It is no sandy plain, nor any circumscribed and scant oasis I seem to realize. A forest valley, with rocky sides and brown profundity of shade, formed by tree crowding on tree, descends deep before me. Here, indeed, dwell human beings, but so few, and in alleys so thick branched and overarched, they are neither heard nor seen. Are they savage? Doubtless. They live by the crook and the bow; half shepherds, half hunters, their flocks wander wild as their prey. Are they happy? No, not more happy than we are at this day. Are they good? No, not better than ourselves. Their nature is our nature--human both. There is one in this tribe too often miserable--a child bereaved of both parents. None cares for this child. She is fed sometimes, but oftener forgotten. A hut rarely receives her; the hollow tree and chill cavern are her home. Forsaken, lost, and wandering, she lives more with the wild beast and bird than with her own kind. Hunger and cold are her comrades; sadness hovers over, and solitude besets her round. Unheeded and unvalued, she should die; but she both lives and grows. The green wilderness nurses her, and becomes to her a mother; feeds her on juicy berry, on saccharine root and nut.

 no sandy plain, nor scant oasis, but a forest valley, with rocky sides and deep shade, formed by tree crowding on tree. Here dwell human beings, but so few, and so hidden that they are neither heard nor seen. Are they savage? Doubtless. They live by the crook and the bow; half shepherds, half hunters. Are they happy? No, not more happy than we are. Are they good? No, not better than ourselves. Their nature is our nature.
There is one in this tribe too often miserable - an orphaned child. No-one cares for her. She is fed sometimes, but oftener forgotten. The hollow tree and chill cavern are her home. Forsaken and wandering, she lives more with the wild beast and bird than with her own kind. Hunger and cold are her comrades, and solitude besets her. Unheeded and unvalued, she should die; but she both lives and grows. 