How the scene at Auburndale came back at the sight of her face, the sound of her voice! She was just a feeble, whimpering old woman to the others, but to me she was those dear, dark woods with the white tents, the holy songs, Mother, Sister, Brother--Childhood! Such a flood of recollections surged through me that I could only attempt a few words of consolation and postpone my case-taking till under better control. But I told her where I used to know her, and she brightened pathetically at the word “Auburndale.” And here she was now, a child among other gray-haired children who had lost their way, while the Drumlin Child, whose feet she had tried to lead in the old paths, was henceforth to guide her faltering steps to the journey’s end! I remember the last time we tented at Auburndale an instance of Mother’s watchful care that humiliated and incensed us then, but for which I am grateful now: We were probably fourteen and fifteen years old when, one evening, Sister and I and some other girls and boys stole up through the little gate and outside the grounds to some willows a short distance away. We knew it was wrong; the boys were new acquaintances, unknown to Mother (sons of a man who later became our pastor); besides, we were not supposed to go beyond the grounds without permission. But with many misgivings we set out, feeling quite like young ladies walking out with young men--a very delectable stolen sweet we were nibbling! Sitting under the trees while the boys made willow canes for us, tracing fantastic designs on them, we enjoyed ourselves for a brief period. Presently an uncle of ours went by and, greeting us, passed on to the camp-ground. The chatting and cane-making continued. Twilight deepened, but it was still light enough to see that which filled Sister and me with consternation and chagrin--Mother coming down the road, bare-headed (in those days betokening great haste) coming rapidly toward us, and--_with whips in her hand!_ With one accord we all arose and meekly followed her back to the camp-ground. Something very like hatred stirred within us at the course she had taken to show us before our new acquaintances that we were still children and subject to her authority. Not that we questioned her right to require us to return, but it seemed needlessly humiliating to come after us with whips. I think we rebelled at her carrying the whips, and that she finally dropped them.