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 must all have farms, so you need not depend on the precarious living of roots and fish."

And they treasured these things in their hearts.

"Margaret, where is Alice Clarissa?" said Mrs. Whitman to the Indian nurse one day in June after her second birthday. Never could the fond mother bear the child out of her sight.

"I go see," said nurse Margaret. The Hawaiian servant also went out and returned. "There are two cups in the river," he said.

"How did they get there?" asked Mrs. Whitman, imperiously.

"Let them be," said the doctor, "and get them out to-morrow."

"How did they get there?" insisted Mrs. Whitman, "and what cups are they?"

As in a dream she recalled a glimpse of the curlyhaired sprite "Mamma, supper is most ready. Let Alice get some water." Going up to the table she took two cupSy hers and Margaret's and disappeared. Like a shadow it passed across her mind, passed away and made no impression. Mrs. Whitman did not recollect it until she reached the river brink where the child had fallen in. No Alice could be seen. Turning toward the house, they saw an old Indian preparing to enter the river. They stopped to see him swim under the water.

"She is found," he cried, holding aloft the lifeless form.

Mrs. Whitman ran, but the doctor passed her and snatched the baby to his arms. The precious life had taken flight.

Four days they kept her. "Then," says Mrs. Whitman, "when she began to melt away like wax and her