After canvassing Altoona I went to Cresson Springs and was no sooner registered than I received a card from the General.  Meeting me in the parlor, he gave me a cordial welcome, after which he said:  “Now I am going to assist you in your sales.”  He drew together three of the parlor tables, and, taking one hundred of my books, he placed them thereon, together with specimens of my bead work, which he artistically arranged in the national colors.  It needed but a wave of the magician’s wand, for such he seemed, to evoke the spirits of generosity and love, and through these all of my volumes vanished, as well as much of the bead work.  At General Anderson’s request I took my work to the parlor, and amid a group of wondering ones, many of whom were members of his own family, I showed them how the blind could deftly weave these little trinkets, the fashioning of the “bijou” baskets needing no sight to arrange the colors, with celerity and skill.  I was also, at his request, seated at his family table, and time will never erase the memory of words which fell from the lips of the warrior, as gently, as lovingly, as if a woman’s voice were breathing words of comfort and affection.  In after time, when tidings of his death were borne from a foreign land, when the perfumed breath of sunny France received the last sigh of our hero, I dropped many a tear, which truly welled up from the depths of a sorrowing heart.

In the winter I made Philadelphia my head-quarters, stopping at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Mack, both of whom were blind when married, and who both possess great musical talent, which they utilized by teaching piano music, thus earning a handsome support and purchasing the home they then occupied, a tasteful, comfortable domicile.  It was well for me I selected this spot, for it afterward proved “a City of Refuge.”  I was soon prostrated with a severe typhoid fever, and was so kindly cared for by this dear family, who, by tender ministration, nursed the little spark of hope, and brought me from death unto life.  Their two sweet children and their musical prattle will ever be recalled as illuminated pictures upon the red-lettered page of life’s history.

Of the tender care of Miss Fowler too much cannot be said.  It was to her assiduous attention I was also, in a great degree, indebted for my recovery.

During this illness I could also number two other ministering spirits, Dr. Seiss, a Lutheran minister, who constantly visited me, and gave me many a word of comforting support, and Professor Brooks, who was called to my bedside as medical attendant.

He had been for many years an eminent allopathic physician, and was then a professor in the Homeopathic College of Philadelphia.

He also faithfully and unremittingly ministered to me during the many weeks of fever and prostration.

When I was almost well I one day said to him:  “Doctor, what do I owe you?” The sweet serenity of his face merged into a benevolent beam, and in the vernacular of the Society of Friends, of which he was a member, he said:  “Mary, Rachel and I have been talking it over, and we have concluded that thee will be too delicate to travel this winter, and will need all thy money; so thee does not owe me anything.”