see the world rolling away for miles and miles, and it seems to have no
ending."

"I suppose you will not be able to endure your imprisonment. Some day
you will go back to Kansas."

"Some day--perhaps," she laughed. "But now I am a true Black Logger.
Look at my gown."

It was the gray Dunkard dress--the concession to her uncle's beliefs on
worldliness. It was the first time I had noticed it.

"That is not the garb of Black Log," I said. "It was designed long ago
in Germany, after patterns from Heaven."

"And designed by men," said Mary, laughing; "forced by them on a sex
which wears ribbons as naturally as a bird does feathers."

"In other words, when you came to live with your pious uncle, he picked
you?"

"Exactly," she said; "but I submitted humbly. I came here, as I
supposed, a fairly good Christian, with an average amount of piety and
an average number of faults. My worldliness shocked my uncle, and
being a peaceful person, I let him pick me. But I rebelled at the
bonnet--spare me from one of those coal-scuttles--I'll go to the stake
first."

In her defiance she swung her own straw hat wildly around on the
string. Pausing, she smoothed out the gray gown and eyed it critically.