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They planted their corn in the Budding-Moon, and lived to see it harvested in the Moon of Falling Leaves. They left the doors of their cabins unlatched at night, and the sentinel slept as sound and as long as the new-born babe. Their arrows were eaten up by the rust of sloth and inactivity, and the strings of their bows were rotted by the mildew of carelessness and idleness.
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