Class 
 
 BooL 
 
 GopyrigM 
 
 CQPSUGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
A GLEANER 
 
 IN 
 
 CLOVER FIELDS 
 
 *« 
 
 ERVILLA GOODRICH TUTTLE 
 

 Copyrighted 1919 
 
 by 
 
 Ervilia Goodrich Tuttle 
 
 WYNKOOP, HALLENBECK CRAWFORD COMPANY, NEW YORK 
 
 ©O.A525808 
 
 JUN II 1919 
 
A Gleaner 
 
 Long years ago I asked that I might be 
 A gleaner in the fields of every day — 
 The common days, so many, and gray — 
 
 And straightway the dear Lord did answer me 
 
 By opening my blind eyes, that I might see 
 How longed-for treasure all around me lay; 
 How corners were uncut along the way, 
 
 As God Himself commanded they should be. 
 
 A tossing sea waved in the meadow green, 
 Ensphered, the sun smiled in a drop of dew; 
 
 A moon-bow spanned the mists two days between, 
 And earth and sky seemed all created new. 
 
 Each day was glorified when I could glean 
 
 Rich sheaves in every field my life wound through. 
 
 In Clover Fields 
 
 And what did you get for your gleaning 
 In the sad wild wastes of pasture land, 
 
 Where grew no grain nor tree nor shrub 
 For a branch of bloom in the hand? 
 
 Just sweetness from low white clover, 
 
 Nearby Hymettus sweets abound, 
 And bending eyes close to earth, 
 
 The four-leaved clovers oft were found. 
 Just honey enough for each day 
 
 From clover fields, scenting the air, 
 Oft bordering the roadside way; 
 
 So Common, so Sweet, and so Fair. 
 
CLOVERS 
 
 By the Roadside — White Daisies and White Clover. 
 
 (June 22.) 
 
 Breath of Clover on the Wind. (July 3.) 
 
 A Bunch of White Clover. (July 8.) 
 
APRIL DAYS 
 
 The Story of My Garden — Spring — Work and Spring 
 Thoughts — My Rosary — Cosette's Garden — Wine in 
 Old Bottles — Snow — Frisket — Sweet Flag — Pin- 
 cushion Day — The Size of the World — Atalanta of 
 Caledon. 
 
 APRIL 
 
 April is Summer's messenger, 
 The Earth's getting ready for her. 
 In their time tree and bloom come true 
 And Scillas are blossoming blue. 
 
 Thursday, April 12, 186 — 
 
 I have determined to have a garden — something wished 
 for long, but something which has always been just beyond 
 my reach. But we have acquired a hoe. It is a good one, 
 and now with that hoe what wonders can be wrought! 
 Once I tried to make a garden without this useful imple- 
 ment. It was not a success. 
 
 Friday, April 20 
 
 The plot of ground under the east windows has been 
 hoed and raked and coaxed into shipshape. It really be- 
 gins to look like a real garden. Gail Hamilton said of her 
 garden, the dirt was as yellow as gold, but it was a failure. 
 The earth in my garden is as black as a wicked heart, 
 and I'm working for success. Oh, the sweetness of the 
 things that are mine! How good of God to let me call 
 them mine! My Home, my Mother, my Jan, and my 
 
 7 
 
Garden! I'm very rich. I shall have to add beads to my 
 Rosary, although it is already twice told regulation length. 
 
 I find the sweet violets; a nice little bunch are already 
 budded to blossom. Sometimes they blossom under the 
 snow. 
 
 With riches, wants multiply. I want in my garden 
 scarlet beans and scarlet geraniums, whose long blossoms 
 make such nice drinking cups for the humming birds. And 
 sweet peas with their "messages for me," and rose ger- 
 aniums too, for they say what my heart says to Jan, "Thou 
 art my choice." 
 
 Saturday, April 21 
 
 Yesterday I pinched my rosemary a very little and its 
 fragrance was a very little inspiring. Today I've been 
 Napoleonic, making my "Iliad in action." Brought up 
 from the meadow a basketful of wild violet roots and put 
 them out before the parlor windows. 
 
 The dear old-fashioned parlor. Jan says it is like 
 Cosette's garden, because "we found out each other's names 
 there." 
 
 Yesterday I dreamed a dream of summer. Dreams 
 have worth only as action makes them real. Thus doing 
 has made today richer than yesterday. Entertaining oc- 
 cupations keep the heart in health. To live simply wish- 
 ing and looking out of the window is to remember with 
 pain the story of Sisera's mother, her waiting at the lattice 
 for the chariot wheels that tarried in their coming and — 
 her disappointment. Waiting and disappointment — who is 
 able to stand unmoved in face of these enemies of life? 
 They twain steal the gold from the sunshine, the promise 
 from the bow of the storm, the sweetness from the rose. 
 When these things have been filched from life, then one 
 is old. 
 
 8 
 
But when "nights lose and days win," it is easy to 
 forget that one has waited or suffered from disappoint- 
 ment. Sad thoughts lose out of mind as the snow melts 
 before the sun. Breathing in anticipation odor of violet in 
 the air, one forgets everything, only to be happy. 
 
 Sunday, April 22 
 
 To go to meeting is an event with us to be anticipated, 
 talked of, enjoyed and remembered. The worship of God 
 is refining. In hours of worship all the evil fires burn 
 low. The good burgeons into incense — yielding bloom. 
 God give me a worshipful heart. The White School House 
 was well filled today. Evidently some were more inter- 
 ested in the meeting than the object of the meeting. Just 
 in the middle of a hymn a horse got loose from its hitching, 
 and three men and two boys rushed out, one in his haste 
 brushing the hymnbook nearly out of an elder's hand. 
 Too sudden a transition of things to be helpful to con- 
 centrated attention. 
 
 The singing is an enjoyable feature of a schoolhouse 
 meeting. All sing the melody. The man who seemed to 
 lead, led with a little child in his arms, who all the time of 
 the singing crumpled a letter and chittered like a bird. I 
 should think it would have disconcerted him, but it did not 
 seem to and he went through the tune unruffled and serene. 
 One hymn was especially sweet. 
 
 "I do believe, I now believe 
 That Jesus died for me." 
 
 The invitation, "If any man thirst, let him come unto Me 
 and drink," was read again to us from the sacred Word. 
 He who delivered the invitation was not exactly prepos- 
 sessing, neither wholly the opposite. He wore smoke- 
 colored glasses and read with one eye close to the page, 
 
 9 
 
which made it seem very painful. His collar was very 
 low, but according to the lesson Rabbi Joshua taught the 
 Emperor's daughter, "Wine is best kept in common vessels, 
 and so is wisdom." 
 
 Monday, April 23 
 
 Dark and wet, a dismal sky. The damp that draws the 
 snails out of their houses drives the honey bees into theirs. 
 Usually on such days girls take to the lazy work of tatting 
 and satin stitch, but I didn't "tat" today; instead I have 
 aired a Charlotte Bronte affinity. She says she had always 
 an affinity for soap and water and I've had a revel in suds. 
 The farmhouse pantry is tonight as sweet as new-blown 
 daisies in its cleanness. As I worked I dreamed such a 
 sweet dream. 
 
 Tuesday, April 24 
 
 We found a new edition of winter left on the door-step 
 this morning. Yesterday the earth wore the hue of the 
 olive branch. Today it wears the white of the robes in 
 waiting and we are one day nearer heaven. 
 
 Wednesday, April 25 
 
 Hope goes up and hope goes down. Rises and falls 
 like the tides of the ocean. It is ecstasy and then a cor- 
 responding depression. Yesterday a dish of phlox, which 
 had nicely got started from the seed, was tipped over. I 
 reset the thread-like stems, not willing to be broken over 
 so small a thing. Then Frisket, my pet calf, looking for 
 spring greens under the snow, lifted a bunch of Polyanthus 
 out of the ground and the pretty creature escaped without 
 a scolding. This morning all my transplanted violets were 
 frosted, lop eared and "done gone" by the frost last night. 
 
 But there are thousands more in the meadows and I 
 can transplant another lot. I like to be in the meadow, 
 
 10 
 
although the bugs and the beetles take the poetry out of 
 that line of Bayard Taylor's: 
 
 "I lie in the summer meadows." 
 
 I want my ears perpendicular from their little nests and 
 houses in the grass. 
 
 Three things that have made me glad have also made 
 me sorry. There is a lesson short enough to be easily 
 remembered, easy, too, to forget when one is glad. 
 
 Eleanor has been spending the day at home. Mrs. 
 
 Harry B called and wanted me to go with her to dig 
 
 sweet flag. I went and now I know by experience that 
 sweet flag grows in swamps. My feet were wet as young 
 sponges when I returned from the expedition. 
 
 I have a harp in my room arranged in the window. 
 There is a description of a wind-harp in the life of Corinne, 
 but this is a silken thread fastened at either end to small 
 wedges of wood which are set between the frames. This 
 simple contrivance serves the double purpose of a musical 
 instrument, and of keeping the windows from rattling in 
 the wind, which still blows furiously some days, if it is 
 spring. And the wind is a more wonderful musician than 
 Ole Bull to bring weird witch melodies from my one- 
 stringed harp. The sound is pleasant, faint, like far-off 
 singing. I love to listen to it in the night. 
 
 Thursday, April 26 
 
 The great sale of pincushions, called a Fair, for the 
 benefit of the sanitary commission, which was held in the 
 village some years ago, has been brought to mind today 
 by our occupation. Since a thousand years, i. e., a long 
 time, Mother and I, when we should find a convenient time, 
 have been going to do some fancy work. This dark day 
 has been redeemed from dreariness, I can say redeemed in 
 this place, by making pretty pincushions. 
 
 11 
 
Saturday, April 28 
 
 I'm little housekeeper. Mother has gone to the village 
 and will spend the Sabbath there. All day everything has 
 gone by steam. I had the washing (weather delayed) 
 hung out before the Red Chariot went by. Then I scoured 
 a little, and dusted a little, and ironed a little. Went 
 down in the meadow and found by the brookside a shad 
 bush in blossom and made a bouquet. Sung a little just 
 at twilight, read my Bible lesson. And now I'm ready 
 for a happy sleep, having been usefully employed from 
 morning till night. But — to live forty years, just scour- 
 ing a little, washing a little, dusting a little, and so forth, 
 I could tell Mr. Benjamin F. Taylor there was a place, 
 little did not mean precious, or have any remote connection 
 with Paradise. 
 
 Sunday, April 29 
 
 There was no preaching at the White School House 
 today, so there was nothing to do but to look up into the 
 blue sky and think. If only the sky were always blue, 
 but it is not. Sometimes the face of the sky is overcast by 
 dark, sullen clouds, then it is bright with rosy smiles and 
 then we look up into a very tearful face. So the changes 
 go on forever from grave to gay, and round the circle from 
 gay to gray. Today the sky has been a beautiful summer 
 blue and I have been happy. 
 
 Monday, April 30 
 
 After breakfast, which is always my starting point for 
 the day, I bustled about transplanting some very small 
 plants, doing the ironing and making a pie for dinner. 
 The fences being like no fences, the cow and Frisket de- 
 cided to step over a fence and take a look at the valley. 
 Mary took a two-mile walk to drive them back. These are 
 
 12 
 
the events of interest that fill the measure of our days. 
 The world we live in is a very small one. I wonder if 
 there is a bigger world outside our valley, where folks get 
 a daily paper and talk together of the things that daily 
 happen. No, it can't be; this valley must be the full big- 
 ness, no greater world anywhere. I can see the sky touch 
 the hills just below the old tavern and it touches just 
 beyond Granny Christopher's. Maybe it is mist, that which 
 I call sky. I'll ask Jan. Maybe he can tell me. 
 
 A joy has fallen today. A beautiful new book, "Ata- 
 lanta of Calydon." Has anything been written that was 
 sweeter to read in springtime in the country than these 
 lines ? 
 
 "When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, 
 The mother of months in meadow or plain 
 Fills the shadows and windy places 
 With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain." 
 
 And the book is mine — Jan brought it to me. 
 
 9 o'clock. Harry B just stopped to return a 
 
 basket Mother sent up to their house filled with apples. 
 It comes back filled with butternuts. Kindness begets kind- 
 ness. Kindness is so cheap that everyone can be a million- 
 aire in giving kindness. The world in all its wideness 
 offers nothing so good as the things that are so cheap, or 
 common. Sunshine, that all can see and feel; air, that all 
 can breathe; water, that all may drink, and "living water,'* 
 that all may drink and never know thirst any more. 
 
 13 
 
MAY DAYS 
 
 May Day Proposition — Frost — Preaching — Welcomes 
 — A Wedding — Violets — Coming Home — Hail Storm — 
 The Spaniard — Transplanting — Mother Walking — 
 The Meadow — The Border Land of Spring — Homely 
 Duties Glorified — Fire on the Hearth — No Lilacs — 
 The Promise — Going to Town in the Rain — The White 
 Room — Coffee — King Solomon's Seal. 
 
 MAY 
 
 The Heart-weed growing by the walk 
 Sends up a pale pink flowered stalk, 
 A wand-like stem, from mass of green, 
 Where on each leaf a heart is seen. 
 
 A Dream of the Mayflower — Trailing 
 Arbutus 
 
 THE North wind came from the North. The South 
 wind came from the South; over the hillsides bare 
 and brown, through the valleys up and down, they went 
 together. The South wind shivered and was a-cold. A 
 sound of sighing went through the tree-tops, a sign of 
 coming rain — the tears of the South wind. "Come with 
 me," said the South wind to the North wind, "where there 
 is warmth and color and perfume, where it is sweet to 
 live." 
 
 And the North wind answered: "Come with me and I 
 will show you fairer flowers than those blossoming in the 
 land of the South," and they went on together. 
 
 Over the hillsides bare and brown, through the val- 
 leys up and down, following in the footsteps of the North 
 and South winds were true lovers, two and two. 
 
 15 
 
The sky was blue; the breath of the South wind soft 
 and sweet; the grass in patches was green and like a velvet 
 mat. It was spring time in the eyes and hearts of the 
 lovers. Spring time is Paradise Regained. 
 
 The bee finds not sooner the first cup of bliss of sum- 
 mer than lovers find the mayflower, which lifts its pink 
 and white waxen blooms from bunches of evergreen leaves. 
 It is our Lover's Edelweis. The snow protects, the sun- 
 shine colors, the tears of the broken-hearted winter nourish 
 the roots and, peerless and fearless, the blossoms scatter 
 fragrance round, like broken vases of alabaster, of precious 
 spikenard. 
 
 Up in the sky the sun shined down in the meadows, 
 the bobolinks sang. The South wind called to the North 
 wind: "I have found the flower that is fairer than any that 
 blossom in the South. I saw on the hillsides bare and 
 brown, happy lovers kneeling to pick the clustered blos- 
 soms of the mayflower and they were so happy as I flew 
 by I kissed them softly. Sing, oh North wind with your 
 clear, strong voice, Love is the mayflower of the Earth, 
 the fairest flower that blooms." 
 
 As they went on together the heart of the South wind 
 grew strong and brave; the heart of the North wind grew 
 soft and warm; and they sang, "Love is the fairest flower 
 that blooms, Love is the mayflower of the Earth." 
 
 May Day, 186— 
 
 Mother came home from the village in the Red 
 Chariot. The folks along the valley road call our Red 
 Chariot the stage. She found everything in prime order. 
 I had churned and the morning work was all out of the 
 way. The parlor was warmed, coffee nicely browned 
 ready for the mill and a nice dinner was soon ready for 
 her. After dinner we cracked butternuts and enjoyed the 
 ever-enjoyable "Swaar" apple. My two days of house- 
 
 16 
 
keeping had been such a delight that I asked Mother to 
 change rooms with me and let me be her housekeeper. 
 Mother smiled and said I had better try getting up and 
 "orderating" things a while longer before she moved. 
 Orderating is a word coined by little Alice and we have 
 adopted it into the vocabulary of household words. I call 
 it my May Day proposition. In the afternoon came one 
 of the prettiest snow storms that ever was seen. May 
 Day in her bridal dress was very pretty. I wish I could 
 make pictures, I would like to make one of my Meadow 
 Park with the snow and the shadows of twilight. I'll save 
 it in my heart, it will make my soul wealth greater; save 
 it in memory as Jan saved the beautiful view on the 
 Savannah River which marked a birthday when he was a 
 soldier. 
 
 Wednesday, May 2 
 
 Busied myself planning a silk morning dress for 
 Mother. It is to be "bran" new, made out of an old silk 
 dress of hers and one of mine. Just as I was lighting 
 the parlor lire after dinner, John and Milla came to make 
 a visit. I left Mother visiting and went into the kitchen 
 to get the extra dinner. Presently Mother came into the 
 kitchen and asked what I was getting for their dinner and 
 said "All right, Daut," when I told her. 
 
 The fire wood being low, John brought up an armful 
 of drift formation from the barn to break up. The axe 
 being broken, he said he'd saw it if I would show him how. 
 He understood wood chopping, he said, but not wood 
 sawing, so I showed him how to saw the wood. 
 
 It is very odd and it is very true, there are people on 
 the earth who seem to think, in exact proportion that a 
 girl is educated, she is bereft of common sense. I think 
 that is why John asked me to saw the wood. 
 
 17 
 
I know some things that I did not learn at Mrs. Wil- 
 lard's. I can drive a nail and not pound my fingers with 
 the hammer. So could Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite. 
 In the Book it is written of her, "Blessed above women 
 shall Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite be." She put 
 her hand to the nail and her right hand to the workman's 
 hammer and by the unwomanly act wrought a deliverance 
 for Israel. 
 
 It isn't a bad thing to know how to do all kinds of 
 work, farm work, drudgery, dishwashing, if only one can 
 keep from growing ploddy, stolid and kitcheny. 
 
 One day Millicent and Alice were walking on Broad- 
 way looking in the shop windows at the beautiful displays, 
 when Millicent said, "What lovely windows to wash." And 
 Alice said, "What lovely windows to look through." 
 Millicent was always so practical and Alice was soulful; 
 she loved beauty. As the thought, so the speech. As the 
 heart, so the act. 
 
 Thursday, May 3 
 
 I wanted John to take me to the village. One of the 
 ponies he drove was a barefoot colt and he didn't want 
 to worry it over the rough roads (it froze last night and 
 there was ice this morning and the road was hubby), so I 
 went over and borrowed Mr. Obee's buggy. He loaned 
 me the old one, the truly, truly, "Wonderful One Hoss 
 Shay." John drove a single horse and we went to the 
 mantua maker's, the bonnet maker's, the post office and the 
 market. It was so cold riding that my fingers ached and 
 the wind blew straight through all my winter wraps. We 
 were in town an hour and I did not see a person that I 
 knew. It was not a visiting expedition; like sweet Peggy, 
 I simply went to market. 
 
 This evening Mother and John have had a long cran- 
 berry marsh conversation. I suppose the "Judge" might 
 
 18 
 
have married "Maud/' and also that the cranberry marsh 
 might become a reality if — and there lots of things come 
 to an end. The first reason that, once on a time, a salute 
 was not fired was because there was no cannon. The 
 other ninety-nine of the hundred reasons did not count. 
 John has been interested in reading war stories. 
 
 I have noticed this, that the more systematically work 
 is done, the more time one seems to have at disposal. I 
 must learn to plan, to plan well. I suppose I ought to 
 have more arithmetic in my head. I'll cultivate it; I'll 
 cultivate all things that I lack — in my garden. 
 
 Friday, May 4 
 
 This little bedtime talk gives me pleasure. It is un- 
 burdening my heart of the trivialities of the day to a very 
 quiet and indulgent friend. The kind of friend most 
 esteemed by a bore. One who allows the bore to do all 
 the talking. This little talk also reveals the fact which 
 might be otherwise overlooked. It is this, in every day 
 there is some pleasantness and beauty. A white pebble 
 dropped in the way by the angel who walks ahead is 
 sufficient to turn the channel of thought for the day and 
 leads one into lovely paths, which unaided, I should not 
 have taken. God help me to find beauty in every day of 
 my life. 
 
 Saturday, May 5 
 
 Victor Hugo says of spring: "It is a provisional para- 
 dise." Sunshine helps to make man happy. How easy 
 one's duties seem in a bright day, though it be carrying a 
 burden. Have cleaned my room, putting it in beautiful 
 order. It is very sweet and clean. It is carpetless, but 
 it has a wonderful floor; generations of hand work have 
 made it what it is. It was laid rough and by continual 
 
 19 
 
scouring it has been worn down to a satin-like smoothness 
 that is quite marvelous. Why this hand work on boards 
 should bring about this peculiar condition of smoothness, 
 I do not know. I am told that it is so and the boards 
 under my feet seem to prove it. The handsome white bed 
 redeems the room from looking comfortless, and to- 
 night when the westering sun shined in and filled it with 
 light it looked — just peaches. 
 
 After dinner took a sacque I have been making for 
 Mary up to Mrs. Harry B — 's to get her to do a little 
 stitching for me — forgot the thread and walked back for 
 it. But then the houses are in sight of each other. Clever 
 Mrs. Harry B — would take no pay for what she did, for, 
 she said, "One never knows how soon one's self may need 
 favors." Wise and kind little woman. 
 
 On my way home with my work climbed over a rail 
 fence into a wood lot for a handful of Spring beauties 
 (Claytonia). Sent a bunch over to Eleanor to make her 
 Sunday bright. Since John and Milla left for home 
 we have settled back into the usual quiet. Quiet is not 
 always of long duration. We were just ready to sit down 
 to our tea when Sylvanus Marcus came to get some oats 
 and teaed with us. History repeats itself. Sylvanus Mar- 
 cus came for seed oats last year. 
 
