How our hearts swelled as we neared the grounds and saw the high board fence enclosing the sacred woods! Going nearer, we heard the singing as the sound rose through the trees. The preacher’s stand, and the tents, were down a steep hill from the road along which we came. Jumping from the wagon, we would go in at the little gate, for the team had to go a long way farther to enter the big gate. Wild with delight we bounded down the hill, shouting a greeting to the lame gatekeeper and taking care not to trip on the long roots extending into the path. Our exuberance was always checked, partly by admonitions from our elders, partly by the spirit of the place--there was something in the sight of those white tents among the trees and the voices of song and prayer floating up to us that in themselves held us in check--but ah, the smell of the woods, and the realization that we were to dwell there for ten blissful days! Did ever children have a more beautiful experience? Then the hunting for our tent-site, the scrutiny of its surroundings--its relation to the various places of interest; the fun of getting settled; of seeing the stove put up; the tent raised on its wooden platform; Mrs. Van Aiken’s queer little cord-bedstead set up; and the funny makeshifts of housekeeping that Mother and her tent-mate would devise. The mere sight of a familiar kettle or a “spider” hung on a tree at the back door, the improvised wash-bench with leaves from the beech trees falling on the soap-dish and into the water as we washed--these simple things provoked the most delightful sensations and made us so happy, so happy! It is a delight just to stop and think how happy we were.