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the hedge and lost itself in the water, 

 as Manita stole away busy with the 

 problem that has worn out so many, 

 why it is easier to believe evil than 

 good. 



The wedding was set for three. 

 Already the morning service was 

 over and Arabella was being dressed 

 in a white frock of lawn, well 

 starched, and a net veil that had 

 already done duty as a window 

 curtain in Mrs. Warwick's parlour. 

 Manita in soft buckskins and bead- 

 ed moccasins, with hair unbound, 

 might have rivalled Pocahontas or 

 Minnehaha; but Arabella Horsetail 

 in a tight white dress, with skirt and 

 sleeves at that fatal neither-long- 

 nor- short length, in clumsy shoes, 

 her stiff black hair screwed into a 

 knot behind, and the blood swept 

 away from her face by excitement, 

 leaving it a dull gray brown, was 

 depressingly ugly. 



The sun glared in the cloudless 

 sky. Arabella's schoolmates were 

 already fidgeting in their seats in 

 the chapel, where the ceremony was 

 to be performed, and the various 