 Sunday, May 6 
 
 The day has been a day of brilliant sunlight, but the 
 air has had a remembrance of winter in it. The White 
 School House was crowded. The preacher stepped down 
 from the teacher's platform as he delivered a sermon from 
 the words found in Job 23-3, "Oh, that I knew where I 
 might find him." It was an attentive congregation and 
 when he had finished and the service was over, they went 
 out very quietly. After everyone was stowed into a place 
 
 20 
 
there were no external distractions worth mentioning. 
 Two little girls played a little and two little dogs trotted 
 across the floor, but no one was disturbed at all. After we 
 came from the meeting, Mother and I sat in the parlor by 
 a good fire and cracked butternuts, spicing the enjoyment 
 of the nuts with salt and pleasant talk. 
 
 Nut cracking always brings to mind school days at 
 Mrs. Willard's. Sometimes sweet Mary Young and my- 
 self would — without permission — lay aside dull lessons and 
 take to the woods or the fruit of the woods. Mary being 
 the happy possessor of a nut jack and a bag of hickory 
 nuts. 
 
 Monday, May 7 
 
 A day set apart to go to town. A nice ride in the warm 
 spring sunlight, which just flooded the earth with "fluid 
 gold." Called at the house to say to Sylvanus Marcus he 
 could have the seed oats which he desired. Spent a pleas- 
 ant evening at Aunt Harriet's. They always make me so 
 welcome in so many little acts and not in so many words 
 only. There is such a difference in the welcomes which 
 people give you. There is at Aunt Harriet's a Mr. Peters 
 who has a hearty laugh and is very pleasant. 
 
 Tuesday, May 8 
 
 A happy morning. Mr. Peters, Hebe and poor me 
 ("poor child," was Aunt Mary's affectionate appellation) ; 
 well, we three sat on the porch, which is canopied by the 
 branches of a big, old apple tree, breathed the bloom of the 
 apple blossoms and said nothings in the prettiest way pos- 
 sible, with nothing to do for the time being but to look at 
 the blue sky through the latticed bloom. A blue-sky day it 
 has been, all day to the end of it. 
 
 Going round to Clara's in the morning I saw in a corner 
 of a grown-wild yard just such a mass of violet bloom as 
 
 21 
 
I had meant should now be blossoming at Cold Spring 
 Cottage, but alas, the frost! Also a big bunch of Rose- 
 mary — "That's for remembrance" — growing by the door- 
 step of a house in which I was once interested. Yes, I 
 remember, but not to regret. 
 
 Wonder if the very little lawn, where a little sprinkle 
 of a fountain continually tosses up a ball, ever brings to 
 Jan's mind the green fields lying round a low, brown farm- 
 house? Jan brought round to me "Notes on Coffee," which 
 I had asked for. Among the things which I have not is 
 an encyclopedia. So Jan is my library of reference. 
 
 Wednesday, May 9 
 
 At Vic's. There have been but two changes in Vic's 
 home since I first knew her. The sitting room has a 
 brighter paper on the walls than it used to have, and the 
 piano has been moved from the back parlor into the sitting- 
 room. She was expecting me and is always so kind it is 
 a pleasure to be with her. After tea we walked over to 
 a friend's to borrow "The Marble Faun," two volumes for 
 me to read while I am with her. Today, after cutting a 
 short "coat," I have been reading when Vic was busy. 
 
 Thursday, May 10 
 
 The minister lives next door. Vic found out there was 
 to be a couple married and we were permitted to go to the 
 wedding. The bride was sweet looking, having a notice- 
 able pretty mouth. The bridegroom was large and very 
 bashful. He wore purple gloves and a blue necktie. 
 Maybe she will teach him by and by something about 
 harmony of color. After the ceremony began he dis- 
 covered that he was being married on the wrong side. 
 So they had a little extra chasseing in the ceremony. The 
 bride's father and mother were with her, but only the min- 
 
 22 
 
ister greeted them. Perhaps we being strangers spoiled the 
 spontaneous joy of the occasion. But they were married; 
 that was what they had sought at the minister's house and 
 they went away with his blessing. 
 
 Friday, May 11 
 
 Walking from Vic's to Aunt Harriet's, the violets by 
 the brookside made one think of the blue coats of the 
 soldiers, that it was Jan's favorite color, that it was the 
 color I love in the sky and, yes, in Jan's eyes, and so I 
 loitered by the way gathering a handful of the blessed 
 blue-eyed beauties. Went to the milliner's for my bonnet. 
 It is the funniest little thing I ever saw. Don't like it; 
 I'll make it over some day. 
 
 As I passed through the parlor this evening I saw my 
 handful of violets lying on the table all faded. It 'most 
 brought tears into my own blue eyes. How often we take 
 pains to gather the things that fade in the hand. 
 
 Saturday, May 12 
 
 However agreeable, the happiest part of my every visit 
 is the home coming. The five miles through the lonesome 
 valley was delightful to me this morning. At dinner 
 everything was as shining as for a guest. This simile of 
 love occurred to me as I sipped my coffee. It struck me 
 as being an original thought, or, as Jan says, unique. 
 
 Coffee, taken clear, when partially cooled, has given a 
 part of its delectable aroma to the air and leaves a slight 
 sharpness — a little bitter taste in the mouth, still pos- 
 sessing all its strength. Is it not true of love? When 
 taken clear, allowing it to cool in the least, the volatile 
 essence escapes, refining the atmosphere, is a little bitter 
 to the taste yet possessing all its strength. 
 
 23 
 
Mother laughed when I told her that my seat-mate in 
 the Red Chariot was an old man eating a lunch of crack- 
 ers. Lucky for me that I'm not veneered. I never did like 
 veneered things. 
 
 Found waiting a letter from my beautiful "Alex" of 
 St. Louis and my Canadian sweetheart, Mary G — , also 
 "The Guide to Flower and Kitchen Garden/' which had 
 been ordered. 
 
 After supper took a walk in the meadow by the brook- 
 side for a bunch of blue violets for Sunday. 
 
 Sunday, May 13 
 
 The air is very chilly. A dark sky threatening storm 
 and before night the storm came which the sky had prom- 
 ised from the beginning of the day. The weather-wise 
 farmer folks, who know fair nature's moods and tenses 
 very well, say that after such a storm it will be warmer. 
 The hailstones which the clouds showered down this after- 
 noon were as big as marrowfat peas. 
 
 Mother tells a story of a Spaniard who, when eating 
 cherries, put on his glasses to make the cherries look larger. 
 Magnify your blessings ! Following the excellent example 
 of the Spaniard, the bouquet which I gathered last night 
 has been under the magnifying glass today and we have 
 been charmed by the exquisite beauty of a small white 
 flower (Mitella Diphylla). Yet it is only a spike of com- 
 mon mitrewort. 
 
 Monday, May 14 
 
 Hoeing in my garden, have been in real earnest. It's 
 late enough to begin in earnest. The sweet peas are in the 
 ground. The scarlet beans planted, eyes down, according 
 to the book. And now the story of the boy and the "Bean 
 Vine" will be a new story. It will be the girl and her 
 "Bean Vine." It is a very cold spring. Every night there 
 
 24 
 
is a little frost. The weeds don't seem to mind the cold and 
 the grass, how it grows. Why are the lovely things so 
 delicate ? 
 
 Studying in my "Guide," I have discovered a mine of 
 wants. Not a very profitable discovery! Yet it is some- 
 thing to be rich in wants, not being satisfied in possessing 
 a few things, and asking nothing of heaven or earth. 
 
 Maybe some prayers bring no answer because nothing 
 is asked. 
 
 Tuesday, May 15 
 
 I here record a labor of love accomplished. Have 
 reset my bed of wild violets and transplanted some ferns. 
 The discovery made concerning the length of fern roots 
 recompensed me for the digging. They are like, most like, 
 an elongated pineapple. Quite deep roots to my surprise. 
 I am learning some things by getting at the root of things. 
 
 My sweet old Mother made a three-mile walk today 
 to see about some stock. She is a famous walker, so young 
 and bright although sixty this very summer. Thank God, 
 she is not old. As we talked over our home matters to- 
 night, I thought there is no language under heaven so 
 musical and sweet to the ear as the language of home. It 
 is the voice that makes it a distinct language. 
 
 Wednesday, May 16 
 
 First the weather. A dampness, a sourness, a rainy 
 drizzle. I wonder why one always thinks of the weather 
 the first thing in recording the events of a day. Grand- 
 father always did so, but to do so simply because he did 
 is too much like carrying the stone in the end of the bag 
 to balance the grist. Is not this the reason? The life of 
 the day is influenced by the weather. Dark days make dull 
 living. Sunshine makes living a delight. The farmer does 
 
 25 
 
not plow the land in the rain nor sow the grain when the 
 wind blows. He has learned respect for Nature's moods. 
 
 Mr. George came to sign the writing, leasing the East 
 lot. Then Mother and I put on our shawls and bonnets 
 and went over to Eleanor's to dinner. The coffee was 
 lovely. In stormy days the fire on the hearth has great 
 drawing power and being drawn by the fire we burn our 
 faces and freeze our backs. It was the same in the days 
 of our ancestors. Still a fire on the hearth in an old farm- 
 house is something to enjoy and to remember with joy. 
 
 I'd like to try my cinnamon fire some day to know if it 
 was really fragrant in burning. Jan says the cedar they 
 found in Tennessee made a very sweet, fragrant fire. The 
 school ma'am is here tonight, which is one of the events of 
 note in country life. 
 
 Thursday, May 17 
 
 It seemed a'most a forenoon this morning before the 
 school ma'am started for school. I sewed a little while 
 and then went into my garden a little while. I 'spect 
 everything I touched will grow an inch at least before I 
 go out to look at them again. It is wonderful how the 
 hardy things grow in the cold which shuts us indoors. 
 Eleanor has been home this afternoon and the days are 
 very happy. These words fell from my lips among the 
 violets when I was gathering a bunch. Bryant writes in 
 this way of life's hard times and life's good times: 
 
 "The light of smiles shall fill again 
 
 The lids that overflow with tears; 
 And weary hours of woe and pain 
 
 Are promises of happier years. 
 There is a day of sunny rest 
 
 For every dark and troubled night; 
 And grief may bide an evening guest, 
 
 But joy shall come with morning light." 
 
 26 
 
The same thought is found in the Bible, only expressed in 
 fewer words: "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy 
 cometh in the morning" (Ps. 30-5). It is certainly shorter 
 to remember. How often one goes to the poet for com- 
 fort when they should go to the Bible. 
 
 Friday, May 18 
 
 A long forenoon, with a steel blue atmosphere, very 
 depressing. After dinner a walk by the brook, picked 
 violets and Bath-blows, put them in Mother's old vase and 
 set them on the piano. Took a nap, dressed, after tea 
 went over to Eleanor's. She is passionately fond of 
 flowers and is greatly interested in my gardening. She 
 has the touch of a magician; whatever she touches grows. 
 She gave me today some self-sown plants, larkspur and 
 bachelor-button. I am so glad they have come up. It is 
 so hard to wait for them to come to life after I bury the 
 seeds. I am getting to be quite expert in transplanting; 
 even delicate plants seem to go right on growing, suffering 
 very little by the change. A garden teaches patience. I 
 am learning to wait. I thought there was nothing to add 
 up in today, but when it is all told it makes a pretty little 
 sum. It is a good habit to count one's mercies and to set 
 up memorial stones to mark one's happy days. 
 
 Saturday, May 19 
 
 The meadow is blue with wild violets. It is a beautiful 
 sight. I cannot paint. This is what I can do to preserve 
 them from oblivion. I will write of them. Their sweet- 
 ness and beauty have not been wasted on the desert air 
 this May time, for I have loved every one of them since 
 the first blue eye smiled back from the earth to the sky. 
 
 27 
 
The Border Land of Spring 
 
 "All the Blue Bonnets are over the Border." — Scott. 
 
 Between the winter and the summer is a border land. 
 It does not belong to the snow and the grass doth not own 
 it. For many days the forces of nature wage war over 
 this strip of seemingly waste moor, possessed by neither 
 winter nor summer, yet bordering on both. The wind 
 howls; it is the sounding of trumpets. The hail descends; 
 it is the rattle of musketry firing. The snow fills the air, 
 thick as the smoke of battle, and when the sun pierces the 
 smoke there is seen the flashing of lances. All the while 
 this conflict rages the grass is gaining ground, the rain is 
 nourishing the roots and the sun is busy painting each 
 spear with the colors of summer. 
 
 Finally the trumpets cease their sounding, the clouds 
 of battle clear away and the sun shines on the grass in 
 quiet possession of the disputed territory. With the new 
 reign comes a new order of things. White butterflies sail 
 over fresh-greened meadow lands, summoning from sleep 
 the blue-bonneted violets of spring. When the sky color 
 of their blue bonnets glows in the meadows, along the 
 highways and in the hedges, it is Nature's Easter. At this 
 time there is a holy convocation of their blue bonnets and 
 clinging green gowns in every nook and corner of the 
 green earth. Sometimes in their way cross fields they 
 tread on graves. The blue hoods of the meadow violets 
 are often seen bowing over grass-grown graves, and if 
 ever the dead smile in their sleep it must be when the 
 blue bonnets step on their graves, for they come from the 
 land of the dead with a message to the living. 
 
 "We were buried, but at His word we have waked to 
 life again" is the joyful truth that they herald as they 
 cross the border. Come out into the great meadows, be- 
 yond the town, to meet the blue bonnets. Bow down to 
 
 28 
 
greet them. Tenderly take them by the hand. Love them 
 and kiss them, it will do your heart good. Be glad in 
 their beauty. They have a message for all. Bend the 
 knee to receive their blessing. Their life is a mission of 
 love; their breath a wine of fragrance for the health of 
 the soul. Drink ye of it; so shall life be sweeter for 
 their crossing from thence to us, over the border. 
 
 Sunday, May 20 
 
 A day with none of tomorrow's cares or yesterday's 
 regrets. A day of sunshine and that means so much to us 
 at the cottage. Yet — with all the light and song about me 
 I walked into a shadow land. As I listened to the birds 
 singing a morning service of song and felt the warm sun- 
 light (for I will sit in the sunshine when I can), I became 
 conscious, almost to sickness, that the life I am living in 
 these days is in a minor key. It makes sad music, with a 
 wail and shiver of willow leaves. I never loved sad music; 
 why should my life strike those notes? I saw today what 
 the prophet Elijah desired to see, a cloud no bigger than 
 a man's hand come up from behind the hills, cover the 
 sky with darkness, "and there was a great rain." (1-K., 
 18:45.) 
 
 It was a fierce shower, with thunder and lightning and 
 there were "fountains in the midst of the valleys" where 
 there were none before. 
 
 Monday, May 21 
 
 Seized by an idea and nearly carried away by it; put- 
 ting it in execution, I've been as busy as a gunner in a 
 battle. Just at night sang a half hour for Jan's sake; 
 sang "Thou Art so Near and yet so Far." Possibly I will 
 not be able to render it any more satisfactorily than I did 
 "Bonny Doon" when I tried my best. Any way, all that 
 
 29 
 
one can do for one's friends is to give one's best. "I can 
 try" ought to rank with "I thank you" in household 
 speech. No sweet courtesy at home is ever lost, but like 
 the good, which the Arab proverb bids us "Throw in the 
 sea. If the fishes do not see it, God will." 
 
 "And night and sleep in the night." 
 
 Last night I slept so sweetly that on waking I was 
 in a daze to find it morning. It seemed as if I had but 
 just laid down to sleep. Will it be so with the dead when 
 they wake? 
 
 Tuesday, May 22 
 
 Busy all day in a womanly way. To make and to 
 mend, to patch and to darn, the garments that one has 
 to go on making and mending, patching and darning. How 
 weary it all is, yet how very womanly ! To do the homely 
 duties with womanliness is to glorify the homeliness of 
 the work. To be sweetly womanly in all my life! Such 
 life be mine. A woman reaching the heights of perfect 
 womanliness, herself "a verie glory to womanhood," might 
 well be dizzy, looking down from such a height, but such 
 an one never falls from giddiness for she looks not down, 
 but up, for beyond is a step higher, from womanhood to 
 angelhood. 
 
 Wednesday, May 23 
 
 It is always pleasant to record a victory. The idea 
 which seized me and nearly carried me away the other 
 morning proves a success. Took my embroidery, just to 
 be busily idle, over to Eleanor's to enjoy her fire on the 
 hearth and work a sprig or two. No fire in the house can 
 be compared to the fire on the hearth, toward which in 
 chill days we instinctively turn our faces and our feet. 
 Fire, how it purifies ! So, as by fire, shall all work be 
 
 30 
 
tried. Whose work shall abide the trial? The dross 
 burned away, the gold refined, but these are not the 
 thoughts I thought as I looked in the fire this afternoon. 
 If I believed in transmigration of souls, I should certainly 
 believe myself some old fire-worshipper, I do. so love fire. 
 
 Thursday, May 24 
 
 The battles of life are many ; the routs are, alas, many ; 
 the decided victories many or few, as we are able with 
 His help to overcome the enemy. Met a foe, face to face, 
 and conquered; need I write more of today? I'm not the 
 Mother of Sisera, why should I linger at the lattice? 
 Sang a little while in the twilight. It is Victoria of 
 England's birthday. I wonder if John and Mary will 
 remember me as well as her Royal Majesty today. Trans- 
 planted the Phlox (which Frisket inadvertently tipped over 
 and which I carefully reset in the box) to the posie bed 
 under the east window of Mother's room. Now, when I 
 read my Bible, I'm going to bed and to sleep. 
 
 Friday, May 25 
 
 Brought up from the meadow some moss to fill a wire 
 basket which is to hang in the east window of Mother's 
 room. Put some morning glory seed in the earth. So 
 impatient am I when I cover the seeds, I wish they would 
 all grow like Jonah's gourd. Brought up some ferns from 
 the meadow, trimmed the sweet brier, sewed some stock- 
 gilly seed, finished a piece of embroidery, practised my 
 music and I write in these few lines what it has taken 
 all day to do. 
 
 The afternoon has been showery, just like April. We 
 are having a spring without lilac blossoms. Eleanor says 
 some seeds are better out of the ground than in till we 
 are sure it's settled weather. But how are we to be sure? 
 
 31 
 
Only day before yesterday morning there was a white 
 frost. Some things were bitten again. I tried not to 
 think about it. Blessed be the patch of earth that shall 
 teach me to be patient. With all the happiness that falls 
 as still as snowflakes into my life, very often "the days 
 turn sour with all the honey on my lips." That's Swin- 
 burne. I'm glad for his help in expressing my thoughts 
 in these days. 
 
 Saturday, May 26 
 
 Mother received a letter from Mr. Dudley Dobson, 
 in which he says he will surely come to see us before he 
 goes to Montana. The letter has cheered Mother. I hope 
 he will come. 
 
 Sunday, May 27 
 
 "When the wind down the river is fair." The wind 
 was just right this morning, so we heard the church bells 
 ring over in town. Some way as the strokes beat the air 
 they made me very homesick. I guess I'll get over it; 
 sometimes people do die of homesickness, but not often. 
 A shower and a rainbow ! I am always happier after read- 
 ing that promise in the sky. God says when he looks at it 
 he will remember, and when I look at it I remember His 
 promise and I think of what God is thinking, His promise. 
 What if the spring is late, there will be harvest, for it is 
 promised. I'm glad the rainbow was hung up in the sky 
 on a Sunday when there was no service in the White 
 School House. There was no preaching today on account 
 of a funeral at the next village. Did I say no service? 
 There was an early liturgical service. The birds sang the 
 commandments and reverently I made the responses. 
 "Lord, write all these thy laws in my heart." 
 
 32 
 
Monday, May 28 
 
 Have been to town with Mr. Obee. He came over this 
 morning to see if I wanted to go and I said right off that 
 I did want to go. It rained fearfully. Mr. Obee said he 
 thought the valley folks who saw us going would think 
 all the family were sick, the cat, too, to make it necessary 
 to go to town in such a rain. It is a custom in the valley 
 to look out at every team that passes and the horses are 
 as well known as the drivers. 
 
 When my errands were done I had to wait a bit, which 
 I did not mind. In quiet one gets strength to go on. I 
 wonder how people live who do not have a small, conse- 
 crated closet which they can enter, shutting out work and 
 worry, fold their hands and give thanks for quiet in which 
 to talk alone with God. Living in a heap without such a 
 refuge, also begets commonness. And delicacy in life is 
 like the down on the peach — once it is rubbed off no 
 art can restore it. 
 
 Tuesday, May 29 
 
 Eleanor was home this afternoon and took a cup of tea 
 with us. Have been busy putting my room in the most 
 perfect order for a guest room in case Mr. Dudley Dob- 
 son does come home, as he said he would. It looks very 
 sweet to me. I do not know how it looks to other folks. 
 The walls are low; I lift my arm up and touch the ceiling. 
 The walls are white, the floor is white, the bed is all in 
 beautiful white; the handsome spread would make any 
 bed look like a royal couch. The window (west) is cur- 
 tained with white mull. There are only three bits of color 
 in the room — the rug before the bed, the table cover and a 
 red bookcase against the wall. Mrs. Whitney expressed 
 herself delighted with the room, but she came with the 
 mind to be pleased with everything, for it was the mother 
 
 33 
 
and sister of her friend Alice that she was visiting. Per- 
 haps Mr. Dudley D — will be pleased for the same reason, 
 for was not Alice his Alice? When twilight came down to 
 shut away the day forever from our sight, I sang a little 
 while and the day ended with a song. 
 
 Wednesday, May 30 
 Began the pretty embroidery which I am to do for 
 Mrs. John Smith. Took my work over to Eleanor's to 
 work by her fire on the hearth. A stove is poor company. 
 Mr. Obee brought the expected letter from the Post Office 
 and it is a disappointment. I am not going to see a coffee 
 tree grow. It reads: 
 
 Washington, May 26, 186 — . 
 Dear Madam: 
 
 I sent to the Agricultural Department for the seeds you re- 
 quested and will enclose Mr. Newton's reply, so you will see it is 
 impossible to gratify your wish. A friend, however, gave me some 
 lettuce and brocoli, which I will enclose. 
 
