And As She Looked Around, She Saw

Fair Words Gladden So Many A Heart.

Ah, How Good It Feels! The Hand Of An Old Friend.

He Had Mittens, Minjekahwun, Magic Mittens Made Of Deer-skin; When Upon His Hands He Wore Them, He Could Smite The Rocks Asunder, He Could Grind Them Into Powder.

I Am Never Indifferent, And Never Pretend To Be, To What People Say Or Think Of My Books. They Are My Children, And I Like To Have Them Liked.

Your Silent Tents Of Green We Deck With Fragrant Flowers; Yours Has The Suffering Been, The Memory Shall Be Ours.