— seeing I walk in rags, unkempt, and stained with wind and rain, and leaf and earth and sun

She made a childish gesture, sweeping the curls aside with both her hands:

“I sheared my hair! Look at me, sir — a wild thing in a ragged shift and tattered gown — all burnt and roughened with the sun and wind — not even clean to look on — yet that I am! — and with no friend to speak to save an Indian� . I ask you, sir, what it is in me — and what lack of pride must lie in men that I can not trust myself to the company of one among them — not one! Be he officer, or common soldier — all are the same.”

She dropped her head, and, thoughtfully, her hands again crept up and wandered over her