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Still the Queen was no less sorrowful; the King asked her once more what was the matter. She told him that, being hungry, she had eaten hastily, and had swallowed her wedding-ring. The King knew that she was not speaking the truth, for he had himself put away the ring, and he replied, "My dear wife, you are not speaking the truth; here is your ring, which I have kept in my purse." The Queen was put out of countenance at being caught telling a lie—for there is nothing in the world so ugly—and she saw that the King was vexed, so she told him what the fairies had predicted about little Rosette, and begged him to tell her if he could think of any remedy. The King was greatly troubled, so much so, that at last he said to the Queen, "I see no way of saving our two boys, except by putting the little girl to death, while she is still in her swaddling clothes." But the Queen cried that she would rather suffer death herself, that she would never consent to so cruel a deed, and that the King must try and think of some other remedy. The King and Queen could think of nothing else, and while thus pondering over the matter, the Queen was told that in a large wood near the town, there lived an old hermit, who made his home in the trunk of a tree, whom people went from far and near to consult.,

“I thank you, sir,” said Grandmother. “I thank you, sir.”,

However, just before the quitting whistle blew, Bob happened to be near the spot where the Indians were excavating. He took this opportunity to go up to Feather-in-the-Wind who was directing his men. Ostensibly he asked something regarding the work but it was only to give the Indian a chance to convey any message he might have. The Apache did have something to say.,

Probably this last remark was meant only to impress him, Bob thought. If the hut would hold him, Harper wouldn’t spend the night watching. It would be too uncomfortable. Moreover, it would be all the same if Harper was able to make his prisoner believe he would be outside waiting for an attempt at escape. Once more he heard a voice. This time it was directed at him. It was Harper.

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Bob grabbed it and, before it could go out, nursed the flicker in his cupped hands, not realizing that it was burning his fingers cruelly. Carefully, yet swiftly, he carried the flame to the little pile of threads. As these caught, his heart grew light with thankfulness.,

“Boss Whitney not here,” stated the Indian. “Boss Taylor good man but not like Chief. You wait for him. Now I go send one, two my young men trail Miguel. Perhaps they catch him—Jenkins, he never catch him. He tired. Not much good trail nohow.”,

“Thank you very much.” He bowed low to Carlstrom when at last he must go home.,

But Johnny went to work at once to take the fishing rod apart, and then wrapped it very carefully in old newspapers. Great sport it would have been to have this fine rod to fish with—it was such a beauty—but think of not being able to see, just to walk around a house holding on to the walls! My, oh, my! how frightfully sad that was!