"Is it an article of infants' clothing?" "No, it is not a _sock_." "Is it the thing that brokers buy and sell?" "No, it is not _stock_." "Is it a common weed, and also the place where ships are built?" "No, it is not a _dock_." "Is it a collection of sheep?" "No, it's not a _flock_." "Is it a German wine, highly prized by connoisseurs?" "No, it is not _hock_." "Is it a rap at the door?" "No, it is not _knock_." "Is it a curious instrument that has hands, but no eyes or ears, and that always weighs its actions, but never does any thing but reprove other people's laziness?" "No, it is not a _clock_." "Is it that word, which followed by head, shows what we all are, for not guessing it sooner?" "Yes, you are right, it is a _block_." In the evening, Mary was appointed by general consent to tell that eagerly-desired Indian story. "And mind you give us scalping enough," said Charlie Bolton; "I'm a little afraid you are too tender-hearted to give your story the proper dramatic effect. It's worth nothing unless there is a great deal of blood spilt, and a whole string of scalps." "Horrible, Charlie! how can you bear such things! However, I needn't be afraid, if Cousin Mary is to tell the tale," said Amy. "How can I possibly please the taste of both?" replied Mary; "I plainly see that only one way is left for me; to suit myself--so, if you'll excuse me, that's the thing I'll do." "We'll be compelled to excuse you, I suppose," said Charlie with a shrug: "well, go on then, and be as merciful as your weak woman's nature compels you to be." Accordingly, with this encouraging permission, Mary began her story, which she called Orikama, or the White Water-Lily: AN INDIAN TALE.