one four times, but Rabbit did not think that the first time counted, as that was but a trial.  So he lost his eye after throwing it up the fifth time.  And the eye of the rabbit is the moon, and the face seen in the full moon is the reflection of the rabbit seen in his own eye as we see ourselves reflected in the eye of a friend if we look closely.  The little girl was wonderfully impressed.  She put her hand to her own eyes, but they were in tight, too tight to throw up to the tree-tops.

Singing Stream also told little Judith that the Great Mystery had shown truths, hid to man, to the trees, the streams, the hills; and the clouds that shaped themselves, drifting hither and yon, were the Great Mystery’s passing thoughts.  But he had deprived all these things of speech, as he did not trust them fully, and they could only speak to man in dreams, or in some passing mood, when they could communicate to him the feeling of one of the Great Spirits, and warn man of what was about to befall him.  Judith was not quite four when she took this memorable drive with her mother, but the impression of these things abided through all her years.  It was to the measureless spaces of desert loneliness that she learned to bring her sorrows in the days of her arid youth, and to feel a kinship with all its moods and to hear in the voice of its silence a never-failing consolation.

And when they had come within a mile of Warren Rodney’s cabin on Elder Creek, Singing Stream halted and prepared for the great event of reinstatement.  First she made a splendid toilet of purple calico torn into strips and tied about the waist to simulate the skirts of the devil woman.  Over these she wore a shirt of buckskin, broidered with beads of many colors, and a necklace of elk teeth, wound twice about the throat.  On her feet she wore new moccasins of tanned elk-hide, and these, too, were beaded in many colors.  Her hair, now braided with strips of scarlet flannel, hung below the waist.  And she walked to Rodney’s cabin, not as an outgrown mistress, but as the daughter of a chief.  The little Judith held up her head and clung tight to the doll.  She knew that something of moment was about to happen.

The gala trio, Singing Stream, Judith, and Judith’s doll, presented themselves at Rodney’s house, before which the bride was washing clothes, the day being fine.  Sally, as usual, wore one of the rose-colored calicoes with the collar turned well in and the sleeves rolled above the elbows.  She washed vigorously, with a steady splashing of suds.  Sally enjoyed this home of her own and all the household duties appertaining to it.  She was singing, and a strand of pale-brown hair, crinkly as sea-weed, had blown across the rose of her cheek, when she felt rather than saw a shadow fall across her path, and, glancing up, she saw facing her the woman whom she had supplanted, and the solemn-eyed little girl holding tight to her doll.  Now, neither woman knew a word of the other’s