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room expeditions and restrained my ardor; but this

time I got away alone and found myself bidding



at the sale of a solid bog-wood bedroom set which

had been exhibited as a show-piece at the World's



Fair, and was now, 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 mis-

tress 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 re-



quired 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 Wel-



lingtons--a most charmingcommunity. 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 be-

ginning 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 every sum-

mer in the new home, together with Lucy Anthony,



her sister and brother, Mrs. Rachel Foster Avery,

and other friends. We had special fishing costumes



made, and wore them much of the time. My nieces

wore knickerbockers, and I found vast content-



ment in short, heavy skirts over bloomers. We

lived out of doors, boating, fishing, and clamming



all day long, and, as in my early pioneer days in

Michigan, my part of the work was in the open. I



chopped all the wood, kept the fires going, and

looked after the grounds.



Rumors of our care-free and unconventional life

began to circulate, and presently our Eden was in-



vaded by the only serpent I have ever found in the

newspaper world--a girl reporter from Boston. She



telegraphed that she was coming to see us; and

though, when she came, we had been warned of her



propensities and received her in conventional attire,

formally entertaining her with tea on the veranda,



she went away and gave free play to a hectic fancy.




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