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There was once a widow who had two daughters. The elder was so like her mother in temper and face, that to have seen the one was to have seen the other. They were both so disagreeable and proud, that it was impossible to live with them. The younger, who was the exact portrait of her father in her kindly and polite ways, was also as beautiful a girl as one could see. As we are naturally fond of those who resemble us, the mother doted on her elder daughter, while for the younger she had a most violent aversion, and made her take her meals in the kitchen and work hard all day. Among other things that she was obliged to do, this poor child was forced to go twice a day to fetch water from a place a mile or more from the house, and carry back a large jug filled to the brim. As she was standing one day by this spring, a poor woman came up to her, and asked the girl to give her some water to drink.,

Struggling to his feet, his eyes almost blinded, smarting with the sting of the smoke, he dashed headlong into the flaming door.,

As he made his way back to the upper camp, Bob realized that in all probability he had done a foolish thing to mix in on a quarrel between the Mexicans and the Indians. That probably would mark him out among the Mexicans as someone unfriendly to them and it might have been better if he had stayed in the background. But the sight of the crowd jumping on the solitary Indian had been too much for him.,

I would hint, those who marry in haste

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“You bet,” was the heartfelt answer. “I thought you were a goner sure. But where is the boat?”,

“Fine work!” was Bob’s comment. “Gives us time to turn around.” Then he suddenly remembered that the Indian had started the talk by advising against bringing Mr. Taylor into the emergency. “But why not get Boss Taylor?”,

Everything was as usual. He could scarcely bear to look at the tree he had gathered the fruit from, but finding two apples on the ground under the other tree, he picked them up and took them into the house. He certainly wasn’t going to eat any more of Aunt Grenertsen’s apples.,

“These canals were started by the Indians,” said Jerry, “and were made bigger and longer by the white settlers. When we get up to Holman’s you’ll see some real irrigation.”