 Very respectfully yours, 
 
 Hamilton Ward. 
 (Enclosed letter) 
 
 Department of Agriculture 
 
 Washington, D. C, May 25, 186—. 
 Hon. Hamilton Ward, M. C, 
 Washington, D. C. 
 
 Dear Sir: In reply to your note of the 22nd inst., I have to say 
 that the Department have not had for distribution any of the pure 
 Java coffee seed and that our supply of lettuce seed is entirely 
 exhausted, not a paper of the same being left in the establishment. 
 
 Very respectfully yours, 
 
 Isaac Newton, Commissioner. 
 
 Well, I shall see a coffee tree growing and blossom- 
 ing some time. I don't know where, but all things come 
 to him who waits. My garden teaches me to wait. 
 
 34 
 
Thursday, May 31 
 
 Second Cousin Sarah has come to make a long-prom- 
 ised visit. Although a relative she is a stranger. So it is 
 she and not Mr. D. D. who is to occupy the White Room. 
 Every new presence, every new voice helps to fill the want 
 of society. I hope my room will give her pleasure as she 
 occupies it. And — tomorrow is Summer. 
 
 Solomon's Seal 
 
 "King Solomon exceeded all the kings of the earth for 
 riches and wisdom." His throne was "A great throne of 
 ivory overlaid with the best gold. All King Solomon's 
 drinking vessels were of gold and all the vessels of the 
 house of the forest of Lebanon were of pure gold; none 
 were of silver; it was nothing accounted of in the days of 
 King Solomon. The king made silver to be in Jerusalem 
 as stones." 
 
 But there came a day of fear and great confusion in 
 the king's palace. The great seal was lost from the signet 
 ring of the king. The seal could make alive or make 
 dead; it could bring joy out of mourning and turn light 
 into darkness. The king's hand wearing the seal could 
 ease of pain and cure of disease. Was it a shadow of 
 the kingdom's passing from his hands? "For the Lord 
 was angry with King Solomon because his heart was 
 turned from the Lord God of Israel." 
 
 Because of the magical virtues of the gem which had 
 so mysteriously been lost, no diviner could tell whither it 
 had vanished, whether from the earth or in the earth. 
 Couriers were sent in haste throughout the kingdom, cry- 
 ing the king's loss, adding by the king's command, "Who- 
 soever seeketh to find the king's seal shall be made happy." 
 
 35 
 
Then all men everywhere began to dig and to seek. It 
 might be found in the depths of the earth, or the sea, in 
 the Temple ashes, or built into the nest of a bird in a Leb- 
 anon cedar. "Whosoever seeketh to find the king's seal 
 shall be made happy." The king's word was sure and men 
 sought diligently to find the royal gem, for the reward was 
 great. 
 
 The fields were furrowed and harrowed; floats were 
 constructed and sent into far-off seas; the mountains were 
 bored and the lakes were dragged. The fields returned 
 golden grains; the floats brought back precious woods; the 
 mountains gave goodly stones and the fishermen of the 
 lakes brake their nets many times with a marvellous 
 draught of fishes. 
 
 Every one who went seeking to restore the king's jewel 
 obtained the fulfillment of the king's promise, which was 
 to them as goodly pearls. Some sick folks found health; 
 some discontented ones found content; some who were poor 
 became rich. There was discovered by the seekers for the 
 seal a wonderful magic in employed hearts and hands and 
 they were made happy. 
 
 Wise was King Solomon above all men. His loss was 
 his people's gain. In seeking his happiness they found 
 their own, but no man returned from seeking with the 
 curiously graven seal of the Kingdom. 
 
 In the seventeenth century after Christ the lost seal 
 was found by a Frenchman, while walking in the woods 
 one day in early summer. He was a man whose heart was 
 in tune with the royal monarch's, who in his lifetime spake 
 of "trees, from the cedar that is in Lebanon, even unto 
 hyssop that springeth out of the wall." 
 
 His life was given to the study of plants, their ways, 
 their folk lore and their songs. This day in early summer 
 
 36 
 
he heard a small chime of bells that attracted him, that 
 spell-bound him. The bells were peculiarly set on a 
 slender curving stem and every time the wind softly blew, 
 they rang. This is their song: 
 
 SOLOMON'S SEAL 
 
 My merry peal 
 Of bells reveal 
 Where lies the seal, 
 The royal seal, 
 The seal King Solomon lost one day. 
 
 I've rung my chimes 
 Ten thousand times, 
 And told the tale 
 To summer's gale, 
 Here lies the seal, 
 The sacred seal, 
 The seal King Solomon lost one day. 
 
 Pale lilies grow 
 Where buried low 
 The roots reveal 
 The flower stalks seal, 
 The sacred seal, 
 The graven seal, 
 The seal King Solomon lost one day. 
 
 Tournefort, the botanist, carefully lifted the root and 
 transferred to his botanist's box a tender, graceful plant 
 of the lily family, and he was as happy as a man finding 
 treasure. The king's word was still good after all the 
 ages. 
 
 The common name comes from its curiously marked 
 root. When you see again the little plant whose flower 
 stalk sears its root with a seal, you will think of the losing 
 and the finding of King Solomon's seal. 
 
 37 
 
JUNE DAYS 
 
 The Moccasin Flower — Company — First Communion — 
 Showers and Rainbows — Mother's Room — A Walk — 
 First Rosebud — Beautiful View — Red Beans — My 
 Park — Gleaning — Antiquarian Research — June Bou- 
 quet — White Daisies and White Clover — Blackberry 
 Blossoms — A Dream — The Brook — The Elect 
 
 JUNE 
 
 The strawberries, whose leaves between 
 The pearls in ducal crowns are seen, 
 Are meadow-flavored, grown half wild, 
 Like those I gathered when a child. 
 
 Story of the Moccasin Flower 
 
 THE white-haired Winter said to Spring as she started 
 Earthward with her treasures of bloom: "It's cold on 
 the Earth yet, the grass is only beginning to spring up 
 on the sunniest slopes; you had better wear your yellow 
 moccasins." And gentle Spring did as she was bid by 
 white-haired Winter and wore on her feet the royal colored 
 slippers of her Eastern sisters as she walked across the 
 fast-greening fields of the North. It was easy to track 
 her goings in the land, for she showered her blessings of 
 brightness with a royal hand. The birds and the children 
 hung on her steps as naturally as foam follows in the 
 wake of a boat. Her smile warmed to life many desolate 
 places and made the earth give back a smile. Smile for 
 smile, that's the universal law. 
 
One day, when the days were growing long and warm 
 and as full of brightness as a tulip flower is of color, Spring 
 loitered on a hillside, happy in being a blessing to all the 
 world. She heard voices like the pattering of rain on 
 the cottage roof and footsteps; so many that it seemed as 
 if the Pied Piper of Hamelin had been playing on his 
 magic pipe again and they were all so happy — yes, she 
 heard them say it — because Spring had come again and 
 wherever she came she made the earth so glad. 
 
 Then Spring thought quickly. "My anemones and 
 spring beauties and May-flowers and wake robins are all 
 gone; it's almost time for Summer blossoms. I wish I 
 had a gift specially mine for the young folks who love me 
 so." Then her eye fell on her yellow moccasins. Its 
 maroon fastening was undone and quick as a falling star 
 it dropped into marshy place and was instantly changed 
 into a flower of her Southland, an orchid. There it shone 
 a golden glory in a lonesome, marshy place. 
 
 The eyes of those who had been lured into the fields 
 were looking for blossoms and one a little taller than the 
 rest discovered it and called out: "The Princess went 
 this way; she lost her slipper in this bog and I've found 
 it." Big and little crowded together and admired the 
 dainty yellow satin thing with its maroon fastenings that 
 she had worn and counted the finder very fortunate. 
 
 Spring hurried on to meet and give her kiss of welcome 
 to Summer. The young folks went their way home and 
 the little slipper was carefully preserved as a memento of 
 a happy day out of doors. 
 
 Then Spring thought: "I'm glad I was wise enough to 
 take white-haired Winter's advice and wear my yellow 
 moccasins and it was very sweet of Mother Nature to turn 
 my slipper into an orchid flower." For a moment she held 
 the odd one by its maroon lacings and then tossed it after 
 the other one saying, "Oh, Mother Nature, make of this 
 
 40 
 
also an orchid flower." And ever since, when it comes 
 her turn to come again in the year's round, she sees the 
 young folks hunting her slipper in the fields. 
 
 Friday, June 1, 186- 
 
 Luxuriating in the idleness of a magazine love story 
 when Mrs. Willson, Mrs. Warden and George came to 
 spend the day. The loss of her daughter showed so 
 plainly in Mrs. Warden's face it made me desolate, but 
 she had come to us and we must cheer her if we could. I 
 let the piano remain closed, though it makes me feel as 
 if some one were dead, for I thought if it were opened 
 Mrs. Warden's first thought would be of Julia and her 
 music. It was a lovely dinner and beautiful visit after 
 all. We were deeply engaged in conversing of men and 
 things — these ladies being acquainted in the world out- 
 side — when I caught sight of the Red Chariot rolling by. 
 A waving sunbonnet caused a halt. I made a quick ready 
 and was soon rolling along the valley road in the Red 
 Chariot, but still thinking of the pleasant friends in the 
 cottage parlor that I had been obliged to leave. 
 
 Saturday, June 2 
 
 This morning brought the wool for my breakfast cape 
 scarlet of course, the very color of my scarlet geranium. 
 I've wanted it so long. Then I went round to see Mrs. 
 Stanley R.'s baby. God keep thee, little one, my heart 
 said as I saw the small white nugget hugged in her 
 mother's arms. Also a queer thing happened. A certain 
 man said a certain work should cancel a certain debt, but 
 today he ignored having promised any such thing. He 
 only said it; he did not write it. Very well; I owe that 
 
 41 
 
man nothing tonight but a little grudge. Now, life is short 
 and it does not pay to nurse grudges. 
 
 Preparatory Lecture this afternoon. There were six 
 men and a roomful of women, but certainly more men are 
 going to heaven than that. I reckon it's harder being a 
 Christian in business hours than in hours of church 
 service. 
 
 Sunday, June 3 
 
 My first Communion. God grant me two more days 
 as purely white as this — my wedding day and the day of 
 my death. The morning was rainy and we rode to church. 
 In the dear old church, dear to me by many sacred asso- 
 ciations, I received baptism. Kneeling, I prayed "God 
 take me, and grant this prayer which the pastor prays for 
 me, whiteness of soul." 
 
 After church the Mrs. M — , the pastor's wife, came 
 to me and said she wished me to take charge of her class 
 today and to come to the Manse to dine with them. Dear 
 Mrs. M — , how very sweet your kindness seems to me. 
 
 Monday, June 4 
 
 The world seemed a new creation as I looked into 
 the morning and saw the bright sunlight, like a hand of 
 blessing over all the world. After breakfast, eight o'clock, 
 came morning prayers. One happy morning long ago I 
 drifted into the pastor's home just in time for prayers. 
 How blessed are words of prayer in the morning, for as 
 the key is taken, the song is sung. I sat on the lower 
 stair in the hall and Mrs. M — brought a chair and sat 
 beside me and we visited. Later I went round to Clara's 
 to borrow her Tasso for reading. Blessed are the books 
 that bear reading and then reading over again. Called 
 at Nell's for a little lover's visit. I have rechristened her 
 
 42 
 
Apple Blossom, she is such a dainty little creature. Of 
 course I accumulated something for my garden. This 
 time roots of rosemary (so-called) ; gave some to Mrs. 
 M— . 
 
 In the afternoon Mrs. M — looked up in Natural 
 History the Bobolink. So I was right. Ah, I knew the 
 fellow's song! Have learned to use encyclopedias where 
 I find them and learned a little more about coffee. We 
 know about wheat; why shouldn't we know something 
 about coffee? 
 
 Showers in the afternoon prevented my teaing with 
 Mrs. Willson as she had wished me to do when I left her 
 at the cottage Friday afternoon. Attended the monthly 
 concert of prayer for Missions. So another happy day 
 has passed which will never greet our eyes here again, 
 but we shall see it in eternity. 
 
 Tuesday, June 5 
 
 A morning chill, with early showers. In anticipation 
 of my ride, I did not enjoy the patter of the rain as I 
 heard it when I wakened, but it's never wise to cross a 
 bridge before it is reached. It did not rain, but a mist 
 filled the air, hiding the brightness of the sun, which was 
 shining somewhere, for the morning was warm. I never 
 enjoyed a ride more; settled a little bill with the driver. I 
 was so glad to get home again. I've done nothing but be 
 glad all day. Put out my rosemary. Found the ferns and 
 mignonette and peas and beans had grown wonderfully. 
 Things are just shooting ahead now and it's interesting to 
 watch the strides they make every day. They grow like 
 the story of the bean. Late in the afternoon there was a 
 rainbow. An old rhyme says: 
 
 A rainbow at night 
 Is the sailor's delight. 
 
 43 
 
Wednesday, June 6 
 
 Something new in my garden. Weeds ! Now the weed- 
 ing begins. No weed allowed with my flowers. Received 
 passion flower seeds from Boston. Mother read aloud 
 for awhile this afternoon from "Kitty Trevelyan's Diary," 
 one of the books which Mrs. M — kindly loaned me. How 
 happy it seemed, sitting in Mother's large, low room listen- 
 ing to her as she read. We settle down very quickly into 
 the regular routine, yet every coming home reveals some 
 new charm about the cottage. Singing a song as I worked 
 among my flowers I discovered a beautiful echo. If I had 
 not sung as I worked the echo would have kept still. 
 
 Thursday, June 7 
 
 Always after going up, one has to go down hill. It's 
 down today; very tame everything seems. Transplanted 
 some self-sown petunias. They were out of place and so 
 were weeds. In place they will be beautiful flowers. 
 Crocheted till I was tired, then went over to Eleanor's to 
 look in the fire which still burns on the hearth. Divided 
 my passion flower seeds with Sarah and Eleanor. The 
 only incident in today which occurs to me as worthy of 
 note, beside breakfast, dinner and supper, has been the 
 feeding the chickens, spreading their Indian meal break- 
 fast on a large, flat stone by the kitchen door. After they 
 were fed they began to scratch in my posie-bed. Nice 
 return for food and care. They are very pretty if they 
 were seemingly a little ungrateful. 
 
 Friday, June 8 
 
 A walk down the valley, taking Sarah out to see the 
 burgh. Called at Mrs. John Jacob's. She invited us into 
 her parlor. One thing is certain, the parlor will be all the 
 
 44 
 
pleasanter for the next caller for the sweet outdoor breeze 
 that played hide and seek in it while we stayed. All the 
 neighbors are kindly interested in my efforts to have a 
 flower garden and give me "slips." Mrs. John gave me two 
 rose slips, a scarlet geranium and a fuchsia. I was very 
 rich when they were all in place. 
 
 Every once in a while it comes over me, what "a little 
 hindering thing" I am in this world. There doesn't seem 
 to be any real helpfulness in me. Dear Lord, give me 
 plentifully of Thy wisdom. Gare is worse than years to 
 wear the bloom of youth from life and I so love bloom. 
 Care is as sure as age, I've learned that. Dear Lord, help 
 me to keep the bloom. 
 
 Saturday, June 9 
 
 Mr. Obee brought a letter from the office and found me 
 dutifully engaged in washing, reversing the week, for Mary 
 is at home from school on Saturday. Mrs. Whitney's 
 charming letter made the morning delightful and I forgot 
 in happy thoughts all about the homeliness of my occupa- 
 tion. I always rather liked to wash. I like the tubs and 
 pail, clean and nice to handle, and the suds foams so 
 white and pretty. Alice always liked to wash and she 
 loved the stars and taught astronomy and she had, oh, such 
 pretty hands ! Once a blind man saw her hands and said : 
 "Lady, if your face is as beautiful as your hand it must be 
 like the face of an angel." But then neither Alice nor I 
 ever knew enough about a big, hard washing to have 
 sympathy. Sympathy comes from experience. Mrs. Whit- 
 ney's letter contained a photograph of her house. It 
 brought very vividly to mind the many happy days spent 
 there. Have finished my shawl. It pleases me, I have 
 wanted it so long. Visitors today. It's nice to have the 
 neighbors come to visit. Have done some good work in 
 
 45 
 
the kitchen garden, putting out cabbages, tomatoes and 
 peppers from Mr. Obee's hot-bed. The work was only 
 just finished when the rain, which had been foreshadowing 
 its coming, came down in a right sharp shower. Such 
 deep thunder, such sharp lightning, is almost frightening 
 to nervous folk. When the shower passed, the clouds were 
 wondrously beautiful; overhead they were very black, and 
 soft, pink clouds floated round and strove to dissipate the 
 blackness. It made one think of the glory of the Gospel, 
 dispelling the terrors of the law. 
 
 With summer sunsets making everything Arcadian, the 
 valley is very beautiful and I love to watch the mile of 
 road. 
 
 Sunday, June 10 
 
 Sunday morning incidents: Mother wore at breakfast 
 the first rosebud that has become almost a rose. I picked 
 it for her. While we were at breakfast a little red squirrel 
 on a voyage of discovery frisked by on the window sill, 
 looked at Mother, and was gone. I just caught sight of 
 the explorer as he frisked himself away. What mean these 
 days? I do not know. Flower is fruit, fruit is seed, 
 these days may mean much. I only know like produces 
 like. 
 
 Monday, June 11 
 
 Such a busy day cultivating my garden. Doubtless if 
 I had a teasing brother he would say my garden was well 
 made for a girl. I know the garden beds are well made. 
 I am trying to follow the Master's commands, and this is 
 one: "Gather up the fragments that nothing be lost." 
 Watched the wind wave through the tall meadow grass 
 and strand on the shore of the plowed land. That was 
 all, but seeing such a high tide in such a sea is enough to 
 make one wish to live always, while one lives, in the 
 
 46 
 
country, at least to be buried there. Chosen text for the 
 day: "If ye keep my commandments ye shall abide in my 
 love." John 15-10. 
 
 Tuesday, June 12 
 
 Alas, I began the morning wrong! Not abiding in his 
 love. The old hen with her brood of chickens thought the 
 ground cultivated yesterday a nice soft place to scratch 
 for grubs. Coaxing them off with a stone, I hit a little 
 chicken and then I loved it, but the morning was spoiled 
 by the act of impatience. Tried to play a Fuge by Bach 
 and wished I could go on with my music. It cannot be. 
 To eat bread without butter were nothing if I only could. 
 Another fragment of beauty: Mother and Sarah reading 
 in the parlor, the cottage all open, the sun shining in the 
 west windows and the wind wandering through it at will. 
 How strangely certain things fix themselves in the mind, 
 never to be effaced. Very rich is that one whose memory is 
 a gallery of beautiful pictures. 
 
 Wednesday, June 13 
 
 The days are so like each other here that to tell which 
 is which it is really necessary to mark them with Red 
 Letters and white stones. So I mark the Red Letter and 
 set up the stone. It is true of all life, in a measure; we 
 think of the days of a year that has just swept past, as 
 if no joy had fallen in the days. So the land looks, when 
 the sun is hidden, as if no light had flecked it a moment 
 ago, through bars and shutters of cloud. Have been 
 delighting myself for several evenings watching the 
 evening star. 
 
 I forgot, womanlike, to note last night a little occupa- 
 tion of the afternoon. It was making a book mark in Ger- 
 
 47 
 
man text, "Auf Wiedersehn." The letters were formed in 
 the delicate moss that covers the stones in the spring from 
 which we drink. I am housekeeper. Mother has gone to 
 the Flatts. I moulded the bread and it is baked lovely; 
 made a funny pair of gardening gloves. A most beautiful 
 morning, the lights and shadows in my Meadow Park were 
 exquisite. While at breakfast there came up a thunder 
 shower. It has been blessedly warm today. It seemed as 
 if it would never come, but it is summer. While I've been 
 wishing it has been coming. 
 
 Thursday, June 14 
 
 The things of the divine life are symboled to us in the 
 life that now is, by things that we understand. I've been 
 thinking how pleasant it is to do for Mother, to make her 
 home-coming happy. How much better to do the things of 
 God that at the coming of Christ He may say, "Well done." 
 
 The west window in the parlor commands a beautiful 
 view. I love to watch from this window the mile of main 
 road which is in sight, seeing all there is to see, the hill- 
 side farms on either side, the valley, the blacksmith-shop 
 on the roadside and the sky touching the hilltops shutting 
 our valley in from the rest of the world. Passion flower 
 seed not up yet; sowed them a week ago. 
 
 One thing in the coming up of the seed put in the 
 ground has interested us all. The beans planted with the 
 eyes down are up high enough to need leading strings to 
 climb on, while those with the eyes up are hardly above 
 the ground. 
 
 Success, a cream cake without fault! It's an odd 
 thing how many folks really seem to like a farmhouse 
 cream cake. 
 
 48 
 
Friday, June 15 
 
 Rose just after five. The sun came in the north window 
 of the parlor, just touching with rosy fingers the books in 
 the corner bookcase, just as it used, long ago, to come in 
 my room at school and call me up. I got up that summer 
 by the sun-clock on the wall. But of all that happened 
 in today the best thing is Mother's coming home. She is 
 not well and I've been airing all my tenderness to make 
 her well again. Housekeeping care is happy, but I must 
 confess my piano is closed and my books. I must have 
 more system so I can do still more and be happier. 
 
 Saturday, June 16 
 
 Rose early. It must be my good angel that whispers, 
 "Come, waken and hear the birds sing; rise and see the 
 sunshine," and the good Father who strengthens my will 
 to answer the call. Mother is quite well again and seemed 
 so pleased with the work which I had done for her that 
 I was very happy. One day in the winter that is past, 
 when the air seemed very clear and pure, I thought what 
 a wonderful thing it was to breathe. I thought of the 
 wide atmosphere as a great cup which the Lord held in 
 his hand and every time we breathed we drank life from 
 the hand of the Lord. It seemed then a very holy thing 
 to breathe, that it brought us so near to God. The purer 
 one's health, the more happiness experienced in the simple 
 act of breathing. Proper exercise conduces to health 
 and they are eminently happiest who work wisely. 
 
