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 the carried is the larger. The children are good, and seem never to need correction, and anyone can see with half an eye that the Mokis love their little ones. They never are so flattered as when attention is paid to the children. Do this with an admiring look, accompanied by the word "Lo′-lomai" (good, excellent, pretty), and the parental heart is won. When the rains fill the rock basins on the mesa, these youngsters have a famous time bathing, squirming like tadpoles in the pools, splashing and chasing each other. The Moki childlife must be a uniformly happy one, except in the season of green things, when they are allowed to eat without limit. The statistics of highest mortality must coincide with the time of watermelons, which are never too unripe to eat. Dogs, chickens and burros also add to the picturesqueness of a Moki village. The burros have the run of the town, and furnish amusement for the children. When providence or luck has prevented a burro from stealing corn, his ears have a normal, if not graceful length. Few there are, though, that have not paid penalty by the loss of one or both of these appendages. Chickens and dogs are a sorry lot. The latter lie in the corners and shady places, and only become animate and vocal at night, with true coyote instinct.