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They seemed ashamed, but told me, As I moved on, I said carelessly, partly turning: "Where is the Spring Waiontha?" "On the Lake Trail, sir first branch of the Stoney-Kill." "Is there a house there?" "Rannock's." "A path to find it?" "A sheep walk only. Rannock is dead. The destructives murdered him when they burned Cherry Valley. Mrs. Rannock brings us eggs and milk."
For the brier-torn rags she wore scarce seemed to hold together; and her small, shy feet peeped through her gaping shoon in snowy hide-and-seek. Now, coming hither from the fort, I had already noticed on the Stoney-Kill where our Oneidas lay encamped.
And, at the thought, I turned and passed swiftly through the doorway, across the thronged parade, out of the gate. Hastening my pace along the Lake Road, meeting many people at first, then fewer, then nobody at all, I presently crossed the first little brook that feeds the Stoney-Kill, leaping from stone to stone. Here in the woods lay the Oneida camp. I saw some squaws there sewing.
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