The air was almost too warm after her exposure to the biting
wind and cold dashes of rain. She cast off her outer wraps and
stood by the fireplace. At a glance she comprehended that the
place was not the one she had formerly occupied as a prisoner, and
that it belonged to a man. A long rifle stood in a corner, a
bullet-pouch and powder-horn hanging on a projecting hickory
ramrod; a heavy fur top-coat lay across one of the chairs.
Alice felt her situation bitterly enough; but she was not of the
stuff that turns to water at the touch of misfortune. Pioneer
women took hardships as a matter of course, and met calamity with
admirable fortitude. There was no wringing of hands, no frantic
wailing, no hollow, despairing groan. While life lasted hope
flourished, even in most tragic surroundings; and not unfrequently
succor came, at the last verge of destruction, as the fitting
reward of unconquerable courage. A girl like Alice must be
accepted in the spirit of her time and surroundings. She was born
amid experiences scarcely credible now, and bred in an area and an
atmosphere of incomparable dangers. Naturally she accepted
conditions of terrible import with a sang froid scarcely possible
to a girl of our day. She did not cry, she did not sink down
helpless when she found herself once more imprisoned with some
uncertain trial before her; but simply knelt and repeated the
Lord's prayer, then went to bed and slept; even dreamed the dream
of a maid's first love.
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