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 and told her to fill them with red, blue and yellow beads. Nattie was delighted, and set about the task with alacrity. She soon had them filled. The squaw then fashioned them into a flower, on a piece of dark broad-cloth. Nattie watched her, and exclaimed when it was done:

"Oh, how beautiful!"

The old Indian woman seemed rather pleased with the child's admiration of her skill.

"Do you know how to make letters?" she asked.

"What kind of letters?" Nattie inquired.

"Such letters as there are in great books," said the squaw. Black-bird darted a quick glance at Nattie, who responded:

"Oh, printing, you mean. No, I can't print,—that is, I don't think I can, only, perhaps, the letters of my own name."

"Could you make those, with beads, on a piece of cloth?" asked the squaw.

"As you did the flower just now?" asked Nat-