When the little man had finished telling the story of the lilies, he
jumped into the water and disappeared.

"I shall always love the water lilies," said the Indian girl as she
paddled away.




WHERE GO THE BOATS?


Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand,
It flows along forever,
With trees on either hand.

Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating--
Where will all come home?

On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill;

Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more;