 There was a little tempest of rain today. 
 
 Sunday, June 17 
 
 A rainy morning; so far, June has been a month of 
 showers. As I have watched the driving storms of rain 
 
 49 
 
and hail, it seemed as if a mad god stood at the entering 
 in of the valley and blew the storms up and along and 
 through the valley with a breath of wrath. 
 
 Is it true the rule which Mrs. M — read to me a fort- 
 night ago? Everything that draws you to Christ is keep- 
 ing the Sabbath. Everything that draws you from Christ 
 is breaking the Sabbath. 
 
 I never tire looking into the Meadow Park before the 
 house. There are elms and willows and the brook and the 
 rise of ground where grow numberless wood things. 
 Watched the day winds rock themselves to sleep in the 
 tops of the elm trees. Such a nice rock-a-by cradle for 
 the winds. 
 
 I am convinced that the prospect from the house has 
 a great deal to do with the happiness of home. 
 
 My chosen text for today — Lev. 19-9: "And when ye 
 reap the harvest of your land, thou shalt not wholly reap 
 the corners of thy field; thou shalt leave them for those 
 who have no fields to reap." And they who gathered of 
 this grain were gleaners. So I mean, in every day, to be 
 a gleaner of the corners of the fields of goodness and 
 beauty which God has left for those to glean who will. 
 
 Monday, June 18 
 
 If I had more arithmetic and logic I'd write a better 
 record of these days. Jan says I lack logic. Arithmetic 
 I can see is useful, but is the "art of reasoning" necessary 
 to a woman's life? I've heard Mr. Dudley Dobson say 
 that Alice would get at the conclusion of the whole matter 
 by her woman's instinct while he would be setting up his 
 reasoning ladder. 
 
 Water lilies grow in still, dark water, so, O Lord, may 
 my soul grow as white as the lilies (logic left out). 
 
 50 
 
Have finished setting in order the different lots in 
 my garden. A shower today and the brightest rainbow I 
 ever saw. The brightest in this year of rainbows. 
 
 Tuesday, June 19 
 
 Such a dull, sad morning. It makes me lonesome to 
 remember it. Maybe it was the June morning with a 
 November face and tearful smile. Maybe my head was 
 dull because my heart was heavy. Was it the atmosphere? 
 The ill was not beyond the cure of our nice coffee. Then 
 King Richard was himself again. I brightened the silver. 
 I like things to shine. If you haven't much, double the 
 care and make the most of what you have. 
 
 Dressed with care, played "Toi" and "Thou Art so 
 Near," and am ready for dreamland at ten. 
 
 Wednesday, June 20 
 
 Mother took a long walk to a neighbor's to spend the 
 afternoon and to borrow the use of her swifts to double 
 some yarn; but Mother seems young, her hair is so bonny 
 brown and all her face so kind. 
 
 Have been busy today in antiquarian research, in a 
 mound of Babylonian brick. A thousand years ago, i. e., 
 a long time ago, there was in the farmhouse kitchen a 
 big brick chimney. The shape of the opening in the roof, 
 now covered with sheet iron, also attests the fact of a big 
 chimney having once been there. The size and shape and 
 color of the bricks in the mound which engaged my atten- 
 tion today agree with the size and shape and color of 
 the bricks remaining in the hearth. It is a question with 
 no visible facts to help the solution, what has become of 
 the major part of the bricks which formed that chimney? 
 The bricks which I laid in a border round a flower bed 
 being all that remain. They look all right in their new 
 
 51 
 
position, and an ugly little heap is cleaned from the green 
 grass which is everywhere about the house. 
 
 I have worked and mended and idled and dreamed 
 and looked at the moon and had a very happy day. I have 
 reason to be thankful that it has been happy, for as early 
 as before breakfast an impatient word crossed the threshold 
 of my lips. 
 
 Will I never be able to rule myself? "And he that 
 ruleth himself is greater than he that taketh a city." At 
 last, after long waiting, bouquet time has come. Eleanor 
 sent over by the hand of Second Cousin Sarah a bouquet 
 of wild honeysuckles, violets, roses, rhubarb, daisies and 
 sorrel. There is wonderful grace in the common things, 
 though they are so common. 
 
 Thursday, June 21 
 
 Finished one piece of work and began another. Such 
 is life, busy with care, borrowed or sent, with work made 
 or real. The days of life are filled with joy — "though joy 
 is not, but love of joy shall be" — or hope of joy that is to 
 come, to make all days blessed. Today it seems a bliss 
 just to live. 
 
 Friday, June 22 
 
 Busy working 'mong my flowers and so happy. It is 
 such a pleasure to succeed and my garden is a very little 
 success. It is such a pleasure to watch the tender green 
 things growing. 
 
 Last summer as I walked to the country post office I 
 fell in love with the white clover which grew thriftily by 
 the roadside. It was so sweet, so white and so lovely. I 
 had before that fallen in love with the bobolink and I had 
 
 52 
 
always loved daisies. For the love of these things I have 
 written this little poem: 
 
 WHITE DAISIES AND WHITE CLOVER 
 
 Oh come into the fields today 
 
 And smell the grasses growing, 
 And watch the cloud-ships sail away, 
 
 And feel the soft wind blowing. 
 
 The meadows seem a milky way, 
 
 With star-bloom scattered over, 
 Refined from clay, to light the day, 
 
 White daisies and white clover. 
 
 The bobolink's nest in the grass 
 Has lost its brown- winged cover; 
 
 No startled whirring as we pass, 
 The brooding time is over. 
 
 The bobolink's witch minstrelsy, 
 
 A full spring gurgling over; 
 The meadow's matchless melody 
 
 No searching can recover. 
 
 But for the loss we've double gain, 
 Full fields of drifted sweetness, 
 
 White daisies and white clover reign 
 And give June days completeness. 
 
 I determined that I would have white clover growing 
 about the house this summer. I hope it will grow in some 
 time for me, for I have missed it in this summer. 
 
 The hops before my window are growing and climbing. 
 Mr. Obee made the frame; soon they will shade the 
 window nicely. It is interesting to note from day to day 
 the speed with which the hop vine climbs, it is such a 
 racing vine to grow. 
 
 53 
 
My garden is divided into five lots. A lot being the 
 speech of the country for a patch of ground, as, the pasture 
 lot, the berry lot, the south lot, the swamp lot and so on. 
 First, the east lot, a flower bed under the east window — 
 the morning window in Mother's room, three lots facing 
 south, the violets and brakes on the west. These keep 
 me busy, watching, weeding and loving. It's marvelous 
 how the weeds grow. They need no coaxing. My garden 
 is my Patience Teacher. 
 
 Sunday, June 24 
 
 Last night I dreamed a dream which was a pearl of a 
 dream. This was the first thought on waking. "Prayer 
 should be so constant in all the life that it should be the 
 first thought on waking in the morning and song should 
 close the day." God hath ere this taught many a soul 
 in the hours of sleep. In a dream the Angel of the Lord 
 appeareth to Joseph, saying, "Arise, and take the young 
 child and his Mother and flee into Egypt." And when he 
 returned he was also "warned of God in a dream." 
 
 Meeting at the White School House at half-past seven. 
 It was dusk ere the sermon was ended. The preacher 
 stood in the gloom. The moonlight came in the south 
 windows. It all seemed very weird. I fancied it might 
 be something like a Camp Meeting. 
 
 Tuesday, June 26 
 
 For some reason, atmospheric maybe, the day has been 
 terribly lonesome, but it has worn away and is past, as 
 the rainbow fades into blue air and becomes a thing of 
 memory. 
 
 Thursday, June 28 
 
 Summer is here. The Gilberts have arrived at 
 Eleanor's. The Red Chariot stopped before the two elms 
 
 54 
 
and Dr. and Mrs. Gilbert and the children alighted. Mr. 
 Obee hurried down the hill from the house to meet them 
 and they all hurried up the hill to the house and the sum- 
 mer visit had begun. Possibly it was an hour after this 
 happy arrival I looked down the valley and across to 
 Eleanor's and I saw the two children in ordinary, every- 
 day clothes, standing on the big stones in the brook as if 
 they had been round the farm all summer. The wonder- 
 ful adaptiveness of childhood! But there is nothing re- 
 markable that they should love the meadow brook, for it is 
 the charm of the place. 
 
 Second Cousin Sarah has gone home. So one goes and 
 another comes. She was very quiet and nice, not making 
 a bit of trouble. Her soul has been disciplined and it 
 makes her a very pleasant person to be with. 
 
 Saturday, June 30 
 
 Lady Richtmeyer, after whom I have the honor of 
 being named, is visiting at Eleanor's. The family have all 
 been to tea with us. We had an incomparable strawberry 
 shortcake. Funny, too, Jan was among the elect. 
 
 55 
 
MID-SUMMER DAYS 
 
 Deeps of Sunshine — Sunday School — Strawberries — 
 Sea Waves on Land — The Fourth — First Garden Bou- 
 quet — Red Letter Day> — God Bless You — Mother's 
 "Box" — A Lunar Bow — Grandfather's Songs — The 
 Field Lily. 
 
 JULY 
 
 The breath of summer round is shed 
 When wilding raspberries are red; 
 Whose dainty bowls of red and gold 
 The very soul of summer hold. 
 
 Sunday, July 1 
 
 Our guests spent the night and breakfasted with us 
 this morning. Then we had a little spell of quiet. One 
 must be very wise indeed to talk all the while and say 
 something, and it is so plain it can be seen with the eyes 
 shut, that to talk all the time and say nothing is foolish if 
 not wicked. 
 
 At half-past three the neighbors met at the White 
 School House to organize a Sunday School. The manner 
 of organizing interested me greatly. However, I was too 
 much interested in what was to be done for the instruc- 
 tion of the big boys who came into the meeting, stepping 
 so heavily, to think about nursing my notions as to how 
 things ought to be done. It was organized and we all 
 went to our homes. 
 
 Tuesday, July 3 
 
 We had a small breakfast party this morning. The 
 Dr. and Mrs. Gilbert were invited to breakfast at half- 
 
 57 
 
past eight. Little Alice, who is named for our Alice, 
 came over last night to sleep in the White Room. She 
 was not awake when the Dr. and her mother came. The 
 parlor was very pleasant in the lovely morning hour. The 
 breakfast was very simple and inviting. Strawberry 
 shortcake, coffee and Cape Cod turkey. We believe there 
 is no such time to use strawberries as when they are red 
 ripe 'mong the flowering grass. They grow abundantly 
 in the old meadows and for flavor there is none like the 
 wild berry. 
 
 We were to drive to town and at half-past nine we 
 were going down the valley road as Jehu drove. The 
 Dr. has never learned to drive slowly, so we went as 
 near like the wind as the roads permitted, and our roads 
 in midsummer are not to be evil spoken of. It was a rare 
 morning and we enjoyed the smells of clover which the 
 winds brought to us and the sea waves surging through the 
 fields of barley. 
 
 Everything was delightful at Mrs. Kellog's where we 
 were to spend the day. They are very delightful people. 
 Mr. O — has lived abroad and is a pleasing talker. Com- 
 ing from the country we were permitted to do a little 
 shopping, although it was an invited visit. It is tiresome 
 to talk and to buy. It is tiresome to wish and to want. 
 Now, which is most tiresome? They who know both ways 
 can judge best. Perhaps the one weariness balances the 
 other. Mr. O — sent Mother a bouquet with his compli- 
 ments. He always does and it is so pretty, for he knew 
 Mother years ago. 
 
 Wednesday, July 4 
 
 I was scarcely awake as I heard the engines over in 
 town shriek a salute to the sunrise, then it was full Fourth. 
 Little Alice had permission to set off some small fireworks 
 in the fireplace and we were invited to see the unique dis- 
 
 58 
 
play. The jollification of the Fourth of July is very often 
 more noise than glory. Even the j oiliest day comes to an 
 end and who but God can know aught of tomorrow. 
 
 Thursday, July 5 
 
 It was quarter past nine this morning when I waked 
 from my delicious sleep. My good angel must have for- 
 gotten to kiss me awake. Mother had had her breakfast, 
 but mine was waiting for me. Then she wanted me to 
 make a cake, which I did. 
 
 After supper took a long walk down the valley to col- 
 lect some pasture money and was caught in a shower. 
 Little Alice is staying with me tonight and before going to 
 sleep entertained herself playing with my doll things. 
 
 Sunday, July 8 
 
 Victory ! Sing it aloud. Sound it abroad. I've picked 
 a bouquet from my garden. They are real flowers. There 
 is not a sorrel top or weed in my beautiful Sunday morn- 
 ing bouquet. Eugene brought me a bunch of white clover 
 when he came over. The children spent the morning with 
 me. I sang with them and told them about Jerusalem, 
 the beautiful city of the Bible. 
 
 I found in the old desk in Mother's room a faded rose- 
 bud. I guess it is the one she wore one Sunday morning 
 in June, when roses first came. She celebrated Christmas 
 wearing a leaf of rosemary in her cap — "that's for remem- 
 brance" — but she did not know it until we told her of it. 
 
 In Sunday School a little boy got his shoes untied and 
 used the strings for lines, making a team of his feet. I 
 hope our Sunday School will be a blessing, but there is 
 not a great deal of interest exhibited. 
 
 59 
 
Monday, July 9 
 
 Orderated the east lot and it is in prime order. "Or- 
 derated" is a word coined by little Alice and adopted into 
 the vocabulary of the family. We orderate things now. 
 The phlox are blossoming, the pansies are blossoming, hap- 
 piness is mine; they are yellow, the coveted gold of the 
 garden. 
 
 The school ma'am is here tonight. The supper was all 
 my making. I am so tired. Well, I wonder if from the 
 washing of boards and pans and clothing I get any new 
 ideas. If not, God have mercy on the thousands of women 
 whose lives never get beyond these, even into a flower 
 garden. 
 
 Thursday, July 12 
 
 A real Red Letter Day. Mr. Dudley Dobson has been 
 home today. What a treat it was to hear his voice again. 
 He is such a good story teller, and he had so many pleas- 
 ant things to tell about the places where he had been and 
 the people he had seen since we last saw him. Only last 
 week he had visited with "Topsy's mother," Mrs. H. B. 
 Stowe. 
 
 Mother gave him the soft, fine socks she had knitted 
 for his Christmas and I gave him what I had to give, a 
 pressed rose from the grave of sweet Alice, For supper 
 we gave him one of our superbest strawberry shortcakes. 
 It is no flattery to say that it was "very good." 
 
 Sunday, July 15 
 
 Preaching and Sunday School. I was early at the 
 schoolhouse and so I took it on myself to arrange the 
 shutters to keep out the hot west sunshine and opening the 
 east and south, which were in shadow. It was very warm. 
 
 60 
 
The first man who came in marched straight to the closed 
 blinds and threw them open. I said: "Please, would it not 
 be cooler if the sun was shut out?" And he, assenting to 
 the self-evident truth, closed them. Soon another man 
 came in, heated by walking as by the weather, and I mildly 
 remonstrated with a like result, as he was about to open 
 the blinds; a third time, before the preacher came, I con- 
 tended for the closed blinds with success. After the 
 preacher came I gave up "orderating" the meeting and the 
 first thing which occurred was on this wise — a stout man 
 came puffing into the schoolhouse and opened the blinds, 
 letting the full window of sunshine onto the preacher's 
 desk, but I had given up the war and after a while some 
 one closed them. The sermon was good. 
 
 Thursday, July 19 
 
 It was after midnight when I finished my present for 
 Mother — "God Bless You" — the letters in German text 
 made with moss from the spring. I could not let her 
 sixtieth birthday go by without a gift, though it was a 
 very little one. Slipped the note and mark under her plate 
 on the breakfast table and laid her spectacles by her plate. 
 
 It is a very happy condition of things in this world of 
 God's that when one cannot do great things for those 
 whom they love, they can do little things which express 
 love just as effectively. 
 
 Our picnic in the meadow did not come off and our 
 dinner party was small. Mr. Obee and Eleanor, little 
 Alice and Eugene. Mother's forty years of breadmaking 
 have been a success. Such bread and butter as we have 
 does not grace every table in this land. 
 
 Mr. Dudley Dobson remembered the day and the Red 
 Chariot brought the box of tea and coffee. Many times 
 shall we drink Health, Happiness and Long Life to the 
 
 61 
 
"Good Boy" who is so thoughtful and so kind. Jan always 
 happens along when the elect meet. He brought me a new 
 book, "The Patience of Hope." Altogether it has been a 
 day of days to be remembered. 
 
 Monday, July 23 
 
 A "Red Letter" and "white stone" day. Went at noon 
 to the schoolhouse to sing with the children and in the 
 afternoon went to town with the Dr. A lovely drive and 
 a lovely visit in town. 
 
 Saturday, July 28 
 
 Something new under the sun. A drover stopped and 
 wanted us to keep the drove and get their breakfast at 
 three o'clock in the morning. The drove stayed. One 
 slept at Eleanor's and two slept on the hay in the barn. 
 We had the breakfast ready for them at three o'clock and, 
 getting up so early to do a common work, I saw, well, 
 what? People always see what they are looking for and 
 I saw a lunar bow. The moon was shining on the thick 
 mist and there was the bow of promise. It's nice to get 
 up in the night and see rainbows. I have so many times 
 wished to see one, but I have thought it would be necessary 
 to go to Niagara or somewhere way off to see it and it 
 hung over the way where Duty lay. Mother has often 
 told me of the days when she was young and all the 
 brothers and sisters were at home, how her father used to 
 write a song for each holiday as it came. 
 
 Remembering the pretty household custom of a genera- 
 tion that has passed, I have embalmed the joy of mid- 
 summer in a story of "The Field Lily," the flower pre- 
 eminent of the midsummer month in which our birthdays 
 come, Mother's and mine. 
 
 62 
 
THE FIELD LILY 
 
 There was something about Aunt Lovelace that made 
 one think of a white lily. The peace of the angels seemed 
 to abide in her heart and in her living there was shed 
 around a sweetness as subtle as the breath of the lily. 
 
 The young girl at her side today was most like a wild 
 rose in her dewy freshness and sweet naturalness; she 
 was very unlike Aunt Lovelace, yet both were beautiful. 
 
 Alice loved the world, the bright things of the world, 
 and followed wherever the bright world called, but she 
 was never satisfied. Aunt Lovelace cared little for the 
 gay pleasures of life, yet she was always happy. Very 
 often, when wearied in pursuit of pleasure, Alice came to 
 Aunt Lovelace that her peace might fall on her. Today 
 she listened lovingly to the low, sweet voice, the while a 
 strain of a waltz swayed in her head and to which her 
 heart beat time. 
 
 As she went down the stone steps, worn and greening 
 with years, across streets and down streets and up a newer, 
 broader flight of steps into her own home, it was hard to 
 guess which would rise to the top as the cream of the 
 day's experience, the waltz or the words of Aunt Love- 
 lace. She had taken a bunch of white lilies to her and 
 Aunt Lovelace had said, "Consider the lilies, how beauti- 
 ful they grow," but then that was a verse in the Bible, a 
 part of the Sermon on the Mount. 
 
 Up still a long flight of stairs, one, two, three, she lost 
 the count before she reached the top, but she could tell from 
 memory how many steps there were, for she had counted 
 them since she had learned to count and she was always 
 counting, so unrelenting a master is habit. 
 
 The room which she had but just left was all in gray 
 and crimson. Aunt Lovelace, sweet as she was, was grow- 
 ing old and borrowed a little color from the crimson 
 
 63 
 
cushions about her. Her own room as she entered it suited 
 her better, it was all rose color and white. The one had 
 the hue of dawn, the other the glory of the setting sun. 
 
 Alice seated herself by a small stand on which stood 
 a vase filled with wild roses. She looked long and thought- 
 fully and rose up hastily saying: "It's all vanity. It's 
 vanity everywhere — except where Aunt Lovelace is." 
 There had been a bunch of white lilies with the roses, but 
 she had taken them to Aunt Lovelace because they were so 
 like her. 
 
 One midsummer day, on the mountain road where Alice 
 had gathered the wild roses, were two little berry pickers. 
 It was very warm, they were very tired and it was a long 
 way to their home. Just then all they wanted in life was 
 to be with Mother, safe at home, they were such little wage 
 earners. Their pails were full, but the pennies which the 
 berries would bring seemed to them at that moment the 
 veriest vanity, their ambition was so lost. 
 
 The office of the stronger is always to comfort, to lift 
 the burden for the weaker one. The girl took up the 
 burden of her life with the braveness of a woman — and 
 she, too, was tired. 
 
 "Now, little brother," said she, "we'll see who will find 
 the most field lilies as we go down the mountain." 
 
 Very soon they both forgot to be weary. The pails were 
 set down a good many times; the little arms were rested; 
 each carried a handful of brilliant bloom and, strangely 
 enough, as quick-eyed as was the little sister for the lilies, 
 it was the boy who discovered the most lilies. 
 
 The fields were passed, the highway reached, and as 
 they trudged along the glory which they held comforted 
 them. 
 
 "What will you do with your lilies?" asked the sister. 
 64 
 
"Give them to Mother/' said the loyal-hearted little lad. 
 
 "I shall take mine to the house where I take my berries 
 and give them to the young lady." 
 
 So their little plans were perfected. 
 
 "Oh, Mother !" said the sister when once more at home, 
 "you can't guess how the lilies helped us down the moun- 
 tain; we were both so tired and they rested us beautifully." 
 
 "Thank you," said Alice as she took the big bunch of 
 lilies from the hand of the child, which had been so rested 
 in holding them. "It was very kind of you." 
 
