At one time, during her early childhood, she asked to have a large cake baked, because she wanted to invite some little girls.  All her small funds were expended for oranges and candy on this occasion.  When the time arrived, her father and mother were much surprised to see her lead in six little ragged beggars.  They were, however, too sincerely religious and sensible to express any surprise.  They treated the forlorn little ones very tenderly, and freely granted their daughter’s request to give them some of her books and playthings at parting.  When they had gone, the good mother quietly said, “Elizabeth, why did’st thou invite strangers, instead of thy schoolmates?” There was a heavenly expression in her eye, as she looked up earnestly, and answered, “Mother, I wanted to invite them, they looked so poor.”

When eleven years of age, she accompanied her parents to the yearly meeting of the Friends, where she heard, among other preachers, a very young man named John Estaugh, with whose manner of presenting divine truth she was particularly pleased.  Many of his words were treasured in her memory.  At the age of seventeen she made a profession of religion, uniting herself with the Quakers.

During her early youth, William Penn visited the house of her father, and greatly amused her by describing his adventures with the Indians.  From that time she became interested in the emigrant Quakers, and began to talk of coming to America.  Her father at length purchased a tract of land in New Jersey, with the view of emigrating, but his affairs took a new turn, and he made up his mind to remain in his native land:  This decision disappointed.  She had cherished the conviction that it was her duty to come to this country; and when, at length, her father, who was unwilling that any of his property should lie unimproved, offered the tract of land in New Jersey to any relative who would settle upon it, she promptly agreed to accept of the proffered estate.  Willing that their child should follow in the path of duty, at the end of three months, after much prayer, the parents consented to let Elizabeth join “the Lord’s people” in the New World.

Accordingly, early in the Spring of 1700, arrangements were made for her departure, and all things were provided that abundance of wealth or the ingenuity of affection could devise.

A poor widow, of good sense and discretion, accompanied her as friend and housekeeper, and two trusty men-servants, members of the Society of Friends.  Among the many singular manifestations of strong faith and religious zeal, connected with the settlement of this country, few are more remarkable than the voluntary separation of this girl of eighteen from a wealthy home and all the pleasant associations of childhood, to go to a distant and thinly inhabited country to fulfill what she deemed a religious duty.  And the humble, self-sacrificing faith of the parents, in giving up their child, with such reverent tenderness for the promptings of her own conscience, has in it something sublimely beautiful, if we look at it in its own pure light.  The parting took place with more love than words can express, and yet without a tear on either side.  Even during the long and tedious voyage, Elizabeth never wept.  She preserved a martyr-like cheerfulness to the end.