"And having spent two years in the more cultivated East, did Miss Grahame return willingly to her home in the wilderness?"
This question was addressed to Mary Grahame herself, and she answered simply, "My father was here."
"You acknowledge, then, that could your father have been with you, you would have preferred remaining at the East?"
"Oh no! I was fifteen when my father sent me from home, and they who have enjoyed the free life of the prairies so long, seldom love cities."
"But the ease, the freedom from labor, which is enjoyed in a more advanced stage of society, the power to devote yourself to pursuits agreeable to your taste—did you not regret these?"
"Permit me to put your question into plainer language," interposed Mr. Grahame. "Mr. Danforth would ask, Mary, whether you would not prefer to live where you would not be compelled to degrade your mind——"
"No, no, I protest against the degradation," exclaimed Mr. Danforth.
"To degrade your mind," pursued Mr. Grahame, answering the interruption only by a smile, "by exercising it on such homely things as brewing coffee and baking cakes, or to soil your fair hands with brooms and dusters."
"For the soil of the hands we have sparkling rills, and for the degradation of the mind, I, like Mr. Danforth, protest against it."
"But how can you make your protest good?"