justifiable acts of rebellion against the tyranny of those in authority.
I have often listened since, with real satisfaction, to what some of our
friends had to say of the high-handed manner in which sister Margaret
and I defied all the transient orders and strict rules laid down for our
guidance. If we had observed them we might as well have been embalmed as
mummies, for all the pleasure and freedom we should have had in our
childhood. As very little was then done for the amusement of children,
happy were those who _conscientiously_ took the liberty of amusing
themselves.

One charming feature of our village was a stream of water, called the
Cayadutta, which ran through the north end, in which it was our delight
to walk on the broad slate stones when the water was low, in order to
pick up pretty pebbles. These joys were also forbidden, though indulged
in as opportunity afforded, especially as sister Margaret's philosophy
was found to work successfully and we had finally risen above our
infantile fear of punishment.

Much of my freedom at this time was due to this sister, who afterward
became the wife of Colonel Duncan McMartin of Iowa. I can see her now,
hat in hand, her long curls flying in the wind, her nose slightly
retroussé, her large dark eyes flashing with glee, and her small
straight mouth so expressive of determination. Though two years my
junior, she was larger and stronger than I and more fearless and
self-reliant. She was always ready to start when any pleasure offered,
and, if I hesitated, she would give me a jerk and say, emphatically:
"Oh, come along!" and away we went.

About this time we entered the Johnstown Academy, where we made the
acquaintance of the daughters of the hotel keeper and the county