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 back so soon? A fish on the line, however, is worth two in the water; also, after the feast is eaten, cannot the empty basket be thrown away? in other words, as soon as ever it suits her, cannot she pretend to be tired and let the stranger go on alone? Of course she can! So Pipi says, “Me, too,” and, turning her back, for the time being, upon the enticement of the open road ahead, goes shambling back, hoppity-hop, down the hill again, at the side of her prey. She shambles slowly, too, by way of a further test, and, see, the girl instinctively adapts her pace. Excellent! Oh, the pleasantness, the complaisance, of this interesting young friend! Pipi takes hold of her sleeve, and strokes it.

“Ah, the good coat,” she cries, with an admiration that she does not need to assume. “He keep you warm, my word! My coat, see how thin!” and she holds out for inspection a corner of her topmost covering, an old blouse of faded pinkish print, phenomenally spotted with purple roses. It is true that she has the misfortune to hold out also, quite by mistake, a little bit of the layer next beneath, which happens to be a thick tweed coat; but this she drops immediately, without an instant’s delay, and it is well known that pakehas have as a rule only pebbles in their eye-sockets—they see nothing; while their ears, on the other hand, are as kokota-shells, to hold whatever you please to put in. “I cold, plenty, plenty,” says Pipi accordingly, with a very well-feigned shiver. “How much he cost, your good, warm coat?”

“Why, I don’t quite know,” replies the pakeha. “You see, it was a present; somebody gave it me.”

“Ah, nobody give poor Pipi,” sighs Pipi, very