I shall not write you such a long letter again, as it will tire you, and if you would rather have two short ones a week, I will do that.  Let me know if I tire you.  Now good-bye, dear child; may God bless and keep you and give you all the faith and patience you need.

To Miss Mary B. Shipman, Dorset, Aug. 2, 1868.

We spent rather more than two weeks at Newport, taking two or three days to run to Rochester, Mass., to see some of our old New Bedford friends.  We had a charming time with them, as they took us up just where they left us nearly twenty years ago.  Oh, how our tongues did fly!  We left Newport for home on Tuesday night about two weeks ago.  I went on board and went to bed as well as usual, tossed and turned a few hours, grew faint and began to be sick, as I always am now if I lose my sleep; got out of bed and could not get back again, and so lay on the floor all the rest of the night without a pillow, or anything over me and nearly frozen.  The boys were asleep, and anyhow it never crossed my mind to let them call George, who was in another state-room.  He says that when he came in, in the morning, I looked as if I had been ill six months, and I am sure I felt so.  Imagine the family picture we presented driving from the boat all the way home, George rubbing me with cologne, A. fanning me, the rest crying!  On Saturday more dead than alive I started for this place, and by stopping at Troy four or five hours, getting a room and a bed, I got here without much damage.

Our house is very pretty, and I suppose it will be done by next year.  Oh, how they do poke!  George is so happy in watching it, and in working in his woods, that I am perfectly delighted that he has undertaken this project.  It may add years to his life.  Imagine my surprise at receiving from Scribner a check for one hundred and sixty-four dollars for six months of Fred and Maria and Me.  The little thing has done well, hasn’t it?  I feel now as if I should never write, any more; letter-writing is only talking and is an amusement, but book-writing looks formidable.  Excuse this horrid letter, and write and let me know how you are.  Meanwhile collect grasses, dip them in hot water, and sift flour over them.  Good-bye, dear.

Fred and Maria and Me first appeared anonymously in the Hours at Home, in 1865.  It had been written several years before, and, without the knowledge of Mrs. Prentiss, was offered by a friend to whom she had lent the manuscript, to the Atlantic Monthly and to one or two other magazines, but they all declined it.  She herself thus refers to it in a letter to Mrs. Smith, July 13:  “I have just got hold of the Hours at Home.  I read my article and was disgusted with it.  My pride fell below zero, and I wish it would stay there.”  But the story attracted instant attention.  “Aunt Avery” was especially admired, as depicting a very quaint and interesting type of New England religious character in the earlier half of the century.