ow,
in the words of the auctioneer, "going for a song." I sang the song. I
offered twenty dollars, thirty dollars, forty dollars, and other excited
voices drowned mine with higher bids. It was very thrilling. I offered
fifty dollars, and there was a horrible silence, broken at last by the
auctioneer's final, "Going, going, GONE!" I was mistress of the
bog-wood bedroom set--a set wholly out of harmony with everything else
I possessed, and so huge and massive that two men were required to
lift the head-board alone. Like many of the previous treasures I had
acquired, this was a white elephant; but, unlike some of them, it was
worth more than I had paid for it. I was offered sixty dollars for one
piece alone, but I coldly refused to sell it, though the tribute to my
judgment warmed my heart. I had not the faintest idea what to do with
the set, however, and at last I confided my dilemma to my friend, Mrs.
Ellen Dietrick, who sagely advised me to build a house for it. The idea
intrigued me. The bog-wood furniture needed a home, and so did I.

The result of our talk was that Mrs. Dietrick promised to select a
lot for me at Wianno, where she herself lived, and even promised to
supervise the building of my cottage, and to attend to all the other
details connected with it. Thus put, the temptation was irresistible.
Besides Mrs. Dietrick, many other delightful friends lived at
Wianno--the Garrisons, the Chases of Rhode Island, the Wymans, the
Wellingtons--a most charming community. I gave Mrs. Dietrick full
authority to use her judgment in every detail connected with the
undertaking, and the cottage was built. Having put her hand to this
plow of friendship, Mrs. Dietrick did the work with characteristic
thoroughness. I did not even visit Wianno to look at my land. She
selected it, bought it, engaged a woman architect--Lois Howe of
Boston--and followed the latter's work from beginning to end. The only
stipulation I made was that the cottage must be far up on the beach, out
of sight of everybody--really in the woods; and this was easily met, for
along that coast the trees came almost to the water's edge.

The cottage was a great success, and for many years I spent my vacations
there, filling the place with young people. From the time of my sister
Mary's death I had had the general oversight of her two daughters,
Lola and Grace, as well as of Nicolas and Eleanor, the two motherless
daughters of my brother John. They were all with me