around here. I don't know how to say it, but ye make me think more of
the poetry-books."

Flattered as Hal was by this naive confession, he did not want to talk
of the mystery of himself. He took refuge in a question about the
"poetry-books." "I've read some," said the girl; "more than ye'd have
thought, perhaps." This with a flash of her defiance.

He asked more questions, and learned that she, like the Greek boy,
"Andy," had come under the influence of that disturbing American
institution, the public-school; she had learned to read, and the pretty
young teacher had helped her, lending her books and magazines. Thus she
had been given a key to a treasure-house, a magic carpet on which to
travel over the world. These similes Mary herself used--for the Arabian
Nights had been one of the books that were loaned to her. On rainy days
she would hide behind the sofa, reading at a spot where the light crept
in--so that she might be safe from small brothers and sisters!

Joe Smith had read these same books, it appeared; and this seemed
remarkable to Mary, for books cost money and were hard to get. She
explained how she had searched the camp for new magic carpets, finding a
"poetry-book" by Longfellow, and a book of American history, and a story
called "David Copperfield," and last and strangest of all, another story
called "Pride and Prejudice." A curious freak of fortune--the prim and
sentimentally quivering Jane Austen in a coal-camp in a far Western
wilderness! An adventure for Jane, as well as for Mary!

What had Mary made of it, Hal wondered. Had she revelled, shop-girl
fashion, in scenes of pallid ease? He learned that what she had made of
it was despair. This world outside, with its freedom and cleanness, its