AN ORAIBI GIRL.
of visitors with horses camping about a pueblo will give rise to fears of a water famine. Placed on the borders of every spring, down close to the water, may be seen short painted sticks with feather plumes—prayer offerings to the gods for a continued supply of the precious fluid, the scarcity of which from clouds or springs has had to do with the origin of many ceremonies in the Southwest. The lack of water even fills in a large part of the conversation of white visitors in this dry country, taking the place of the weather, which is unlikely to change.
Let us follow up the trail again after the toiling water carriers, returning from the general meeting and gossiping place, the spring. Let no one think that there has been a lack of company in the course of these wanderings. There are the children first, last and all the time, all pervading, timid, but made bold by the prospect of sweets. It is amusing to see a little tot come hesitatingly as near as he dares to a white visitor, and say, "Hel-lo ken-te" (candy). Unclad before three or four years of age, the little ones look like animated bronzes—"fried cupids," one amused onlooker has termed them. The older girls have general charm of the young ones, and carry them about pick-a-back; sometimes it is difficult to tell whether the carrier or
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