sparrow.

And now came the serious business of the day. Many long miles of
trackless forest lay before them and the delay caused all to feel
the need of hurry.

Mrs. Ripley gave to each a moderate portion of the food brought
with them, carefully preserving what was left, for they were sure
to need that and much more before reaching the end of their journey.
The day promised to be sultry like the preceding one, and each sadly
missed the water with which to quench their thirst and splash upon
their faces and hands.

"We shall come across some before long," said Ben hopefully when
he and his mother had divided the luggage between them and set out
toward the rising sun; "we are a great deal better off than the
poor folks of Wyoming."

The mother pinched the clothing of Linna, and found it dried of
the moisture gained by her swim in the Susquehanna.

It is a curious practice among not only the Indians, but with
many white people, not to change wet stockings or garments for dry
ones. I knew a fisherman's boy whose father once punished him for
removing his saturated stockings and shoes for others.

"Always let 'em dry on you, and you won't catch cold," was his
doctrine. "Keep moving if you can, but don't change 'em."

I don't believe in the practice; but be that as it may, the little