"I am from what I used to think was East," she said, smiling. "But
everything is East here; people from Indiana and Wisconsin say they are
from the East."

"Ah, but you are from our old Atlantic coast. I was sure of it when I first
saw you. If you will pardon me, I knew it by your way of dressing."

The young girl flushed with pleasure; then, with a reflective air: "I
confess myself, since you speak of clothes, to a feeling of relief when I
saw your hat the first Sunday after I came. Western men wear such dreadful
hats."

"Good!" he cried gayly. "You mean my hat that I _call_ a hat." He reached
for the one behind his head, and spun it lightly upward, where it settled
on a projecting branch. "I respect that hat myself,--my _other_ hat, I
mean; I'm trying to live up to it. Now, let me guess your State, Miss
Newell: is it Massachusetts?"

"No,--Connecticut; but at this distance it seems like the same thing."

"Oh, pardon me, there are very decided differences. I'm from Massachusetts
myself. Perhaps the points of difference show more in the women,--the ones
who stay at home, I mean, and become more local and idiomatic than the men.
You are not one of the daughters of the soil, Miss Newell."

She looked pained as she said, "I wish I were; but there is not room for us
all, where there is so little soil."

Arnold moved uneasily, extracted a stone from under the small of his
back and tossed it out of sight with some vehemence. "You think it goes