f spring and summer
greenness. Or, as just then, in the gorgeous October coloring of the whole
landscape that lies below, across the farm, which stretches on through an
intervale of beautiful meadows and pastures to the woods that skirt the
valley of the little truant river, as it wanders eastward.

It pleased her to point out her own birthplace. Straight as the crow flies,
from her piazza, does it lie on the brow of Bow hill, and then she paused
and reminded the reporter that Congressman Baker from New Hampshire, her
cousin, was born and bred in that same neighborhood. The photograph of Hon.
Hoke Smith, another distinguished relative, adorned the mantel.

Then my eye caught her family coat of arms and the diploma given her by the
Society of the Daughters of the Revolution.

The natural and lawful pride that comes with a tincture of blue and brave
blood, is perhaps one of her characteristics, as is many another well-born
woman's. She had a long list of worthy ancestors in Colonial and
Revolutionary days, and the McNeils and General Knox figure largely in her
genealogy, as well as the hero who killed the ill-starred Paugus.

This big, sunny room which Mrs. Eddy calls her den--or sometimes "Mother's
room," when speaking of her many followers who consider her their spiritual
Leader--has the air of hospitality that marks its hostess herself. Mrs.
Eddy has hung its walls with reproductions of some of Europe's
masterpieces, a few of which had been the gifts of her loving pupils.

Looking down from the windows upon the tree-tops on the lower terrace, the
reporter exclaimed: "You have lived here only four years, and yet from a
barren waste of most unpromising ground has come forth all this beauty!"

"Four years!" she ejaculated; "two and a half, only two and a half years."
Then, touching my sleeve and pointing, she continued: "Look at those big
elms! I had them brought here in warm weather, almost as big as they are
now, and not one died."

Mrs. Eddy talked earnestly of her friendships.... She told something of her
domestic arrangements, of how she had long wished to get away from her busy
career in Boston, and return to her native granite hills, there to build a
substantial home that should do honor to that precinct of Concord.

She chose the stubbly old farm on the road from Concord, within one mile of
the "Eton of America," St. Paul's School. Once bought, the will of the
woman set at work, and to-day a strikingly well-