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 could be so lasting. She had hoped to see it gradually and finally disappear.

"Won't it ever wear off?" she said, in a broken voice.

"No," answered Black-bird; "and why should you wish it to? I think that Torch Eye would not fancy a white face."

Nattie was looking at the names which she had worked on crimson, green and purple strips of cloth, which were still pinned to a white beam. She dropped the bit of looking-glass hastily, and ran toward the door.

"Take them down!" she cried. "I can see white beads everywhere, my eyes are full of them; so is my head. I shall turn into a pile of white beads, directly. Can't anything save me from turning into white beads?"

Black-bird picked up her looking-glass rather angrily, but Nattie's wild words turned her thoughts in her direction.

"Put away the pieces of cloth with the names