In this connection is an amusing incident which happened just previous to my release. I was talking with Dr. Ingram about many things, and at last told him what I thought would be the result of a fire. “The nurses are expected to open the doors,” he said. “But you know positively that they would not wait to do that,” I said, “and these women would burn to death.” He sat silent, unable to contradict my assertion. “Why don’t you have it changed?” I asked. “What can I do?” he replied. “I offer suggestions until my brain is tired, but what good does it do? What would you do?” he asked, turning to me, the proclaimed insane girl. “Well, I should insist on them having locks put in, as I have seen in some places, that by turning a crank at the end of the hall you can lock or unlock every door on the one side. Then there would be some chance of escape. Now, every door being locked separately, there is absolutely none.” Dr. Ingram turned to me with an anxious look on his kind face as he asked, slowly: “Nellie Brown, what institution have you been an inmate of before you came here?” “None. I never was confined in any institution, except boarding-school, in my life.” “Where then did you see the locks you have described?” I had seen them in the new Western Penitentiary at Pittsburg, Pa., but I did not dare say so. I merely answered: “Oh, I have seen them in a place I was in—I mean as a visitor.” “There is only one place I know of where they have those locks,” he said, sadly, “and that is at Sing Sing.” The inference is conclusive. I laughed very heartily over the implied accusation, and tried to assure him that I had never, up to date, been an inmate of Sing Sing or even ever visited it. Just as the morning began to dawn I went to sleep. It did not seem many moments until I was rudely awakened and told to get up, the window being opened and the clothing pulled off me. My hair was still wet and I had pains all through me, as if I had the rheumatism. Some clothing was flung on the floor and I was told to put it on. I asked for my own, but was told to take what I got and keep quiet by the apparently head nurse, Miss Grady. I looked at it. One underskirt made of coarse dark cotton goods and a cheap white calico dress with a black spot in it. I tied the strings of the skirt around me and put on the little dress. It was made, as are all those worn by the patients, into a straight tight waist sewed on to a straight skirt. As I buttoned the waist I noticed the underskirt was about six inches longer than the upper, and for a moment I sat down on the bed and laughed at my own appearance. No woman ever longed for a mirror more than I did at that moment.