Anyhow, they didn’t run about so much. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. "How?" cried her brother, starting. Into this hole in the wall and out of it the native stream flowed from sunrise to sunset, when the stream mysteriously ceased. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village.
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