She was abnormally keen but discouragingly superstitious; she had moods when the Sisters believed they had overcome her inheritance of reticence and aloofness. She would laugh and chat gaily and appear charmingly young and happy, but without warning she would lapse back to the almost sullen, suspicious attitude that was so disconcerting. Sister Angela demanded justice for Mary and received, in return, a kind of loyalty that was the best the girl had to give. She regarded, with that strange interpretation of the lonely hills, all outsiders as foreigners. She was receiving benefits from them, her only chance of life, and while she blindly repaid in services, Mary's roots clung to the cabin life; her affections to the fast-decaying hovel from which she had been rescued. Jed was the only familiar creature left to Mary's inner consciousness. He belonged to the hills--if not of them, and while his birthright made it possible for him to assimilate, he shared with Mary the feeling that he was among strangers. Jed thought in strains of "quality"; Mary in terms of "outlanders." But both served loyally. The morning that Jed was to start on his mysterious errand--and he gloried in the mystery--Mary was "minding" bread in the kitchen and "chuncking" wood in the stove with a lavish hand. The Sisters were at prayer in the tiny chapel which had been evolved from a small west room; and old Aunt Becky Adams was plodding down the rugged trail from Thunder Peak. Meredith Thornton, too, was nearing her destination and The Ship was on The Rock. Presently Mary, having tested the state of the golden-brown ovals in the oven--and she could do it to a nicety--came out of the kitchen, followed by a delicious smell of crisping wheat, and sat down upon the step of the porch to watch Jed polishing the harness of Washington and Lincoln--the grave, reliable team upon whom Jed spared no toil. Mary looked very brief and slim in her scanty blue cotton frock and the apron far too large for her. The hair, tidily caught in a firm little knot, was making brave efforts to escape in wild little curls, and the girl's big eyes had the expression seen in the eyes of an animal that has been trapped but not conquered. "Uncle Jed," she said in an awed tone, and planting her sharp elbows on her knees in order to prop her serious face, "The Ship is on The Rock." All the morning Jed had been trying to keep his back to the fact. "Yo' sure is one triflin' child," he muttered. "All the same, The Ship is there, Uncle Jed, and that means that something is going to happen. It is going to happen long o' Ridge House--and nothing has happened here before. Things have just gone on--and--on and on----" The girl's voice trailed vaguely--she was looking at The Ship. Jed began to have that sensation described by him as "shivers in the spine of his back." Mary was fascinating him. Suddenly she asked: "Uncle Jed, what are they-all sending you to--fetch?" Mary almost said "fotch."