"Well, there wasn't but one thing to do, and I did that." He went out
to the wagon and carried in the little Indian girl, and laid her on
the bed.

"Poor child! Poor child! Where is Oostogah?"

The miller shook his head. "Don't ask any questions about him. The
raven flew away to the woods, and was never heard of again. Better if
that were the end of Oostogah."

Donee, opening her tired eyes, saw the blue carpet and the white bed
where she lay, and the red dahlias shining in the sun and looking in
at the window, and beside her were the children, and the children's
mother smiling down on her with tears in her eyes.




THE PRIVATE THEATRICALS

By Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney


Saturday was a day of hammering, basting, draping, dressing,
rehearsing, running from room to room. Upstairs, in Mrs. Green's
garret, Leslie Goldthwaite and Dakie Thayne, with a third party never
before introduced upon the stage, had a private practising; and at
tea-time, when the great hall was cleared, they got up there with Sin
Saxon and Frank Scherman, locked the doors, and in costume, with