I have a confused memory of being often under punishment for what, in those days, were called “tantrums.”  I suppose they were really justifiable acts of rebellion against the tyranny of those in authority.  I have often listened since, with real satisfaction, to what some of our friends had to say of the high-handed manner in which sister Margaret and I defied all the transient orders and strict rules laid down for our guidance.  If we had observed them we might as well have been embalmed as mummies, for all the pleasure and freedom we should have had in our childhood.  As very little was then done for the amusement of children, happy were those who conscientiously took the liberty of amusing themselves.

One charming feature of our village was a stream of water, called the Cayadutta, which ran through the north end, in which it was our delight to walk on the broad slate stones when the water was low, in order to pick up pretty pebbles.  These joys were also forbidden, though indulged in as opportunity afforded, especially as sister Margaret’s philosophy was found to work successfully and we had finally risen above our infantile fear of punishment.

Much of my freedom at this time was due to this sister, who afterward became the wife of Colonel Duncan McMartin of Iowa.  I can see her now, hat in hand, her long curls flying in the wind, her nose slightly retrousse, her large dark eyes flashing with glee, and her small straight mouth so expressive of determination.  Though two years my junior, she was larger and stronger than I and more fearless and self-reliant.  She was always ready to start when any pleasure offered, and, if I hesitated, she would give me a jerk and say, emphatically:  “Oh, come along!” and away we went.

About this time we entered the Johnstown Academy, where we made the acquaintance of the daughters of the hotel keeper and the county sheriff.  They were a few years my senior, but, as I was ahead of them in all my studies, the difference of age was somewhat equalized and we became fast friends.  This acquaintance opened to us two new sources of enjoyment—­the freedom of the hotel during “court week” (a great event in village life) and the exploration of the county jail.  Our Scotch nurse had told us so many thrilling tales of castles, prisons, and dungeons in the Old World that, to see the great keys and iron doors, the handcuffs and chains, and the prisoners in their cells seemed like a veritable visit to Mary’s native land.  We made frequent visits to the jail and became deeply concerned about the fate of the prisoners, who were greatly pleased with our expressions of sympathy and our gifts of cake and candy.  In time we became interested in the trials and sentences of prisoners, and would go to the courthouse and listen to the proceedings.  Sometimes we would slip into the hotel where the judges and lawyers dined, and help our little friend wait on table.  The rushing of servants to and fro,