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"An' is it mesilf, Dennis Hooligan, that ye'd be takin' for a dirty
Injin, ye drawlin', lantern-jawed, spider-legged divil! By the piper
that played before Moses, I'll ate ye!"
I went away from there.
By and by, in the neighborhood of the Terrapin Tower, I came upon a
gentle daughter of the aborigines in fringed and beaded buckskin
moccasins and leggins, seated on a bench with her pretty wares about her.
She had just carved out a wooden chief that had a strong family
resemblance to a clothes-pin, and was now boring a hole through his
abdomen to put his bow through. I hesitated a moment, and then addressed
her:
"Is the heart of the forest maiden heavy? Is the Laughing Tadpole
lonely? Does she mourn over the extinguished council-fires of her race,
and the vanished glory of her ancestors? Or does her sad spirit wander
afar toward the hunting-grounds whither her brave Gobbler-of-the-
Lightnings is gone? Why is my daughter silent? Has she ought against
the paleface stranger?"
The maiden said:
"Faix, an' is it Biddy Malone ye dare to be callin' names? Lave this, or
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