She shared a cottage one summer with Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, whom she much admired and liked, though no greater contrast can be imagined than existed between the two women in temperament and tastes. Some of Miss Mitchell's college girls paid her a visit there one day, and she got Mrs. Burnett's permission to introduce the students to her. They had a delightful call in her room, made beautiful with antique furniture, pictures, rugs, cushions--everything that could appeal to cultivated eyes and aesthetic sense. Returning with them to her own quarters across the hall from the author's suite, Miss Mitchell waved her hand to the room just left:--"Girls, that is Paris, and this," ushering them into her rather bare parlor, "this is--Cape Cod." How fond she was of a good story! She always rejoiced in a fresh anecdote, and made you feel her debtor by contributing one. One Monday the Rev. Dr. Charles Robinson dined with a few of us at Miss Mitchell's private table, having been at the college over Sunday. He was a famous story-teller, and she challenged him to tell more in three minutes than she could. He began instantly in all seriousness a breathless string of nonsense rhymes and couplets after this style,--"The--bell--rings--when--it--is--tolled--but--the--organ--says --I'll--be--blowed--first--Mary--had--a--little--lamb--its--fleas-- were--white--as--snow--how--can--that--be--since--fleas--you--know-- are--black--as--any--crow--" and so on till his time was up. He won, for Miss Mitchell was laughing--as we all were--and unable to go on with the contest. Her humor and quickness at repartee--"capping"--she called it, showed in her last illness, even when articulation was difficult and her words hardly understandable. Her sister, Mrs. Kendall, came in one morning and stood by the bedside with cheerful greeting, "Thee looks well this morning, Maria." In a flash, the invalid responded brokenly and weakly,--"My--face--is--my--fortune," "sir--she said," finished Mrs. Kendall for her.