I said, No, I thought it would be better to wait till she was a little older.

“O, no!” she pleaded, “do let us take her over to the church now.  The younger the better, I think; it is so uncertain about our keeping such treasures.”

I still objected that I had not dressed the little one for so public an occasion.

“O, never mind about that,” she said.  “She is really lovelier in this simple fashion than to be loaded with lace and embroidery.”  Then, her sweet face growing more earnest,—­“There will be more of us here to-day than at the next communion—­more of us to pray for her.”

The little lamb was taken into the fold that day, and I was Mrs. Prentiss’ warm friend forevermore.  Her whole beautiful character had revealed itself to me in that little interview,—­the quick perception, the wholly frank, unconventional manner, the sweet motherliness, the cordial interest in even a stranger, the fervent piety which could not bear delay in duty, and even the quaint, original, forcible thought and way of expressing it, “There’ll be more of us here to pray for her to-day.”

For seven successive summers I saw more or less of her in this “Earthly Paradise,” as she used to call it, and once I visited her in her city home.  I have been favored with many of her sparkling, vivacious letters, and have read and re-read all her published writings; but that first meeting held in it for me the key-note of all her wonderfully beautiful and symmetrical character.

She brought to that little hamlet among the hills a sweet and wholesome and powerful influence.  While her time was too valuable to be wasted in a general sociability, she yet found leisure for an extensive acquaintance, for a kindly interest in all her neighbors, and for Christian work of many kinds.  Probably the weekly meeting for Bible-reading and prayer, which she conducted, was her closest link with the women of Dorset; but these meetings were established after I had bidden good-bye to the dear old town, and I leave others to tell how their “hearts burned within them as she opened to them the Scriptures.”

She had in a remarkable degree the lovely feminine gift of home-making.  She was a true decorative artist.  Her room when she was boarding, and her home after it was completed, were bowers of beauty.  Every walk over hill and dale, every ramble by brookside or through wildwood, gave to her some fresh home-adornment.  Some shy wildflower or fern, or brilliant-tinted leaf, a bit of moss, a curious lichen, a deserted bird’s-nest, a strange fragment of rock, a shining pebble, would catch her passing glance and reveal to her quick artistic sense possibilities of use which were quaint, original, characteristic.  One saw from afar that hers was a poet’s home; and, if permitted to enter its gracious portals, the first impression deepened into certainty.  There was as strong an individuality about her home, and especially about her own little study, as there was about herself and her writings.  A cheerful, sunny, hospitable Christian home!  Far and wide its potent influences reached, and it was a beautiful thing to see how many another home, humble or stately, grew emulous and blossomed into a new loveliness.