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 "Yes, and there are white sails and—oh, Dorothy, look at that great yellow butterfly! He floated right over your head."

"I can't see him, Ronald."

"Oh, I forgot!" said the boy hastily. "Suppose we begin on the flowers now, dear; I have a whole lot for you todayto-day [sic]."

"How good of you! Give them to me one at a time, brother, and don't tell me a single thing, for I am sure I shall know them all." The little girl's voice was sweet and vivacious, yet it possessed a vague, pathetic cadence, which the lady sitting unnoticed on the other side of the great tree trunk, could not quite understand.

"This is a clover," went on the little one gaily, "a red clover, because the stem is fuzzy and there are some leaves growing on it.