CHAPTER, TWELVE 



The \VbundinA f Crip 



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to the field of battle I hastened. 

 "Tell me," 1 cried in distress, 

 for Crip was lying quite still on the floor, "what is the 

 matter?" 



"Ah, I fear I am done for at last." 



Grieved by his words, I rushed up to him, saluting 

 him, pressing my tongue to his lips, praying for his life. 

 I felt him all over, and at last came to a little moist 

 spot on his body, and realized that he had lost his last 

 basket-leg. I wiped his eyes, and came close to him to 

 warm him a bit, for he seemed cold and almost lifeless. 



"Go your way," he murmured, dejectedly. "Leave 

 me quite alone. My work is done; I shall pass. Re- 

 member me sometimes when you cleave the air and 

 salute the sun and our mysterious Master." 



72 



