[Illustration:  The Dorset Home.]

A. is gone to Portland and Prout’s Neck.  Mr. P. is unusually well this summer, and has actually worked a little in my garden.  He is going to Saratoga this week to visit Mrs. Bronson....  M. is a kind of supplement to her father; I love in her what I love in him, and she loves in me what he loves; we never had a jar in our lives, and are more like twin-sisters than mother and daughter.  Hatty K. is like a second M. to me.  At this moment they are each painting a plate.  They work all the morning in the garden, and in the afternoon sit in my room sewing “for the poor” like two Dorcases, or drive, or row on the pond.  They also study their Greek Testament together like a pair of twins.  Just here Mr. P. came driving up to take me out to make calls.  We made three together, and then I made three alone.  Now we are going to have tea, and should be glad if you could take it with us.

To Mrs. Condict, Kauinfels, Sept. 13, 1877.

Since you left, I have been very busy in various ways; among other things, helping Hatty collect her last trophies, pack her various plants, and the like.  Then there is a woman, close by, who is very sick and very poor, and the parson and his wife (meaning himself and myself) must needs pack a big basket of bread, butter, tea, apples, etc., for her watchers and family, with extract of beef for her.  That was real fun, as you may suppose.  I mean to devote Thursdays to such doings, including the Bible-readings.  I took for my Bible-reading this afternoon, the subject of confession of sin, and should really like to know what perfectionists would say to the passages of Scripture relating to it.  However, I know they would explain them away or throw them under the table, as they do all the Bible says about the discipline of life.  Our bad Pharaoh lifted up his voice in every hymn at Mrs. Reed’s last Sunday, and little Albert fairly shrieked with laughter.  If next Sunday is pleasant we are to go to Pawlet to preach.  Good-night. [19]

To Mrs. Fisher, Kauinfels, Sept. 15, 1877.

Excuse my keeping your pictures so long.  It is owing to my having so much company.  We feel it a duty to share our delightful home here with friends.

Will you send me some more pictures, and in your letter please tell me how to make the light-green in the large arbutus leaf; I tried all sorts of experiments, but failed to get such a toned-down tint.  My copy is pretty, as I have improved a good deal on the whole; but my work looks parvenu.  I had to use a powerful magnifying-glass to puzzle out your delicate touches, and your work bore the test, it is so well done.  My work, viewed in the same way, is horrid.  A. has been to Portland and found there some exquisite placques; some of them of a very delicate cream color; others of a least suspicion of pink.  She began to paint thorn apples on one; but a day or two later, found some of the foliage we had thrown away, turned to most delicious browns; so she painted the leaves in those shades, only—­and the effect is richly and gravely autumnal.  I hope your eyes are better.