 Politeness is a wonderful sugar. It makes everything 
 sweet on which it is spread. The child went forth from 
 her presence with a laugh on her lips, pennies in her 
 pocket and kind words hid in her heart. 
 
 When the child was gone, Alice looked at them and said, 
 "I wonder why anybody thinks the field lilies are worth 
 the picking? The great red things! But it was kind in 
 the child to bring them to me." 
 
 Then a new thought budded in her heart — one could 
 see it blossom in her eyes — and she added, "I'm going to 
 see Aunt Lovelace. I'll take them to her, for she loves 
 every common thing that grows," and she did so. 
 
 "My dear Alice," said the beautiful old lady as Alice 
 appeared before her, her face hidden behind her big 
 bouquet. 
 
 "You have brought the very soul of the fields with you. 
 Did you gather them?" and the thin hands reached to take 
 them. 
 
 Then Alice seated herself on the foot-cushion and told 
 Aunt Lovelace the story of the gift and how she had 
 brought them to her because she knew she loved them, 
 and she did not want them or love them. 
 
 65 
 
Aunt Lovelace smiled very sweetly as she laid her 
 hand on the girl's head and said, "So you threw them away 
 on me?" Then added tenderly and low: "With my heart 
 as well as my lips I thank you for bringing them to me, 
 and remember, that often that which is no longer of use 
 to us may be of use and be prized by some one else." 
 
 Aunt Lovelace always comforted Alice and when she 
 sat by her and listened it seemed as if she could do and 
 think as she did. Besides, this was a new way of looking 
 at the gift of the lilies. She had simply passed on a gift 
 of love in its freshness and had made no count of her own 
 thoughtfulness in bestowing it where it would be appre- 
 ciated. 
 
 While these thoughts were going swiftly through her 
 mind, a maid brought a glass in which to place the lilies. 
 Stem by stem the dear old lady put them in the glass. She 
 looked lovingly in each lily cup as if afraid she might 
 lose some word of the message which they brought and 
 caressed with her slender hands the stem of each flower. 
 All the time Alice watched beautiful Aunt Lovelace with a 
 child's sweet wonder and the beauty of the fields seemed 
 to dawn on her mind. The last stem was in the vase. 
 
 "Why, Alice, I feel as if I had been on the mountain 
 road, for I know where these grew. You have given me 
 almost a walk in the fields this midsummer day. May 
 God reward you!" and she bent and kissed the girl sitting 
 at her feet. 
 
 In some way the great red blossoms had grown beauti- 
 ful; it was not the vase, although it seemed formed to hold 
 them, but it was the Voice of the Lord on the Mount say- 
 ing, "Consider the lilies. How they glorify Me." 
 
 66 
 
AUGUST DAYS 
 
 The Month of Flame Flowers — A Funny Incident — 
 A Paper of Pins — Red Beans — The Dream of a Bean 
 — Commencement — Jan in My Garden — Frost and 
 Fires — An English Inn — A Memorable Visit — A Gift 
 — A Mouse Hunt — A Buckboard Ride — Biretta, the 
 Little Cardinal 
 
 AUGUST 
 
 A weed bouquet at random thrown 
 With jewel weed, a bank has sown. 
 The splendor of midsummer days 
 When August is with gems ablaze. 
 
 Friday, August 3 
 
 Went to school from recess till noon, sang with the 
 children and sat by little Alice. Something very funny 
 happened in school. Alice and Eugene come from a town 
 and it does the children of the school lots of good when 
 they can get a laugh on them. Little Alice happens to 
 have a very plebeian taste for cold boiled potatoes and a 
 little salt. Before going to school, unbeknown'st to the 
 family she had slipped a potato into her little pocket, pro- 
 viding against a spell of hunger, and it fell out of her 
 pocket on the floor. The children laughed immoderately. 
 Alice stood it very well; she is only eight years old, and 
 when one is ten times eight to be laughed at is a hard 
 thing to bear. 
 
 After school we "choiced" another place in the meadow 
 for the picnic, which we still talk of. "Choiced" is another 
 of the children's words. 
 
 67 
 
Friday, August 10 
 
 Last night I did a little surprise. For a thousand 
 years, i. e., a long time, we've been wanting a paper of 
 pins. Finally I've remembered to get them and last night 
 printed with them "Good Morning" on Mother's pin- 
 cushion to greet her when she should get up this morning. 
 Only a little thing! It is a little thing to wave one's hand, 
 to draw one's breath, but God has made us to think little 
 acts of kindness just as well as do little acts of motion. 
 
 My red beans are a constant joy. "Hitchety Hatchet, 
 up they go." I've flowers to give away. A bunch here and 
 a bunch there. Oh, it's a great thing to own a garden! 
 
 Monday, August 13 
 
 Made up a bouquet for Mary to take to school; went 
 for the last time this school year to sing with the children. 
 
 Now that the opportunity is gone, I wish I'd told the 
 children stories about the wonderful things to be found in 
 the corners of the rail fences, which they pass every 
 morning and evening as they come and go from school. 
 Mrs. Gilbert and I counted twenty blossoming plants in a 
 fence corner by the bridge near the big elm tree. And I 
 never thought of it until it is too late. 
 
 Wednesday, Ausust 15 
 
 Today was the last day of the summer school. Tied a 
 bouquet for the children to present to the teacher with a 
 book from their parents. 
 
 Thursday, August 16 
 
 Jan brought me more books to read. My garden is 
 looking so nicely now in these summer days. I took him 
 round to see the blossoming east lot and he said: "So this 
 
 68 
 
is your posie garden!" I do not know what he saw as he 
 looked; I do not know what he thought as he looked. That 
 is what he said, but I know it is a beautiful bed of blos- 
 soms. 
 
 Friday, August 17 
 
 Judge Otis and wife made us a short visit, just long 
 enough to take supper. The Judge said he enjoyed the 
 Mocha coffee very much. Now, when people are in humor 
 to be pleased it is easy to please them. The Mocha was 
 Rio, prime, fresh browned, fresh ground, nicely made, and 
 with the best of cream. The Judge very thoughtfully 
 brought up a package of late papers. 
 
 Such lovely visits as we have enjoyed here at the cot- 
 tage. I'm glad I thought to make a note of them. "Per- 
 chance hereafter it may be pleasant to remember these 
 days." 
 
 Alas, this morning there was a frost! The beans and 
 the corn in the garden were badly bitten. Mother and I 
 have shivered through several days and have breakfasted 
 by a fire. 
 
 Saturday, August 18 
 
 Mr. Peters and Hebe came to make a call, came out 
 just for a drive in the country. Happiness is a wonder- 
 ful beautifier. Hebe was always good looking, but she is 
 growing handsome. I picked a bouquet for her and I 
 sang for them and they promised to come again. N. B. — 
 I do not think they cared for the flowers or the music. 
 There are times when people, two people, care only for 
 themselves and each other. It is very lovely. It looks as 
 if they were just there. 
 
 Sunday, August 19 
 
 Sunday School again. "The Owner," as Alice calls the 
 superintendent, did not come. So I superintended as best 
 
 69 
 
I was able under the circumstances. What I did, I did 
 with a whole heart. There were five children, one man, 
 two women besides myself. I suggested, after a suitable 
 waiting, that having come together for a Sunday School, 
 we should go through the usual exercises. This we did 
 and then we went home. 
 
 Thursday, August 23 
 
 Last night we kept a thousand sheep. For the time 
 being the farmhouse kitchen was the kitchen of an old 
 English inn. The room has a flavor of quaintness at all 
 times. The hewn, smoke-stained beams overhead; the 
 warm, dark, old-fashioned red paint on the woodwork 
 where it has not worn off; the large window of small panes 
 and the oaken floor combine to make a picture. Since our 
 coming soap and sand have brought the floor to a better 
 color than it was. 
 
 The kitchen was also reading and smoking room. 
 After supper one man seated himself by the window (by 
 the oven) and drew from his pocket a fresh "Atlantic 
 Magazine." If it is true, "Tell me what you eat and I'll 
 tell you what you are," is it not true also, Tell me what 
 you read and I'll tell you what you are? Then the men 
 with the drove were gentlemen. They all had clean hands. 
 The steep hills under cultivation on either side of the 
 valley were an unceasing wonder as they looked at them. 
 "How does the farmer get his crops down?" asked one. 
 He was told that the farmer got them down on a stone 
 boat. "Well," said he, "I should want my neck insured 
 to draw a load of hay down these hills." 
 
 They were gone before our breakfast, thanking us for 
 their accommodations as well as paying for them. People 
 are not always so polite. I thought that magazine meant 
 something. The morning was beautiful. Rising early, one 
 
 70 
 
makes sweet acquaintance with the dawn. How many 
 times in the Bible it is told they "rose up early." And 
 the beautiful wife in Proverbs "riseth also while it is yet 
 night and giveth meat to her household." These things 
 were written in a land "where shepherds watched their 
 flocks by night," in comparatively a summer land. But 
 summer with us is a bit of the tropics sent on a mission 
 to the north. 
 
 Monday, August 27 
 
 A memorable visit from unknown friends, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Kellogg, of Kelloggsville. Mr. Kellogg wished to see 
 Mother and her daughter, for he had known Father, Dr. 
 Levi Smith "when he was a bachelor," before he married his 
 first wife. Mrs. K — very sweetly recalled the Bible in- 
 cident of the kindness of David, the King, to Mephibosheth, 
 "for Jonathan, thy father's sake." Mr. K — asked if we 
 had Father's books and mentioned one which he remem- 
 bered reading in Father's office when his books were new. 
 I brought him the book which he mentioned and we all 
 said how strange to find again the very book he remembered 
 reading fifty years ago. As he took it in his hands the 
 touch seemed almost a caress. Mrs. K — is also a second 
 wife and knows no more of the long ago "when Father 
 was a bachelor" than we do. She is a lovely woman, with 
 soft, light hair and a beautifully low voice. She laid aside 
 her bonnet in the White Room and was so polite as to say, 
 "How lovely and white!" She wished to make a note of 
 something and asked for a pencil. I brought her one. She 
 looked at it and said, "A pencil with an educated point." 
 I smiled. Jan sharpened it, but I said nothing of Jan. 
 Mr. K — was years ago interested in Troy Female Seminary 
 and his pleasant, reminiscing talk of Mrs. Emma Willard 
 was more interesting to me than the tales he told of being 
 in London and seeing the queen, the princes and princesses, 
 
 71 
 
"a whole string of them." I suppose, being an American, 
 he can be forgiven for speaking of royal children as if 
 they were ordinary mortals. Mrs. Willard is a royal Amer- 
 ican woman. We very soon found Mrs. K — loved flowers. 
 I picked bouquets for her and dear Mrs. O — , who chap- 
 eroned them to the cottage and whom we love very much. 
 
 Tuesday, August 28 
 
 This morning the Red Chariot brought a package of 
 papers from Mrs. K — addressed in Father's name. I think 
 it made Mother happy. In them "a slip" of geranium which 
 she thought very lovely. 
 
 Homekeeping Note. — My peppers are pickled; I hope 
 they'll be as nice as Eleanor's pickles. 
 
 Friday, August 31 
 
 Yesterday Mother went to town to be present at the 
 Preparatory Lecture and Communion tomorrow. Have 
 busied myself going through the pantry again, looking 
 high and low for the place where the little mouse comes in 
 every, night for his bite of bread and cheese. The discovery 
 was one of the surprises of research. In the corner of a 
 pane of glass was a small, triangular hole. This was the 
 mouse hole. I saw a mouse disappear through the aperture 
 and it was all plain enough. 
 
 After the work was done, started over to Eleanor's and 
 just reached the highway as Granny Christopher's ox team 
 came along. Luce was driving the oxen; she was barefoot, 
 and riding on the buckboard were Granny Christopher, her 
 daughter and a granddaughter, the sister of Luce. They 
 were going to visit Cyrenus and his family. They are great 
 folk to go visiting. Luce asked me to ride. I said no, I 
 was only going over to Eleanor's. "But you can just as well 
 ride," she said. She gee-hawed the oxen to a stop and I 
 
 72 
 
seated myself on the buckboard and rode to Eleanor's, the 
 next gate on the road. It isn't much to relate, but it was 
 an incident in the day and my first buckboard ride. 
 
 Once a bride rode to her home on a "snow-white steer," 
 and the story is historic and romantic. 
 
 "Alden, the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, 
 Brought out his snow-white steer, obeying the hand of its master, 
 Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils, 
 Covered with crimson cloth and a cushion placed for a saddle. 
 She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the 
 
 noonday; 
 Nay, she should ride like a queen and not plod along like a 
 
 peasant." 
 
 And here endeth the summer. 
 
 73 
 
BIRETTA 
 
 THE lake was frozen over. The hills near and far were 
 wrapt in sleep and snow. The sky was dark; the days 
 were cold; there was no life visible. For weeks morning 
 and evening were alike in dreariness. Then a wonder was 
 wrought. The word of the Lord came afresh to the world. 
 The day spring from on high dawned on the darkness and 
 there was life and light. The hills shook off their ice 
 shrouds. The ice melted and vanished from the lake, as if 
 ashamed of being so hard-hearted in the presence of the 
 warm-hearted sun. The wind came blowing a call to life, 
 "Awake, arise, rejoice, for the reign of death is over." It 
 blew across the smooth surface, so lately hard and cold, and 
 it broke into a multitude of small waves. The waves hasted 
 to kiss the feet of the hills at the water's edge and the waves 
 sang this song: "Swash, swash, rejoice, we were bound, but 
 the word of the Lord hath set us free." 
 
 The water beech and dogwood doffed brown for bridal 
 white; maple and elm blushed into buds and beauty. The 
 pussy-willow buds crept out of their catkin cradles. 
 
 On the margin of the lake grew reeds and rushes and 
 thrifty bunches of weedish-looking leaves. In coves where 
 there was no current lily pads unfolded and rocked and 
 nursed into bloom the white water lily, the Venus of flowers. 
 
 Birds built their nests and twittered thankfulness and 
 song as they gathered of the fields of bird wheat the great, 
 good God had sown for them. The water fowl lifted them- 
 selves slowly, made short sails, then settled with a whirr to 
 the earth again. 
 
 Aunt Patty looked out of her kitchen door at the laugh- 
 ing lake, felt the wind, heard the birds, thought of the 
 
 75 
 
wonderful change that had been wrought by the word of 
 the Lord right before her face, and wondered if the gentle- 
 men from the great town would like the dinner. 
 
 She had brought out for the little feast the tureen 
 which had belonged to her great-great-grandmother, the 
 quaint silver cream jug that came from Aunt Eunice and 
 the cups and saucers that were her own grandmother's. 
 They were ornamented with the Chantilly sprig and it 
 seemed to flavor with the breath of spring, whatever one 
 drank from them. 
 
 These pieces of ancient splendor evidenced a long ago 
 of merry living, of plenty and to spare. The face of the 
 little lad who sat at meat in the farmhouse kitchen in all 
 probability descended with the china and the silver from 
 a race of gentle folk. There was something in the child's 
 face that made one wonder to see it there. It was strong 
 without being coarse; it was delicate without being weak. 
 
 The old gentleman of the party, who was most courte- 
 ous in all his ways, noticed the lad and said: "My little 
 lad, what will you be when you are grown to be a man?" 
 
 "I shall be a Cardinal, sir." 
 
 "And why a Cardinal?" questioned the gentleman. 
 
 "For the Scarlet Hat, sir." 
 
 "And why not Lord High Chancellor?" he again ques- 
 tioned the lad. 
 
 "It is better to serve God than the world." 
 
 This was all the child knew of the Hat; that it repre- 
 sented power in the service of God. 
 
 "More likely," said the young man of the party, "you 
 will wear a cap with bells." 
 
 But the saying of the lad pleased the old man greatly. 
 God was here. In the water, in the air, above, below, in 
 the teaching of the mother and the heart of a child. In 
 the wilderness where no man is God hath planted the fir 
 tree, the pine and the boxtree and caused to spring forth 
 
 7« 
 
the tender herb, and here in the wilderness was a child 
 in whose heart burned a desire to serve God and whose 
 delicate fancy had been caught by the brilliance of the 
 Red Hat. 
 
 During the stay of the party at the house, the little 
 lad lost his own name and was called "The Little Car- 
 dinal," or "Biretta." 
 
 Summer came; the sun shined with tropical heat. 
 From the thrifty bunches of weedish looking leaves on the 
 margin of the lake shot up long, slender stalks and hung 
 out a blaze of color, a sacred scarlet. A royal flower. It 
 was a common stem, but it was crowned with a symbol of 
 priestly power. The Cardinal's Hat. 
 
 "Yes," thought the lad, as he gazed long and lovingly 
 at the pure, deep flower. "My life is weak and mean, like 
 the stem of the flower, but the Lord who can give such a 
 crown of beauty to such a stem can give me the Cardinal's 
 Hat, for I will serve him." 
 
 The next summer the party came again to the lake. 
 On the mantel of the best room stood a quaint old vase 
 filled with a sacred fire of burning bloom; over it hung a 
 Red Hat. 
 
 "But where is the lad?" say they all. 
 
 Aunt Patty folded her hands as she answered slowly: 
 "The Lord hath made him Cardinal indeed. He hath 
 given the lad his wish. He hath given him power at his 
 right hand. Biretta is dead." 
 
 77 
 
SEPTEMBER DAYS 
 
 Good-bye to Summer — A Lovely Visitor — Capmaker to 
 the Queen — Old-fashioned Parlor — Don't Step on 
 Thistles — My Corals — Adelaida — Arnault's With- 
 ered Leaf — The Interior of the Country — Gather- 
 ing the Apples — The Day Alice Died 
 
 SEPTEMBER 
 
 The humming-bird can sip at will 
 From deep cups fashioned for its bill, 
 And blue sags blossoms call the bee 
 With laughing lip continually. 
 
 Saturday, September 1 
 
 I watched the summer die last night. I stood before 
 Grandfather's tall clock and looked up into the solemn 
 face that has never smiled nor frowned in all the years 
 that it has solemnly ticked into eternity. I watched the 
 slender hands clasp and part again at midnight. The 
 solemn face looked down on me and went on ticking in its 
 high tower, as contentedly as the kitten purred on the 
 hearth rug. For the summers that go the heart will mourn 
 even as the last of the Moorish kings mourned, as he stood 
 on the mountain of the Last Sigh and turned from gazing 
 on the palace, no longer the Moorish Kings' Alhambra. 
 And as for him, the gate leading from the summer to the 
 autumn is stoned up that I may not pass back, to go in 
 and out of the pleasant garden ways any more, for ever. 
 
 Well, the summer is better than the spring; it is the 
 fulfilment of spring. Autumn is better than summer; it 
 
 79 
 
is the fulfilment of summer, but the heart will shrink and 
 shiver before it can speak the truth boldly and say winter 
 is better than autumn; it is the best of all for the thought 
 and life is driven home from faring over mountains and 
 through fields to the fireside for comfort. It is the time 
 of enjoyment of the harvests of the year. It is the home 
 season and the home life is the sweetest life on earth. 
 
 The clock struck twelve slowly and solemnly. It 
 struck twelve again at noon today, but it was not the same. 
 Last night it was a knell and I said: "Good-bye, sweet 
 summer, we've been very happy together. I'm sorry to 
 have you go, for I've loved you so; you've brought me such 
 happy days. I know your heart better than ever in my 
 life before. I shall always be happier for it and I shall 
 see your face again, in Heaven some day. Good-bye." 
 
 Maybe it was a bit of nonsense, maybe a bit of poetry, 
 that made me watch the summer die, but this summer has 
 not been like any other summer to me. It was this one 
 that saw me receive baptism and communion. It did not 
 seem foolish to me when the daylight came and I went 
 about my daily duties, and even if it was, it was a sweet 
 foolishness that may be forgiven. 
 
 Sunday, September 2 
 
 Went down to our Sunday School. Two girls came on 
 horseback, got off at the steps, came in the entry and were 
 taken with a fit of whispering and laughing and concluded 
 not to come in. So the fellows standing outside brought 
 up their horses and they mounted and rode on. 
 
 The preaching and the Sunday School are the only 
 places of general meeting and the people are so glad to 
 meet they almost seem to forget the object of their meet- 
 ing. 
 
 80 
 
Tuesday, September 4 
 
 Mother came home today and lovely Aunt Harriet came 
 with her to spend several days. Anticipating Mother's 
 coming I had made a pie before breakfast, and Mother 
 said "Thank you, Daut," when I told her what I had good 
 for dinner. In Mother's absence I have been studying Miss 
 Catherine Beecher's Cook Book. Have had rye drop cakes 
 for several mornings. They are real nice. 
 
 Mother shopped a little while in town and brought me 
 some things I've wanted so long, and now that the waiting 
 is over I'm very happy that I was patient. Things that 
 have been waited for mean so much to the one who has 
 waited. Maybe my garden has helped me through the 
 summer. 
 
 Wednesday, September 5 
 
 Eleanor came over to tea with Aunt Harriet, who is a 
 most lovely visitor. Snowy hair, kind face and lovely 
 manners. This morning my occupation was very agreeable 
 — Capmaker to the Queen — making a cap for Aunt Harriet 
 like Mother's New York cap. 
 
 Thursday, September 6 
 
 Eleanor made dinner for us and our guest. Aunt Har- 
 riet, like all the rest, said Eleanor's coffee was the best 
 she had drunk in her remembrance. Eleanor came over 
 to tea with us and we have visited. 
 
 Friday, September 7 
 
 A rainy morning and it was pleasant that we had a 
 guest. The coming of the fall rains gives one the heart- 
 ache. When the Red Chariot came rolling along this 
 afternoon, Aunt Harriet went home, taking with her a big 
 
 81 
 
bunch of flowers, of course. She said Hebe kept the bou- 
 quet she got up here two weeks, contrary to what I sup- 
 posed. 
 
 Sunday, September 9 
 
 A small Sunday School and nice meeting. It was de- 
 lightful and it is a pleasure to remember it. 
 
