Very tragic indeed the maiden looked as she tossed off her hat and flung
herself face downward on the bed, refusing to cast even a glance at the
cell which was to be her hateful prison. "For of course I shall spend my
time here!" she said to herself. "They may send me here, keep me here
for years, if they will; but they cannot make me associate with these
people." And she recalled with a shudder the gnarled, horny hand which
she had touched in jumping from the cart,--she had never felt anything
like it; the homely speech, and the nasal twang with which it was
delivered; the uncouth garb (good stout butternut homespun!) and unkempt
hair and beard of the "odious old savage," as she mentally named Farmer
Hartley.

After all, however, Hilda was only fifteen; and after a few minutes,
Curiosity began to wake; and after a short struggle with Despair, it
conquered, and she sat up on the bed and looked about her.

It was not a very dreadful cell. A bright, clean, fresh little room, all
white and blue. White walls, white bedstead, with oh! such snowy
coverings, white dimity curtains at the windows, with old-fashioned ball
fringes, a little dimity-covered toilet-table, with a quaint
looking-glass framed with fat gilt cherubs, all apparently trying to
fold their wings in such a way as to enable them to get a peep at
themselves in the mirror, and not one succeeding. Then there was a low
rocking-chair, and another chair of the high-backed order, and a tall
chest of drawers, all painted white, and a wash-hand-stand with a set of
dark-blue crockery on it which made the victim of despair open her eyes
wide. Hilda had a touch of china mania, and knew a good thing when she
saw it; and this deep, eight-sided bowl, this graceful jug with the
quaint gilt dragon for a handle, these smaller jugs, boxes, and dishes,