoration, an' presses a can o' axle grease in me hands. And I 'll be darned if them young imps had n't covered their skins with axle grease and red brass polish, an' for variety, a touch o' bluing they'd got off Nora in the kitchen. An' they smelt—Gee! they smelt like a triple extract harness shop. I tole them I thought they'd be havin' trouble when they was ready to return to the haunts o' the pale-face; but Master Bobby said their clothes would cover it up.

"I done the job. I don't set up to be a mural artist, and I ain't braggin', but I will say as Master Bobby's back beat any signboard ye ever see when I finished the decoratin'. I fastened some chicken feathers in their hair, and I hunted out some tomahawks in the lumber room, an' they let out a war-whoop that raised the roof, an' scalped me out o' grattytood.

"'Now see here,' says I to Master Bobby,