g to be well purified by a
thorough scrubbing with brush and soap, followed by a prolonged rinsing
with water. During her illness last fall, she frequently asked to have
a pitcher of water brought from this spring, which she always
especially relished.

That uncle shared his wife's partiality for this spring is evident by
his description of it in his "Recollections":

"In the little dell or glen through which my brook emerges from the
wood wherein it has brawled down the hill, to dance across a gentle
slope to the swamp below, is _the_ spring,--pure as crystal,
never-failing, cold as you could wish it for drink in the hottest day,
and so thoroughly shaded and sheltered that, I am confident, it was
never warm, and never frozen over. Many springs upon my farm are
excellent, but this is peerless."

The house in the woods was built by uncle to suit Aunt Mary's taste,
and very comfortable and complete it is. Uncle says of it:

"It is not much--hastily erected, small, slight, and wooden, it has at
length been almost deserted for one recently purchased and refitted on
the edge of the village; but the cottage in the woods is still my home,
where my books remain, and where I mean to garner my treasures."

The house consists of two stories with that most necessary addition to
a country house, a broad piazza. To the right stands a white cottage,
built for the servants. Almost in front of the house is a large
boulder, moss-grown and venerable. This, Aunt Mary would not have
removed, for she loved Nature in its wildest primeval beauty, and now
the rock is associated with loving memories of Raffie's little hands
that once prepared fairy banquets upon it, with acorn-cups for dishes;
but now those baby hands have long since been folded quietly in the
grave.

The little play-house, that has since been removed to the
croquet-ground, once stood not far from this rock, and has been used,
as I said, by Gabrielle as a menagerie for her pets. A strange
assortment they often were for a little girl. Inheriting her mother's
exquisite tenderness of feeling towards helpless animals, Gabrielle
would splinter and bandage up the little legs of any baby robin or
sparrow that had met with an accident from trying its wings too early,
would nurse it till well, and then let it fly away. At one time she
had in the play-house a little regiment of twelve toads, a red
squirrel, and a large turtle. Aunt Mary never wished her to cage her
pets,