’ He held out his hand to help the girl descend. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. It was the size of my palm. Spurling. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. Something about this woman rather reminds me of our hostess.
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