habit, without a word to her grand parent of what was occupying her
mind. The old woman saw she was absorbed in some mental problem, and,
with the shrewdness of the aborigine, guessed the subject, and sought to
divert her thoughts into other channels. It was in vain, for one
evening, after their simple meal of herbs, the girl, gathering courage,
in the increasing dusk, asked abruptly, after a long silence:

"Grandmother, why do we live here alone, far from the others in the
ca–on? Why do we - ?" she paused, frightened at her temerity.

The old woman started slightly. She had been sitting with hands folded
quietly in her lap, thinking, possibly, of the absent ones of her
family, gone to be with Ouiot in the everlasting home. Turning to her
granddaughter, she answered, slowly and solemnly:

"My child, I am grieved to have this come upon you now, for I had hoped
you would escape it until, after I am gone to the eternal life beyond.
Then it would not have been to you a burden, only a sorrow, softened by
the thought that I had borne bravely the punishment dealt out to me,
without a word of reproach. I have seen that you had something on your
mind, and guessed this was it, and now that you have asked me, I think
it best to tell you, although you are still but a child. For you would,
I know, brood over it in your heart. Listen, then, while I tell you my
life story."

"My childhood and youth were passed in a manner no different from that
of the other children of our tribe; I worked and played, careless of
everything but the present, until I was a big girl. I was happy in my
ignorance, for why should I be singled out from all the rest to bear the
honor that was to be thrust upon me? I knew not what was in store for