 Tuesday, September 11 
 
 Eleanor sent over for us to come to dinner and we 
 went. It was very nice of her to ask us over this rainy 
 day. The view down the valley in a dark day is a long 
 stretch of dreariness. 
 
 Wednesday, September 12 
 
 Swept and dusted the parlor, filled the vases with fresh 
 bouquets. "If I do say it, as oughten to say it," the 
 parlor is a very pleasant room. The old piano and sofa, if 
 not so handsome, have immense respectability and the old 
 books — they always make a room beautiful. The love of 
 books is one of the precious loves of life. Ditto of flowers. 
 
 Thursday, September 13 
 
 Dressed in my holiday gown and looked my prettiest. 
 Mother and Mrs. Willard have both endeavored to impress 
 on my mind that it is a duty a woman owes to herself and 
 her friends to always look her best. Besides dresses lose 
 their fit when left unworn, just as manners lose their fine 
 polish when neglected. 
 
 Friday, September 14 
 
 In walking through the grass in the meadows or the 
 pasture or by the roadside it is a mistake to step on all the 
 
 82 
 
thistles. It is better to step aside. It is also better to for- 
 give and forget the unpleasantness, like thistles in the grass 
 that grow everywhere. I couldn't help thinking of this 
 today, for, well — I stepped on a thistle. It wasn't that 
 either; it was something that hurt my heart, not my foot. 
 Mother has been visiting, doubling some more yarn. Mother 
 is always knitting, always busy. 
 
 Saturday, September 15 
 
 Just at sun up, half-past six, I had to go over to Mr. 
 Obee's to report the cattle in the grain. The content 
 which cattle seem to take in a field where they ought not 
 to be is too serious to be funny. It is also very human. 
 
 Starting with the sun, it would seem as if there would 
 be much to tell before his going down, of plans to conquer, 
 or of worlds conquered, but such is not the case. That 
 ripple of excitement in the early morning is the only in- 
 cident, outside the daily duties that has rippled the day's 
 calm. Some time hereafter we may long for hours of 
 quiet. We cannot long for that which we have and we have 
 a superfluity of quiet. 
 
 Sunday, September 16 
 
 The anniversary of a sorrow. Life may be ever so 
 happy, but one never forgets the friends whom God has 
 called to come Home. They are always with us. Long- 
 fellow sings: 
 
 "There are more guests at table than the host 
 Invited; the illuminated hall 
 Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts." 
 
 and the German poet sings the same thought: 
 
 "Take, O boatman! thrice thy fee! 
 Take! I give it willingly. 
 In thy boat, unseen by thee, 
 Spirits twain have crossed with me!" 
 
 83 
 
Went to Sunday School, waited three-quarters of an hour. 
 Two girls came. The hour is half-past two. At a quarter 
 of four I saw the superintendent go along the road to the 
 schoolhouse. It looks like a failure to keep an appoint- 
 ment. 
 
 Monday, September 17 
 
 A letter from Alex, of St. Louis, with photos of her- 
 self and husband. She is much changed since we were at 
 Ontario Seminary, but the mouth is Alex's own sweet 
 mouth. Helen and Lewis K — visited us today. Helen 
 always loved Alice and for old sake's sake it was very de- 
 lightful to receive them. Very funny that Lewis K — 
 remembers the corals and red jackets that I wore when a 
 child. Eleanor has gone from home for a few days and 
 when one of the family stirs out of the Valley it is an event 
 of note. Helen was given a bouquet from my wonderful 
 garden. 
 
 Tuesday, September 18 
 
 Adelaida! Jan doesn't like it; makes fun of it; yet 
 brings it to me. He pretends that he's like the old major — 
 wants to hear a tune when one plays on an instrument, 
 something spirited and decided, like "Money Musk" or 
 "Bonaparte Crossing the Rhine," and yet he brings me 
 beautiful music and delights to hear Patti and Brignoli. 
 
 Wednesday, September 19 
 
 It has rained all day. Just the day to read old letters, 
 do a little fancy darning, overhaul the trunks. There are 
 lots of things one can do on a rainy day. Nice day to 
 visit; nice day to have a pleasant friend with you and yet 
 we did not one of these things today. 
 
 84 
 
Thursday, September 20 
 
 It has rained all day! I wonder what Noah thought 
 when he watched the rain for forty days and forty nights. 
 We know this: There is not to be another flood, we have 
 the promise. 
 
 The other day I showed Jan the translation which I 
 had made of Arnault's Withered Leaf. He read it, bit his 
 under lip and said, "Well — " Then he bit his lip again 
 and said: "Well — " "Well, what?" said I impatiently. 
 "Well," said he, "it is too literal." And I said, "Oh." I 
 have revised the translation, but shall not show Jan the 
 revised edition, for as it stands now, 
 
 "It is as comforting to me 
 As an old lady's cup of tea." 
 
 McCaulay and Bryant and a host of others have been 
 pleased to translate this gem of French poetry, with vary- 
 ing degrees of success. I have been pleased to translate it, 
 and though I expect no palm to be awarded my transla- 
 tion, it has given me pleasure to try to turn it into agree- 
 able English. 
 
 Friday, September 21 
 
 Fairing. Blue sky visible. Sun shining through the 
 clouds. The dove returns with the olive branch in its 
 mouth. Just as it was after the rain in the days of Noah. 
 
 Saturday, September 22 
 
 Clear and bright, all the brighter for the rain. It seems 
 like a new world after being shut in the Ark for several 
 days. Home is an Ark of safety. 
 
 Elisha came for me to go into the wilderness, i. e., 
 a long ways off from the main road, to make a promised 
 visit. It was so very kind to take so much trouble to get 
 
 85 
 
me here. I hope I shall be able to give them pleasure to 
 pay them for their trouble. They are very thoughtfully 
 kind. The mother has a great many things of interest 
 to tell me about the household friends who died years 
 before I was born. I am so glad to have her talk of them. 
 
 Sunday, September 23 
 
 Now why is Sunday so much longer away from home 
 than it is at home? Went to a Sunday School where there 
 was a woman superintendent. Among the questions she 
 asked this one: "Who is the Prince of the Devils?" One 
 child answered "the Bad Man"; another said "Jeff Davis." 
 She conducted the school in a quiet, dignified manner, 
 though evidently she felt there was a stranger in the camp, 
 but I thought she was a loving "owner" of the little school. 
 Last night there was a hard frost and the summer things 
 are all done brown. 
 
 "Woe is me, Alhama!" 
 
 Monday, September 24 
 
 Finished my visit and came home. We got started 
 rather late and came part of the way in the moonlight. 
 The country seems very lonely in the night, and in the 
 moonlight it seemed unreal, without form and void. It 
 was a lovely visit, but I was so glad to get home. Mother 
 had given me up and gone over to Eleanor's for company's 
 sake, but we fetched her home. 
 
 Tuesday, September 25 
 
 Jack Frost had not taken everything. There are 
 flowers in my garden yet and a big bouquet for Sarah went 
 with Elisha when he went home today. What comfort the 
 flowers have been to us all, and it has been an advantage 
 
 86 
 
that they were all what the book calls half hardy. The big 
 bed of white petunias has been the greatest success. From 
 the first coming of the blossoms it has been in full bloom 
 and has given me all I cared to cut, which has been about 
 a bunch a day, without showing any diminishing of flowers. 
 The blue bachelor buttons I think have been next in favor. 
 I never knew before how pretty a single plant of bachelor 
 buttons was when growing with plenty of room. And they 
 are such constant bloomers. The sweet peas and scarlet 
 beans have also been favorites and, of course, mignonette. 
 Mignonette always brings to mind Mrs. Whitney's parlor. 
 Through the summer there were vases filled with mignon- 
 ette in the room and the fragrance and the room are asso- 
 ciated in my mind. 
 
 We have been making a half-day visit at a neighbor's 
 house. It is the custom in the Valley to make all-day 
 visits, but oh, dear me, how dry one talks one's self in all 
 day ! It is a mortification at bed-time to remember how 
 little one has said of that which is profitable for the life 
 and growth of the soul. 
 
 Saturday, September 29 
 
 A day spent out of doors. Our apple harvest, warm 
 and bright, a never-to-be-forgotten day of delight. I wish 
 I might live a hundred years to tell the story. A little 
 orchard of young trees, way up on the hillside, facing 
 south. The trees are small and on the up-side one can 
 reach in the branches owing to the slant of the hill. The 
 "men folks" were busy, Granny Christopher said, but she 
 and Luce would come and gather them for halves, and Buck 
 and Bright would deliver them at the door. Mother and I 
 joined the party. 
 
 When Grant and Lee met under an apple tree, it was 
 an historic event. When Washington Irving went with the 
 
 87 
 
little barefoot urchin and stole his own apples, it was a 
 romantic event. This day of Mohammedan prostrations, 
 of sunshine and apple smells was only an incident in our 
 very ordinary lives, but this little fact stole not a ray of 
 warmth from the sunshine, or a bit of the sweet smell of 
 the rich, ripe fruit. We had it all. The happiest part of 
 the day, for me, was eating my luncheon in an apple tree. 
 That Mother should humor such nonsense was the sweetest 
 part of that happiness. And would I ever think it? 
 Mother spread sugar on my bread and butter just as she 
 used to when I was a child. Guess Mother thinks I am a 
 good deal of a child yet. 
 
 Someone had been to see us while we were in the 
 orchard. As we came up the footpath to the door we saw 
 a little basket hanging on the door knob. It proved to 
 be something rare for tomorrow's dinner. The only thing 
 which marred the day's perfect happiness was a mishap to 
 Granny Christopher's long ladder, but that can be mended. 
 
 Sunday, September 30 
 
 The day that Alice died. Mother does not say any- 
 thing, but I know she always keeps it in remembrance. 
 
 "Leaves have their time to fall, 
 
 And flowers to wither at the northwind's blast, 
 And stars to set — but all, 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!" 
 
 88 
 
OCTOBER DAYS 
 
 An Autumn Walk — The Sugar Camp — Witch Hazel — 
 Oliver Twist — A Song of the Tub — A Diary — Small 
 Things — The Promise Fulfilled — A Wheaten Loaf — 
 Granny Christopher's Cottage — An Evening Out — 
 First Snow — If the Snow Kissed Not the Rose — A 
 New Beatitude — The Sermon the Wild Aster 
 Preached 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 In wilding sweets, as in a glass, 
 Before my eyes the year doth pass. 
 From cherry-bloom till asters shine 
 And flame consume the wild woodbine. 
 
 Monday, October 1 
 
 It has been one of those days in which it is a happiness 
 to live. For a long time sat by the open window in my 
 room, just doing nothing but being happy. Happiness goes 
 up and down with the sun, as the mercury in a thermometer 
 goes up and down with the heat. Already in my life I 
 can count more happy days than Lord Byron ever had, or* 
 that he ever made note of. 
 
 Tuesday, October 2 
 
 Saint Geranium Day ! Named in honor of a bright 
 geranium which has been given me for winter blossoms. 
 Saw Sam M — going to town and hailed him to ask if he 
 would bring up that feed for my chickens. He said yes. 
 He has been a kind neighbor. Read in Godey, the maga- 
 zine which Mother subscribed for, for a surprise for me, 
 that mullein leaves were disliked by mice and if freely 
 
 89 
 
scattered about places infested by them, they would leave. 
 Now is probably the best time we shall ever have to try 
 the truth of this sure cure. Plenty of mullein leaves and 
 plenty of mice. As in all countries, the ill and the cure 
 grow side by side. 
 
 Wednesday, October 3 
 Sydney went to town and Lovice came to spend the day 
 with us. We were all at Eleanor's to tea. I've quite an 
 admiration for Luce, my girl teamster. Today she came 
 into the kitchen, saying by way of explanation: "I came 
 to Uncle Jo's and there were so many men going in to 
 dinner, I thought I'd come over here till they were gone 
 to work." Keep thyself, Luce, and God will keep thee. 
 
 Thursday, October 4 
 
 Jan came from town and a small party went leaf- 
 hunting up among the maples. The leaves are in their full 
 beauty. The woods are glorious. It was a delightful 
 walk, enjoyed by all. We stumbled on the old Sugar Camp, 
 which has been deserted since the tornado years ago spoiled 
 the maple orchard, breaking down the greater part. The 
 stones were mossed over, where they used to have the 
 fire and the path to the camp is mossy, showing it to be 
 long unused, although still it is distinctly the path. I 
 thought I had been over every foot of the farm, but I 
 never happened here until this blessed day. 
 
 Where two fifty-acre lots join hands there are a num- 
 ber of sumacs; there we sat down and viewed the land- 
 scape o'er. Above our heads the brilliant sumacs, and 
 over all the blue sky. The sumac is a favorite of mine. 
 It has just the shadow of a resemblance to the feathery 
 bamboo. A northern cousin, maybe. One never forgets a 
 walk in such wonderful woods as we walked in today, and 
 in no other country under heaven can such gorgeous woods 
 be found. 
 
 90 
 
Friday, October 5 
 
 Where there is sunshine there is shadow. Yesterday- 
 was a royal day of scarlet and gold; today the sere and 
 faded leaf. Last night there came a bitter frost. What 
 if we had waited until today for our autumn walk? It is 
 another world out of doors from that in which we laughed 
 and rejoiced only yesterday. So like life. Still, for all 
 the changed woods and fields, the sun shone gloriously 
 and I took a long walk; enjoyed the sunshine. Some- 
 times when the light seems so delightful I think of Dr. 
 Kane climbing an ice peak to catch the first sight of the 
 sun after the long darkness, and his describing the sensa- 
 tion experienced as delicious as a bath in perfumed' water. 
 
 There are so many things all about me that I do not 
 understand; for instance, this: Why doesn't the woman 
 have any income from the farm? Why hasn't she a right 
 to sell a neighbor honey or anything from the storeroom 
 without feeling herself a thief and a liar? 
 
 How awe-full is the goodness of women who work 
 hard all their lives — for their grave clothes! These 
 thoughts came today because I went after some honey. 
 Mrs. H — said, yes, I could have what I wanted, but 
 added: "Now, don't you tell him, for he said he couldn't 
 sell any more, but it isn't much." Some way I wished I 
 wanted more, so she would have more money that was all 
 her own. 
 
 Saturday, October 6 
 
 Speering among the sere leaves in the meadow to see 
 what was left after the frost, I found the witch hazel all 
 ablow, as bright as summer. Almost every leaf was gone 
 from the branches, yet the yellow, star-fringed blossoms 
 were as gaily lifting up their lights as if Jack Frost had 
 not yet come to his kingdom. My acquaintance with witch 
 hazel began last year. Mrs. H — had strung the seeds, 
 
 91 
 
making an ornamental basket. The seeds were so polished 
 and the small, white spots which marked them were so 
 curious, I became interested in witch hazel then and there. 
 First, as it is directed in cooking a woodchuck, catch your 
 woodchuck, so I was told to gather the seed. She told me 
 nothing concerning the seed and it was a novel experience. 
 The shrubs are full of the ripened seed at the time of 
 blossoming. December and May, youth and ripe age are 
 sometimes tied to each other on the same bough in the 
 natural world. The capsules open explosively and scatter 
 the seeds abroad, and to look for them would be to repeat 
 the search for the needle in the haystack. I learned that 
 in order to save the seeds the capsules must be gathered 
 before they opened; also that they must be covered or 
 the seeds flew about the house the same way that they 
 did in the fields. Each seed is about the size of a kernel 
 of rice. So I gathered the capsules before they were 
 opened and put them in a paper bag and hung them in the 
 dining room to wait and hear what would happen. Hap- 
 pen in the sense of occur; Mother and I would be reading 
 or sewing, everything as still as midnight, when like hail 
 on the window, we would run to see and then laugh to 
 think we had forgotten the witches tied in the bag, and 
 return to the sewing or reading by the parlor fire. This 
 kept up till every seed was freed; then I tried to thread 
 them as Mrs. H — had done and they wouldn't thread. 
 They would split. When I saw Mrs. H — she told me she 
 filed off both ends of each small seed just sufficient to allow 
 a fine needle to thread them. Finally the necklace which 
 I strung was beautiful enough to pay me for my trouble. 
 
 Sunday, October 7 
 
 No Sunday School, but a good, real, enjoyable, preach- 
 ing service. What makes the difference in Sundays? 
 
 92 
 
Sometimes it seems like sowing seed when the wind blows ; 
 then again it is quiet and orderly and reverent; a seed 
 sowing when there is no wind blowing and it seems like 
 going to church. 
 
 Tuesday, October 9 
 
 Mother went to town yesterday and I spent last night 
 at Eleanor's. We had a delightful evening. The parlor 
 was bright and warm and we visited and visited. Oliver, 
 the cat, follows me everywhere. I never knew before 
 that a cat would follow like a dog, but Oliver goes with 
 me all over the farm. He went over to Eleanor's with 
 me and stayed until Major showed his teeth at a cat's 
 coming a-visiting. When I came home this morning 
 Oliver was hugging the door step and came down to the 
 gate to meet me and trotted up the footpath by my side 
 purring most contentedly. Oliver is a wonderful cat; 
 there is no doubt of it. 
 
 Mother came up in the Red Chariot with the usual 
 big bundle. There is nothing in the life in the country 
 more delightful than coming home from town with lots 
 of bundles. It is so happy undoing each separate parcel. 
 It doesn't matter whether the package contains raisins for 
 Christmas, or a web of cloth or a paper of pins. It is 
 something needed or wished for, and it has come. And it's 
 a joy that preserves its freshness, it is always a delight. 
 
 Wednesday, October 10 
 
 Some things occurred today which made me think how 
 very different the life I am now living is from the life I 
 planned for myself when I came from school. Yet I am 
 confident that God is saying, "This is the way, walk ye 
 in it." Where it leads is with God; my only concern is 
 to follow in faith. 
 
 93 
 
I wonder what Moses thought in all those days of 
 watching his flocks at the back of the desert, after his 
 court-life and the study of the wisdom of Egypt. Sun- 
 rise and sunset over and over for forty years! 
 
 Friday, October 12 
 "Stitch, stitch, stitch, 
 Gusset and band and seam." 
 
 Wherein does the life of a sewing woman differ from 
 the life of any wage earner except that she gets less 
 money for her work? There is the same repetition of 
 stitch, stitch, stitch in the menial and trivial work in the 
 house. When the clock stops its tick, tick, tick, it is dead. 
 When a woman's work is done she, too, is dead. The 
 making of a garment is the least work about it. It is keep- 
 ing things in order that tries a woman's soul,, like the trial 
 of the desert. 
 
 Here is a little song which I found in the bottom of 
 the tub one day. 
 
 A SONG 
 To rub and rub and rub, 
 
 To scald and rinse and wring, 
 The sheets and skirts and frills 
 
 In water from the spring. 
 
 To dampen, starch and spat 
 To smooth with irons hot, 
 
 To smooth to perfectness 
 And leave no scorched spot. 
 
 To "air" and fold away 
 The linen clean and white; 
 
 To lavender the sheets, 
 To bring sweet dreams at night; 
 
 Is setting stitches in 
 The hem of winding sheet 
 
 For those who spend their lives 
 To keep the linen neat. 
 
 94 
 
Saturday, October 13 
 
 That years bring change is evidenced in my delight in 
 this simple record of sunrise and sunset. I remember 
 hearing Mrs. Timothy Dwight say, once an eminent man 
 had counseled her to keep a diary, she did not think as he 
 did. I agreed with her. It seemed then the veriest non- 
 sense, unless one was living a life of entertaining incident. 
 Now it gives me pleasure to record the magnifying of a 
 small, white flower, looking at the moon in the daytime 
 or the simplest incident in the day. 
 
 Sunday, October 14 
 
 It seemed to me, as I thought in the quiet hours of 
 this quiet day of the promises of God, that their fulfilment 
 in this year had been specially noticeable. When our 
 farmer failed us it seemed sort of dreadful to be left here 
 without a farmer, but Eleanor was near and the land was 
 parceled out and the pasturage has been excellent, and 
 then, the droves, coming along for weeks. The drovers 
 were very kind, for the sake of their flocks accepting in- 
 convenience for themselves, sometimes sleeping at Mr. 
 Obee's and sometimes on the hay. Now there is a tenant 
 in the white farmhouse and we have to thank God for 
 again verifying his word: "I will not leave you comfort- 
 less." 
 
 Am so glad Mother insisted on my studying Thorough 
 Bass. Today I have been playing chords. I am glad 
 there was something I could do and something that filled 
 the hours of sunshine with an expression of joy. 
 
 Monday, October 15 
 
 Schiller thought to put in a song the various labors 
 attendant on making a bell, and Barlow has immortalized 
 the making of a corn pudding. 
 
 95 
 
More wonderful than either, it seems to me, is the 
 making of a wheaten loaf of bread. If one could only 
 learn to think as she worked there would be no common 
 work; all work would be glorified. In making the bread, 
 first the sower goes forth to sow. Then the grain dies 
 and out of death cometh the living grain. The waving 
 field, then the field just turning golden, the sun shining on 
 it. Then the reapers come with their sickles and the 
 glory of the field is laid low. Then it is gathered into 
 barns and suffers the threshing, is separated from the chaff 
 and is crushed by the millstones. Then the grain is ready 
 for the bread making. It is leavened with leaven, mixed, 
 raised by a process of fermentation, another taste of death, 
 moulded and baked. 
 
 Since the sowing, the grain has died, been raised up 
 in glory, been cut from its earth root, been crushed to 
 powder, and ere the white loaf, nicely browned, is served 
 on the snowy table it has yet to pass through the fire 
 of the oven. 
 
 Many lessons we find in the white loaf of bread, of 
 patient waiting, of trial by fire, by sword, of crushing 
 sorrow, in order to bring out of the grain its useful sweet- 
 ness. 
 
 The day has been one of the perfect autumn days, 
 every one of which is an Illuminated Scripture. 
 
