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Myths And Legends Of Our Own Land, Complete

Page: 36

"Explain to us," they cry, turning to the old Medicine of his tribe, "for this was not so yesterday."

"It is our daughter," he answered. "These flowers are the form she takes. The white is her purity, the yellow her love. You shall see that her heart will close when the sun sets, and will reopen at his coming." And the young chief went apart and bowed his head.


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