 Tuesday, October 16 
 
 A walk across the fields with Mother over to Granny 
 Christopher's. The sick granddaughter has taken a cold 
 and is worse. We found her lying on the bed covered 
 with a quilt. Her head was also hidden under the quilt. 
 Her hoarse cough and shoes which were not covered were 
 all that made her presence known. As we came in the 
 door Luce stepped and drew the cover over her feet. 
 
Granny Christopher is a character. Kind and help- 
 ful, willing to be of service and content to live most 
 primitively. Her cottage is of hewn logs. The only one 
 left in the Valley. Two small windows light it; these 
 windows, though small, have deep, poetic window sills. 
 They are curtained with valances of muslin, and sometimes 
 there is a plant there. There is now a stove on the brick 
 hearth of the old fireplace; the chimney here has been 
 torn out to give room. That chimney was built a long 
 time ago, for Granny is an old woman. Tall and straight 
 and strong, she carries her years well. She loves to visit 
 her children, and her buckboard is her carriage and the 
 oxen are the carriage horses. She is a good neighbor to 
 everybody. 
 
 Wednesday, October 17 
 
 A day of beauty. I cannot tell why the autumn days 
 are so full of delight to me. In the spring everything 
 seems to rush forward so as to accomplish the growing and 
 the ripening. There is no such feeling of haste in the 
 rare hours of the mellow sunshine of a fall day. There 
 is rather the joy that follows the accomplishment of tasks 
 given to do. There is peace, content and rest. The days 
 please me, only the daylight grows shorter and shorter, 
 just as each day shortens life. 
 
 Thursday, October 18 
 
 Mr. Obee is away and Mother and I have been over 
 giving Eleanor a little lift with her sewing. It was a 
 pleasant sewing society and she made us a Christmas cup 
 of coffee. Wore my muslin dress this afternoon, it was so 
 deliciously warm. Still the weather cannot be trusted and 
 we had the Regulator stove set up this morning to be 
 ready against the next frost. 
 
 97 
 
Saturday, October 20 
 
 Mother went to town with Mr. Obee. I got going like 
 the man with the cork leg and couldn't stop. I was very 
 busy until Mother was home again. It is a blessed home; 
 we do what is right for us to do and we are agreed. There 
 is no murmur of discontent. Suppose things are not as 
 we would wish to have them, murmuring would not make 
 things any better. Mother has a letter from Mr. Dudley 
 Dobson, Denver, Colo., and his letters are almost like 
 hearing from sweet Alice. 
 
 Sunday, October 21 
 
 The meeting was so confused today, I wonder the 
 preacher who spoke without notes did not lose his place 
 and stop and ask, "What was I saying?" like the little 
 boy who was diverted in a crying spell and when the diver- 
 sion was over turned and asked, "Ma, what was I crying 
 about?" 
 
 A woman fainted or had a "fit"; Granny Christopher 
 generaled her out; then five women went out and came in 
 and tiptoed out again. Then a young woman, dressed in 
 black silk and a scarlet shawl, flashed in; then a man went 
 out. Finally the woman was taken home. 
 
 Granny Christopher says, "I love your mother for her 
 widowship." Bless your heart, Granny Christopher, so 
 do I. If I had lost these years with my mother for any- 
 body, what a loss it would have been. 
 
 Tuesday, October 23 
 
 Eleanor has company, her sister-in-law. We went over 
 last evening to visit with her. It was the first evening we 
 have spent out since we have been in the country and was 
 quite a novel experience. 
 
 98 
 
A rainbow yesterday morning. 
 
 "Rainbow in the morning, 
 Sailors take warning." 
 
 And every time this year after a morning rainbow it has 
 turned screeching cold, so at night it was cold and bright. 
 
 Wednesday, October 24 
 
 The first flurry of snow. It was quite a little squall. 
 It will always make one sad to find the first grey hair. 
 The first cold is always welcomed with a little shiver. 
 Yesterday I practised quite a bit, especially the song 
 "Brightest Eyes." When the flowers fade, then one takes 
 of necessity to indoor occupations. If music has suffered 
 neglect during the summer days, it may suffer vengeance 
 during the winter days. Another sewing society over to 
 Eleanor's ; she is going to see the Dr.'s family. The cream 
 biscuit for supper were better than good; they were ex- 
 cellent. The snow today has suggested a little poem, 
 which I confide to this pure white page. 
 
 IF THE SNOW KISSED NOT THE ROSE 
 
 Beautiful and sweetest rose 
 Lieth dead at summer's close; 
 And life's gladness follows swift 
 Where the faded rose leaves drift. 
 
 Oh, if we could only hold 
 All the summer's sunny gold! 
 Oh, if we could only keep 
 Roses from their winter's sleep ! 
 
 If the snow kissed not the rose 
 And it died at summer's close, 
 Would we ever learn to pray, 
 Haste, thou Resurrection Day? 
 
 99 
 
Thursday, October 25 
 
 Some days it does one good to dress and look her most 
 magnificent. So I dressed "that pretty dress/' my garnet 
 empress cloth, and sang and really had a lovely after- 
 noon. There should be added to the "Blesseds" this beati- 
 tude: 
 
 "Blessed are they who can turn shadow into sunshine." 
 Walking down the road this morning someone passing 
 greeted me. It is so unusual to hear my name in my 
 walks, I was quite surprised, but as I was not looking to 
 see who was driving, I do not know who it was that bade 
 me Good Morning. A Good Morning is the good begin- 
 ning of a good day. 
 
 THE WILD ASTER'S SERMON. 
 
 This is what the wild asters have said to me: 
 
 Behold me, a weed of the ground, growing in pasture 
 land and by the brookside, making the waste places of the 
 earth bright with my purple bloom. When the summer 
 is done and the dark days draw near, I lift up my branch 
 of asters and with the best power that is in me I shine. 
 
 When the days are dark and the land waste, do you 
 make the desolate places glad and in the dark days do you 
 shine ? 
 
 I get and give good from every circumstance and soil. 
 I comfort with my light the weary, common lives of many. 
 I bring near to their hearts the words of Christ, "Shall he 
 not much more clothe you, oh, ye of little faith?" I make 
 the little children happy. They pull the stars from my 
 crown and pin them in their hair, crowning themselves 
 with my glory. 
 
 Do you carry the words of Christ to those who mourn 
 because they live in common places? Do you teach the 
 
 100 
 
little children to love beauty in the commonplace ways 
 and things? 
 
 I lighten the way of the wayfarer through the melan- 
 choly days, giving honor to God in so doing, who gave me 
 my raiment of purple and gold. I help humanity to 
 greater peace by my content. I grow my best, unseen and 
 unknown. 
 
 Do you wear the king's colors of purple and gold for 
 yourself or for the good of others? Are you content to 
 serve unseen ard unknown? 
 
 I grow where He placed me. I bloom as He made me. 
 Continually I praise Him. 
 
 Are you willing to serve where you are placed? With 
 your whole life do you praise Him? 
 
 I heard the asters say these things, but I think Christ 
 spoke to my soul through the flower. 
 
 101 
 
NOVEMBER DAYS 
 
 A Beautiful Life— Going from Home— The Love of 
 Land— An Old Tavern— Graves of Our Household- 
 Old Portrait — Visiting with Mother — A New 
 Bonnet— Needlework and Knitting— The Beloved 
 Physician— A Pedler's Cart— Little, Old Woman- 
 Home Letters— Oliver Twist's Death— Rainy Days- 
 Night Caps— Sabbath Thoughts— Thanksgiving Day 
 —The Sum of Days— The Early and the Latter Rain 
 — Witch Hazel. 
 
 NOVEMBER 
 
 Again ere winter claims the scene, 
 The dandelions deck the green, 
 And in November, dull and cold, 
 We gather of the spring's first gold. 
 
 Thursday, November 1 
 
 We had company this evening. The little woman in 
 the white farmhouse came over rather than stay alone 
 while "Jo was gone." She brought her crocheting, a nar- 
 row, delicate piece of lacework. She chattered as she 
 crocheted and we were glad she came, for Eleanor is away 
 and we felt lonely. 
 
 Friday, November 2 
 
 Heard this morning that our dear friend, Mrs. Mowry, 
 was buried yesterday. She was so thoughtfully kind to 
 everybody she will be greatly missed. The world will go 
 on, but not so smoothly as it did for those who loved her. 
 
 103 
 
She had such a blessed way of smoothing over the rough 
 places, of helping one to do the right thing at the right 
 time and in the right way. She will leave the world 
 better for her living in it and she was such a quiet, little, 
 home-loving woman; never any blowing of silver trumpets 
 whither her feet wandered, as she went up and down, 
 scattering blessings as spring scatters flowers. 
 
 Saturday, November 3 
 
 Getting ready to go a-visiting; such numberless little 
 things to see to in getting ready to shut the house. It 
 'most makes head ache to remember them all and one's 
 heart ache to be so lonely and have both inside and outside 
 to look after. The cellar window to shut, the chicken feed 
 to arrange, kindling and wood by the stove ready to light 
 the fire in an instant on our return, to see that nothing is 
 left to freeze, and so on for ever so long. 
 
 Sunday, November 4 
 
 A long, cold day. Mother went to the meeting and I 
 sat at home and life seemed very serious and sad I thought. 
 I meditated on the problem of life given to each to work 
 out, but I presume I moped a little. Sometimes one is 
 mistaken and calls one by the other's name, yet they are 
 not twins at all and have very little resemblance. But this 
 is true, as the conclusion of my moping, I do not covet 
 being "a little hindering thing" all my life. 
 
 Monday, November 5 
 
 A continuation of preparation. A trip over to Eleanor's 
 to borrow a screwdriver "to fix" a trunk. Gail Hamilton 
 knew about women getting a trunk in visiting trim. We 
 laughed when we read her description of getting a trunk 
 
 104 
 
downstairs, but it was a serious experience if we did 
 laugh at it. Finally, after the loosened screws were 
 satisfactorily in place, we decided to pack a satchel, which 
 is better. People in the country think if one comes with 
 a trunk they intend to spend the season, and we are going 
 for an autumn outing into the interior, way off from the 
 main road. 
 
 The afternoon being bright, I climbed the hill opposite 
 the house just to get a good look at the farm before the 
 late storms prevent such a climb. It may be cold and 
 unpleasant when we come back. 
 
 In these Indian Summer days it is a picture worth 
 climbing to see. The love of land is one of those loves 
 which it is good to have dwelling in one's heart. I am 
 glad that I love land. One does not need to be a farmer 
 with trousers in the top of mud-burdened boots to love 
 land. Not at all. Often I have perched on a fence on the 
 hill and looked down on the wood lot, the swamp, the 
 strawberry meadow, the brown, broad, low cottage like a 
 bobolink's nest, so squat is it in the grass, and loved the 
 face of the farm. I love the song of the brook as it laughs 
 through the meadow. I pray God I may go through life 
 as the brook goes through the meadow land, laughing over 
 difficulties, making a gladness wherever I go. 
 
 I love the farm, love to walk over it, love to hunt 
 strawberries in the old meadows, love the smell of the 
 flowering grasses. 
 
 "The smell of the flowering grasses 
 Is sweeter than any rose." 
 
 I love the tangled wood lot, love the flicker of willow 
 leaves on the water, love the flash of the maple leaves as 
 they go boating on the surface of the brook, love the spring 
 from which my father often drank. I love it all because 
 it is a refuge. Most blessed is the one who has a city of 
 Refuge to flee to for safety in troubled times. 
 
 105 
 
Tuesday, November 6 
 
 Frost! The geranium after which I named a happy- 
 day is frozen. Tied it up in a paper to be left. Every- 
 thing is as ready to leave as we know how to make it. 
 Why is a farmhouse so lonesome when it is shut up? 
 
 The Red Chariot rolled up to the gate. Oliver Twist 
 trotted down to the gate to see us off. Poor pussy will 
 have to look out for himself for a while, but Eleanor has 
 promised to be good to him. 
 
 The first Tuesday in November is "'Lection Day." 
 We rode spat into the fray at the tavern where the horses 
 bait and the travelers, by the Red Chariot, take dinner. 
 
 The dining-room of the Inn is worthy of notice, though 
 differing little from many another. It is a long room, with 
 low ceiling and a row of windows on one side. The floor 
 is a dark, shining yellow, almost as shining as a waxed 
 floor and so clean it is almost slippery. On the wall hang 
 some old-fashioned prints. Everything has the flavor of 
 long ago. 
 
 The little quaintness about the place adds to the in- 
 terest, especially for those who search to the ends of the 
 earth for the antiquated. 
 
 The landlord himself is butler and waiter. He is a 
 large man, but is deft and attentive and serves a good 
 dinner. While waiting I was greatly interested in the men 
 who make a "town meeting," and again encountered more 
 things which I do not understand. A good many of them 
 seemed so unkempt, unshorn, unwashed, that I wondered 
 if they did not take their opinions from their fathers with- 
 out the trouble to themselves of thinking. That is the 
 worst of all, the unthinking being. Once the mind is set 
 at work the man becomes a new man, clothed and in his 
 right mind. Then he cleans the mud off from his boots, 
 washes up, shaves and has his hair trimmed. 
 
 106 
 
Wednesday, November 7 
 
 Bright and warmer than yesterday. Mother and I 
 walked up to the little village and stopped at the God's 
 Acre. The grass is long and tangled on the grave where 
 Alice sleeps, like the dishevelled hair of a mourner. Wind 
 and weather have left their mark on the stones. When we 
 buried Father, Mother, Eleanor and Alice were left to 
 me and now Alice is gone. These graves are a high altar 
 whither we turn in days of both joy and sorrow. 
 
 Spent the day with a lady Mother knew years ago, an 
 English woman. 
 
 How those dear ladies visited of the days that are 
 gone ! I wish the lady would give me the portrait painted 
 of herself when she was young, in which she is holding a 
 rose in her hand, herself as lovely as a rose. Cousin 
 came for us and we rode home in the purple dusk, the 
 horses going fast as good horses should go. 
 
 Friday, November 9 
 
 One of the good rules of life which is never to be 
 broken is this: Never lose an opportunity for pure en- 
 joyment. When Cousin said he was going to the village 
 to get his horses shod and we could ride, we were ready. 
 From the village Mother walked to see an old acquaintance 
 and I walked back to the farmhouse. On my way I stopped 
 at the graveyard, just to caress the long grass on the 
 graves and sat down and sobbed until my heart was light- 
 ened a little and then I went on. I had made a quick 
 walk and so had a long morning to myself, as we had 
 started quite early. The day is apt to start early in a 
 well-ordered farmhouse. Usually Mother and I do the 
 visiting in the early part of the day until the work is done 
 —which is almost never. In the afternoon Cousin takes 
 time to sit awhile with us in the old sitting room which 
 
 107 
 
has never changed, in an article of furniture or the posi- 
 tion of a chair, since I can remember and Mother says it 
 was the same in Auntie's time. 
 
 This afternoon made a lot of paper bobolinks for the 
 child of the house and so doing made a friend of the little 
 lad. They were something new to play with. I'm glad 
 that I have the gift of folding paper. "It requires no 
 trunk to carry knowledge" is an old Scotch proverb. If 
 one knows how to do pleasant things for the little folks or 
 the larger folks, one has the knowledge always with one, 
 the same as the nose on one's face. 
 
 Saturday, November 10 
 
 Went with the cousins to the town where they go to 
 market. It was a glorious day to ride and the road went 
 up hill and down hill. The road was good and the team 
 good. Very little it seems left to visit for. A delightful 
 expedition to a town of shops. A lovely day to spend 
 money; lovely to have money to spend. 
 
 I have a new bonnet; perhaps I shall get up in the 
 night to look at it. Cousin stood on a chair to view it and 
 declares it to be as big as a postage stamp. It's as big 
 as a bill and the milliner made it of a piece of my brown 
 dress. And — it's real pretty. 
 
 Sunday, November 11 
 
 Sunday is often a holiday instead of the holy day of 
 the week in the country. It was their time to go and we 
 went to another cousin's farther in the interior. How do 
 they live way here? Fatly, faring sumptuously every day. 
 The coffee was George Washington Coffee, as Lewis K — 
 said of our's at the Cottage. I knew the sound of the beans 
 dropping in the pan to brown as if it were Mother's foot- 
 step. 
 
 103 
 
Monday, November 12 
 
 It is always a good thing to be well supplied with 
 needlework or knitting when one goes to visit off from the 
 main road. I have my knitting. Mother has her knitting 
 and there is always a chance to finish a sock or stocking 
 that is lying about waiting to be finished. Mother is al- 
 ways doing this sort of thing. Took a long walk toward 
 the switch. One cannot knit all day and visiting, where 
 folks are so busy, has to be done by snatches. And the 
 days are too bright to be shut in all day. Went out again 
 this evening to see a field of straw burn; also called on 
 the old grandmother who is very old and very Scotch. 
 She remembers my Father when he first came to this 
 country, "and many's the time I've been glad to see him 
 over here." She remembers the old-fashioned saddlebags, 
 as do many other families. What terrible, long rides the 
 country doctor used to have to take to see his patients in 
 those early days. The homes on the fair farm lands were 
 scattered over a good deal of territory so that the country 
 doctor's ride covered in extent a small empire. 
 
 Tuesday, November 13 
 
 Like yesterday, only fairer, took another long walk. 
 From the hill top where we are, the world as far as eye 
 can see is very beautiful. I wish it were the custom to 
 name the farms. I should like to christen this place 
 "Golden Sweet Place." 
 
 Incident. As I sat in the doorway knitting for dear 
 life's sake, a tin pedler's cart hove in sight. A white 
 horse and a cart that had once been red, and still showed 
 some brightness in the sunshine. The children started on 
 a run to meet it. Some one they know, I thought to my- 
 self, but I was wrong; it was just somebody going by. 
 
 109 
 
We are on a hill top, off from the main road, in the real 
 country. 
 
 Never before had I given a thought to a pedler's cart, 
 but today I felt glad that they were painted a bright 
 color and were sometimes drawn by a white horse. If 
 with the brooms which look so bright and golden in the 
 sunshine, they would carry a small banner or two, it would 
 have a very small likeness to a circus parade in town. I 
 wonder the pedler has not thought of the attractive feature 
 of the banners. 
 
 Wednesday, November 14 
 
 Took another long walk to see where the children go to 
 school. I went down a long hill and kept looking for 
 the pitch the children told me about. Found it coming 
 back, for it was a steep pitch all the way up. It is always 
 harder to climb up than to slide down hill. The children 
 ought to learn something good every day to pay them for 
 climbing that hill. 
 
 The little girl here is nine years old; she knits her own 
 stockings; when necessary has milked five cows, made the 
 pie for dinner and makes lovely cookies. Oh, dear, how 
 very small my knowledge of work seems by the side of this 
 little, nine-year-old, old woman! 
 
 Made a trip with cousin to the sugar camp. Every- 
 thing to do with here. Perfect arrangement for gathering 
 the sap, for holding the sap and boiling pan and arch. I 
 don't see why it should be such hard work in the house. 
 For the farm work there is plenty of help; in the house 
 there is none. Every farmer's wife on a large farm makes 
 a mistake right there. We are able to judge the right and 
 wrong for other folks. 
 
 One more visit and we are ready to return to Cold 
 Spring Cottage. 
 
 110 
 
Friday, November 16 
 
 Last evening crocheted a mitten for the little lad of the 
 house. He would not go to bed till it was finished, and 
 went to sleep with one mitten on. Like my son John, who 
 went to bed with "one shoe off and one shoe on." 
 
 To miss an opportunity of making a child glad is a 
 loss for life. Opportunity is one of the four things that 
 come not back. Finished the mate to the mitten this 
 morning before starting for home. The child's name for 
 me sounds so much like "Some Sugar" that we all accepted 
 it for what he intended. The wind was very cold; it went 
 through us as if we had no bodies. Found everything all 
 right. Oliver came for calling and purred and purred 
 very contentedly. We had had a good visit, but it is lovely 
 to be at home again. 
 
 Found some letters waiting; one from Mr. Dudley 
 Dobson, telling Mother of his safe return from Denver; 
 one from Mrs. Whitney inviting me to visit her, and one 
 from Boston, in answer to a letter asking if they could 
 tell me why I never heard from my passion flower seeds 
 after sowing them. I waited a long time (it seemed to 
 me) and then I dug down and found they had not even 
 started to wake up. Then after a while I wrote to ask. I, 
 impatient ! 
 
 Boston-, 10/15, 186—. 
 Dear Madam: 
 
 The seeds of Passiflora will take some time to vegetate. You 
 possibly became impatient. Sh'd you not succeed with these w'd 
 advise you to purchase a small pPt and you w'd thus save time 
 and enable you to have a good show the first year. 
 
 Ys. R., 
 
 Frm. Washburn & Co., 
 
 G. Shaw. 
 
 Eleanor is home from her visit. 
 
 Ill 
 
Saturday, November 17 
 
 I don't know what they were growling about, but 
 Major, Mr. Obee's dog, and Oliver, my cat, never did get 
 along well. Major came over today and the growling 
 began. Major caught Oliver up by the back, shook him, 
 breaking his back. After the mishap the poor thing 
 crawled, an inch at a time, to the dining-room door, opened 
 it with its paw, an old trick, to lie by the stove where we 
 were sitting and talking. Poor thing, he has not made a 
 sign of a sound since he was hurt. 
 
 Sunday, November 18 
 
 Went over to see if Mr. Obee would kill my poor 
 Oliver. He said he couldn't do it, but George would, for 
 the kitten's fur. My cat's pretty black fur coat. The cat 
 was such lots of company. The purring of a kitten and 
 the ticking of a clock give such a sense of comfort without 
 interfering with thought or talk. 
 
 I shall remember today, after Harold Skimpole's way 
 of sainting the person whose kindness has made it a happy 
 day, therefore it is St. Gilbert's Day. Received from the 
 Dr. a beautiful napkin ring made from Lake Superior 
 silver. Eleanor brought it. 
 
 Tuesday, November 20 
 
 Two rainbows in one day. A morning rainbow in the 
 west, and at noon a bow directly in the north. 
 
 Thursday, November 22 
 
 Rainy days are very trying to some people. When it 
 rains I do not know what to do with myself. So today, 
 when the blue sky shed copious tears, I sang with the 
 inspiration or desperation of the dying swan. Shubert 
 
 112 
 
says, "The music inspired by my sorrow pleases most, 
 touching other hearts more closely/' Fanny Fern says, 
 "No woman writes who is happy." But her saying can- 
 not be wholly true. Is it true that the gift of song and 
 the gift of poesy flourish best in the shadow of sorrow? 
 Note — I don't know that I sang so well this rainy day as 
 to inspire anyone to suppose I was unhappy. 
 
 Saturday, November 24 
 
 Stormy! Mother went to fixing her head-dresses. She 
 is going to make a new lot of nightcaps to look over on 
 rainy days. A store is no sore. I like to look over the 
 box of caps myself. Some have been given by friends who 
 knew her fancy for pretty nightcaps. Some are keep- 
 sakes. Some were Grandmother Eleanor's. There are 
 two that Alice embroidered years ago. There is some of 
 Mother's needlework and knitted caps, out of fine thread 
 and lace pattern which were done when she was young. 
 There is the little lace cap she knitted for me, well, when 
 I was a baby, and in this box she keeps the one which I 
 embroidered for her when I was at school. Each one as 
 she takes it up brings some pleasant recollection of the face 
 that once wore it or the hand that wrought it. So they 
 are good company and not at all sleepy as nightcaps should 
 be. I retrimmed a bonnet for occupation and to make it 
 prettier. 
 
 Night. The week has gone where all weeks go, to 
 their rest with leaf of laurel, leaf of rose. 
 
 Sunday, November 25 
 
 The day in which we see most of a loved friend is 
 never too long. I know it should be so with the Sabbath. 
 God should be so recognized and his presence so felt in 
 all its hours as to be the most delightful day of the week. 
 
 113 
 
The spirit should come home from the world and rest with 
 God on the Sabbath. There is no tire in loving service. 
 As the Arab says, "No weariness is felt in the day of 
 victory/' But these things are not always as they should 
 be. Today has seemed so long with no service and to- 
 night the vale in which I live seems so low and far from 
 God. Help me, oh God, to climb nearer to thee! 
 
 Tuesday, November 27 
 
 The week began full regular, with the linen made new 
 by another washing, hanging up to dry and sprinkling and 
 spatting and ironing, which has consumed part of the two 
 days past. There will be none of this sort of thing in 
 heaven or on the earth when the old things pass away and 
 all things become new. 
 
 Went over to Eleanor's; found Mr. Obee was going to 
 town to get some raisins for Thanksgiving mince pie. He 
 said, "Do you want to go?" I said, "I do want to go." 
 
 This form of dialogue is given in the first reader: "Did 
 you hear the dog bark?" "I did hear the dog bark." 
 Was ready in a jiffy. Took my cloak to get it stitched, 
 shopped a little, paid some bills and then waited for Mr. 
 Obee. It was not a bright day and as I looked on the 
 street I loved my meadow view and my mile of country 
 road more than ever. 
 
 "And round and round, over valley and hill, 
 Old roads winding, as old roads will, 
 Here to a ferry and there to a mill." 
 
 A country road for me. It was quite dark when we got 
 home, and Mother, dear, good Mother went over to 
 Eleanor's with me for something that had to be attended 
 to to-night. 
 
 114 
 
Wednesday, November 28 
 We celebrated today. Mother's dinner was prime. It 
 was really a Thanksgiving never to be forgotten. 
 
 Thursday, November 29 
 Waked from my delicious sleep, a sleep not "stricken 
 with dreams," to find Thanksgiving day really here. It 
 was raining heavily. It stormed so we almost gave up 
 going over to Eleanor's, but it cleared a little and we 
 went, just after the church bells over in town had rung 
 for service. Mr. Obee seemed to have reckoned on the 
 visit, for he said, when he heard it rain in the night, he 
 thought their Thanksgiving would be spoilt. 
 
 There was a fire on the hearth and "Granny" Brown 
 sat by the fire dreaming of Fitz William, his hounds and 
 his serving men. We saw a steam picture on the window ; 
 we imagined it was a woman's face with parted lips; we 
 said she was singing a song of thanksgiving. 
 
 In the evening, at home, we had hickory nuts, salted. 
 ' I brought them the other day as a present to Mother. So 
 ended a happy day, and a Happy Day added to a 
 
 Happy Day makes the sum a 
 
 Happy Life. 
 
 Friday, November 30 
 Wakened in the night and listened to the rain on the 
 roof so very near my head and thought about 
 
 THE EARLY AND THE LATTER RAIN 
 Deut. 11-14 
 
 Fare forth in faith and sow the seed, 
 
 The Lord hath promised rain. 
 He knoweth each one's prayer and need, 
 
 Thy trust shall not be vain. 
 115 
 
Each year the promise is fulfilled 
 
 Of late and early rain, 
 And who so well his field has tilled 
 
 Shall reap the ripened grain. 
 
 The early and the latter rain 
 
 In yearly circles go; 
 One marshals spring upon the plain, 
 
 One brings the winter's woe. 
 
 And who shall say, Lord, stay thy hand, 
 When meadow brooks o'erflow 
 
 And through the winding valley land 
 The rushing waters go? 
 
 They seek the sea by well-worn ways, 
 By clouds they'll come again. 
 
 The sky will weep through autumn days 
 And laugh in April rain. 
 
 116 
 
THE WITCH HAZEL 
 
 WHEW-EU! The West-wind blew hard, scurrying 
 here and there, up and down the hillside, peering 
 everywhere, till there was not a single flower left blossom- 
 ing. So thoroughly had the West-wind done the work of 
 putting out the lights of summer. Even the mullein's late 
 twinkling lights were out. The West-wind was hilariously 
 happy, he had done so well the work which he had to do. 
 He blew down the narrow valley road and swung himself 
 into the top of a pine tree by the water trough to listen 
 for the hundredth time to the story the pine tree soughs 
 over, forever and forever. A sunbeam shot down through 
 the leaden sky and with a finger of fire pointed straight to 
 a bunch of witch hazels in full bloom. The bushes twinkled 
 all ablaze with stars, utterly regardless of the decree, "All 
 lights out." Shining against a background of young hem- 
 locks, they were as pretty a sight as ever could be to 
 brighten a dark day. But the West-wind didn't think it was 
 a pretty sight. He swung himself out of his pine tree 
 hammock and blew with a big, strong breath. The witch 
 hazel bushes shook and twinkled prettier than ever. The 
 sunbeam had brought a message saying, "Shine, light up 
 these dark days, shine," and they were shining. The 
 West-wind blew again and the Witch Hazel said: "Oh, 
 West-wind, don't blow so hard, you'll put our lights out 
 and we're set in these dark days to shine." Then the 
 West-wind puffed his cheeks out big and blew so hard 
 that the dry, dead leaves were sent hither and thither in 
 a whirlwind and said: "My wild Witch Hazel, you have 
 not a leaf on your branches. The frost long ago trans- 
 muted them into thin plates of gold and they have dropped 
 
 117 
 
off, enriching and beautifying the earth and you've just 
 thought about blossoming!" Then he blew the dry leaves 
 hither and thither in another whirlwind. Said the Witch 
 Hazels: "This is our time of bloom; these days need our 
 brightness. There isn't a flower light in the valley beside 
 ours. It is better to bloom late than to bloom never." The 
 West-wind considered. His mission had been to put out 
 the summer lights and he went to rocking again in the pine 
 boughs and the pine tree went on with its endless story. 
 
 The Valley road was the main road across country. 
 This very morning as the Red Chariot rattled along it car- 
 ried four passengers. A little seven-year-old girl with 
 her mother, a young man though past youth and an old 
 man whose hair was soft, snowy white. The old man was 
 attractive in manner; his gentle consideration for others 
 demanded like gentle consideration for himself. He 
 seemed to have a special fondness for the cane which he 
 carried, often smoothing it as if it brought to him the 
 touch of a friend's hand. It was dark brown wood and 
 the several Hebrew characters near the knob made it easy 
 to guess a friend had remembered him when in Palestine. 
 That which makes Palestine the Holy Land is the fact that 
 the Friend lived there who remembers us. 
 
 Everything about the younger man said, "I am nice." 
 Niceness in his life seemed the one thing that had attained 
 perfection. His face would have been handsome but for 
 the selfishness that showed as plain as his nose. He had 
 studied to know, for himself. He had traveled to see, for 
 his own pleasure. He enjoyed beauty, light, warmth, the 
 joy freely given in life, and gave nothing. The world was 
 no wiser for his knowledge, no happier for his being, no 
 richer for his wealth. The training of travel, of study 
 and the luxury of wealth had left their fine traces visible 
 and had unselfish been written for selfish, the face would 
 have been a really fine one. "Israel is an empty vine, he 
 
 118 
 
bringeth forth fruit unto himself." The prophet was 
 taught of God to tell that the life lived unto oneself is 
 empty of joy. The Red Chariot stopped at the watering 
 trough, where the pine tree was story-telling to the West- 
 wind and the Witch Hazels shining. The driver jumped 
 down from his seat, loosed the check reins and, while the 
 horses drank, swung his arms back and forward and looked 
 to the luggage. The eyes of the child saw the witch hazel 
 blossoms. "See, Mother, there's a little Christmas tree 
 with its tapers all lighted." Blessed childhood, that holds 
 with one hand to the last Christmas and reaches with the 
 other to the next, and so never letting go of the Christ- 
 child born in Bethlehem. The mother answered: "Per- 
 haps the little bush was in such a hurry to be a tree that 
 it forgot its blossom time." And the old man said: "It is 
 better to bloom late than to bloom never." 
 
 The driver looked at the child and at the bush and 
 thought: "I've been over this road for five years every 
 day except Sundays, and I never saw that thing before. 
 It must have been there all the time. It must have been 
 there yesterday, and it was so sunshiny how pretty it must 
 have looked. It is a bright thing growing in my way and 
 I never saw it. Likely I've missed other things. I have 
 eyes, yet do not see." 
 
 A child's word is often the key that opens new worlds 
 whose height and depth and breadth no man hath meas- 
 ured. As the driver drew the check rein he patted the 
 neck of each horse and the Red Chariot rolled on its way. 
 He who had said nothing at the watering-trough about the 
 autumn's last blossom had heard all and was also thinking, 
 yet he made no sign of having seen or heard. It is often 
 so; those who are influenced by our words and acts make 
 no sign. "This child," he thought, "represents spring, 
 the mother summer, I am autumn, my neighbor is winter. 
 Together we have the year of life complete." But the 
 
 119 
 
children who ran to the windows of the farmhouses to see 
 the Red Chariot roll by did not know that they had looked 
 into the faces of the four seasons. 
 
 The little broken bit of talk at the watering-trough 
 kept recurring to his mind and he thought, "There is a 
 Christ (though no one had spoken to him of Christ). There 
 is a time. It is better to accept Him late than never, than 
 to reject Him forever." As the Valley became broader, 
 the air seemed colder. If the West-wind had been rocked 
 to sleep in the pine tree it had waked up very cross. 
 The young man with a sudden coming out of himself, 
 almost abrupt, said to the old man: "My good sir, do me 
 the favor to use this wrap; the air is very sharp." And 
 in a moment the old man was snugly wrapped from the 
 cold. Kindness to the aged is a flower never out of season. 
 It was a little thing? No, it was a great thing, for this 
 man had scarcely in his life thought of the comfort of 
 anyone but himself. As his thoughts were drawn to the 
 Lord of Love, they warmed toward his fellow creatures. 
 The seed had taken root in his soul, the act was the 
 plumule seeking the light. It was only a pebble that 
 changed the current of his thoughts, but they were changed. 
 They did not feel the West-wind longer for it hasted back 
 to the story-telling pine and stopped to say to the W T itch 
 Hazels: "Shine; your shining is not in vain. He knows 
 who set you in these dark days, the time for you to shine." 
 
 120 
 
DECEMBER DAYS 
 
 To Be or to Seem to Be — Pansies — A Hanging Bird'6 
 
 Nest — Hens Drinking — Old Books — A King's Dinner 
 
 — Bryant and Swinburne — Visiting before Flitting — 
 
 Christmas Eve. 
 
 DECEMBER 
 
 Such sweet surprises are wind sown 
 In every rood of garden grown. 
 I thank my God for eyes to see 
 The rare in things grown commonly. 
 
 Saturday, December 1 
 
 Have tried to finish Mother's silk dress, but it won't 
 finish for me. It will have to go to Madame Chegarye.* 
 There are some things that cannot be done as well as 
 others, although the adage says some things can be done 
 as well as others. Evening — A bright fire, a warm parlor, 
 Mother and I enjoying hickory nuts. 
 
 Sunday, December 2 
 
 Preaching Sunday. A quiet, still meeting with no dis- 
 turbing occurrences. The text was, "Yet all have not 
 believed." The preacher strove to show why all had not 
 believed and the way to believe. 
 
 Monday, December 3 
 
 Another great day in this American household. Some- 
 thing wanted a long time and patiently waited for has be- 
 
 *A fashionable New York finishing school of those days. 
 
 121 
 
come a reality. My cloak is very pretty. To be beautiful, 
 to possess the beauty which fadeth not with years, i. e., a 
 lovely character, requires pruning and training that is 
 often hard to bear, but it is worth all the cost. To look 
 pretty. Yes, I remember what I have been taught and I 
 subscribe to it without mental reservation, still it is with 
 much cost of time and labor and thought that one must 
 give, to look pretty always ; and I believe it better worth the 
 pains to be beautiful than to spend life simply to look 
 pretty. The chest made to hold the law of God was gold 
 within and without. Both beautiful. 
 
 Tuesday, December 4 
 
 The birthday of an absent one. Eleanor and Mr. 
 Obee invited to dinner. A rainy day, just the sort of a 
 day one wishes for pleasant company. Eleanor brought 
 a bouquet of pansies to ornament the dinner table. Look- 
 ing at them one forgot the outside storm. What great 
 eyes they have ! How they follow you, as do the eyes 
 of the ancestral pictures on the wall. Sometimes they 
 seem to rebuke one's impatience. Sometimes they comfort, 
 with such sweet comfort. It seems when you look into 
 their clear, sweet eyes as if God whispered to your heart, 
 saying, "Trust me fully and your life shall be filled with 
 joy, as these are full of beauty." 
 
 Thursday, December 6 
 
 Coming over from Eleanor's just at nightfall, I 
 climbed the rail fence by the big cherry tree and stood 
 tiptoe on the topmost rail to reach a hanging bird's nest. 
 It was a deserted nest, for there was one little egg left. 
 I examined it carefully. What a perfectly built little 
 swinging home it is ! It is a very pretty ornament for 
 the White Room. So do the things which are of use to one 
 become the ornaments of the home of another. 
 
 122 
 
Friday, December 7 
 
 In Mary's absence one of my duties in the morning 
 has been to feed the hens. They come for calling and go 
 down in regular and very solemn procession to drink at 
 the brook — the overflow from the spring which wanders 
 away and is lost in the bog. It's one of the funniest 
 things in the country to see a lot of hens drink. They are 
 so aggravatingly moderate about it. They take one drop 
 at a time, then lift their heads on high and swallow, and 
 then another drop. A hen never drinks in a hurry. 
 
 Have packed the china and the books. Am so sorry 
 that my hands should let fall the bust of Jenny Lind, which 
 Mr. Dudley Dobson presented to Mother and which she 
 has always prized so highly. Mother and I have been 
 reading in Morse's old Geography, 1793. Only in the 
 country does one find time to read old books. The story 
 of the earth flax, asbestos, has interested me greatly, espe- 
 cially the cleansing by fire. I found a description of the 
 mistletoe in the old Edinburgh Dispensary, when Jan sent 
 a sprig from Tennessee. 
 
 "Old books to read, old wood to burn, old wine to 
 drink and old friends to converse with." We have the old 
 books and they are very precious. Old wood! No or- 
 dinary family in the country will ever have old wood to 
 burn; it's too near the woods to get it up before it is 
 needed. Calvin manages to keep a stick or two ahead 
 and he seems to think that is all any sensible person ought 
 to ask. "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," must 
 read for Calvin, "Sufficient unto the day is the wood 
 thereof." For the wine, when my library is fitted up, 
 I'll take coffee for the wine. The Japanese mother stip- 
 ulates for her daughter in the betrothal contract a quan- 
 tity of paper, it being a staple article in Japan. The 
 Mohammedan mother asks that the husband shall keep 
 
 123 
 
the wife in coffee. Both excellent stipulations, far better 
 than the old Russian custom of the wife presenting a whip 
 to her husband on her wedding night as a reminder of her 
 duty as she submissively pulls off her lord's boots. And 
 old friends! Oh, if one only could keep one's best be- 
 loved friends! 
 
 Tuesday, December 11 
 
 A king's dinner! Many such dinners have we had 
 beneath this old rooftree and to think, he who has a king's 
 dinner every day is a king. I suppose queen should be 
 substituted for king, to make it fit our household. A little 
 thing to make mention of? Dinner is no little thing. It 
 is the hinge on which turns the day's destiny. 
 
 Wednesday, December 12 
 
 Scrapbooking and the "Evening Post" appears in 
 another and condensed form. I don't know how we would 
 have got along through some of the dark days without 
 Bryant and Swinburne. They have given us beautiful 
 thoughts and kept us in touch with the world outside, 
 where the sky touches the hills and shuts in this lovely 
 little valley of side hill farms. 
 
 Saturday, December 15 
 
 Visited at one of the neighboring farmhouses. The 
 old farmer does not esteem learning very highly. If one 
 can sign a paper without being obliged to make a cross, 
 and can reckon interest, that is sufficient, he thinks; but, 
 dear me, will I ever find a place that somebody won't ask 
 a question that makes me very conscious of how little I 
 know? Now it is how to measure hay in the bay. 'Spose 
 I could learn, but the old farmer chuckled most heartily 
 over the fact that I did not know. 
 
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Friday, December 21 
 
 Another visit to a neighbor's before going away. They 
 sent for us in the morning and according to accepted cus- 
 tom we were to stay all day. Had the roast beef been 
 turkey, it would have been a regulation Thanksgiving 
 dinner that they served up for us. There was the pump- 
 kin and the mince pie and pudding and cakes and honey 
 and cheese and cream biscuit and tea. It was all very nice 
 and we were a long time at dinner, but to show proper 
 friendliness one is expected to eat as if breaking a fast of 
 weeks. It is a choice of two evils, overeating or having 
 the honor of being called "mincing." I thought I slid 
 between the two, but I feel tonight like an anaconda after 
 swallowing an ox. They brought us home just at night. 
 It was ever so kind of them to take so much trouble. 
 
 Saturday, December 22 
 
 D, V., we shall leave the Cottage very soon after 
 Christmas. How little one knows what God has written 
 on the next page until the leaf is turned. Got some coffee 
 and cranberries for our Sunday dinner. Always cran- 
 berries for Mother. 
 
 Sunday, December 23 
 
 Eleanor was moved by the near prospect of our de- 
 parture to come over to dinner today. Partings are always 
 sad, even though we think it will be but for a short time. 
 So we had "Little Christmas," Mother, Eleanor and I, we 
 three. We were out of bread and I stirred up the rye 
 dropcakes which we think so nice and which are such a 
 novelty, being "riz" with salt and sugar. Mother de- 
 lighted me by saying she was glad to have me make them. 
 When the household dine together it is not so much what 
 
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they eat, as the spirit in which they meet. It was a lovely 
 thought of Eleanor's to come today. 
 
 Christmas Eve 
 
 One can feel a storm brewing long before it gets within 
 sound or sight, so one can feel Christmas in the air. One 
 does not even have to look in the year's Almanac to know 
 when the Holy Day draweth near. It makes one a little 
 sad to think that one has outgrown one's faith in Kris 
 Kringle who brought the gifts with a "miniature sleigh 
 and eight tiny reindeer," and that Christmas trees are not 
 lighted for us when we grow to be as tall as Mother. 
 
 But we have learned what we did not know as little 
 children, that Love is the true Kris Kringle. 
 
 We were never at the Cottage before at a holiday time; 
 we may never be again. It seemed as if we ought to cele- 
 brate in some memorable way, being so fond of celebrating 
 and of holidays, and being gifted to make happiness out 
 of very little material. 
 
 After Father died, Mother said, "I shall never sing 
 again," and parted with her violin. Today I asked her if 
 she would sing the old Christmas songs tonight and con- 
 sider for the time that she was playing on her own violin, 
 if I would go and borrow Billy Willson's fiddle, on which 
 he plays jig tunes. She said she would and I borrowed 
 Billy Willson's fiddle. 
 
 When night came and it was, as the children say, "truly, 
 truly" Christmas Eve, Mother sang the old songs. The 
 open doors of the stove allowed the firelight to fill the 
 room, and sitting in the firelight Mother played and sang. 
 One old song, my special favorite, warbled up and down 
 like a soft wind blowing over the hills and through the 
 
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valleys of Judea. It was very sweet and I know it will 
 warble on in memory as long as I shall live. 
 
 "While shepherds watched their flocks by night, 
 
 All seated on the ground, 
 The Angel of the Lord came down 
 
 And glory shone around, 
 
 And glory shone around, 
 The Angel of the Lord came down 
 
 And glory shone around." 
 
 These are the words of the hymn that I liked so much, 
 the notes of which are still running in my thoughts as "I 
 lay me down to sleep," and "Pray Thee, Lord, my soul to 
 keep." It some way seems as if the Angel of the Lord 
 came this very night to the Cottage and glory shone around 
 and 
 
 "Glory shone around." 
 
 Tomorrow or the next day we shall turn the key in the 
 Cottage door. 
 
 Au Revoir. 
 
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