The Cretan refugees had been obliged to fly hastily, and were in a destitute, almost naked condition. The good women of Boston responded to this call by forming sewing-circles to make clothing for these exiles. I inaugurated one among my young friends, but looked in vain for a president. I appealed to Emily Russell, who had held this office in a similar society. “Why aren’t you the president yourself?” she suggested. The idea had not previously occurred to me, as I had had no experience. However, I accepted her advice, learning then that if you start an enterprise you must expect to take the responsibility on your own shoulders. Just what kind of undergarments the women of the Orient wore we did not know. Fortunately for us, a circle of older ladies took the responsibility, cutting out for us pattern “togas” and “pajamas.” They were of unbleached muslin—or cotton cloth. The price of this had been seventy-five cents a yard during the Civil War, and was still very high in 1867. We were merry over the naming of the garments and over their unusual shape. My mother, who assisted in the distribution of the clothing to the refugees at Athens, tells us that they were suitable in pattern and quality. One or more of our meetings were held at the Institution for the Blind, where Laura Bridgman, despite her lack of sight and hearing, ran the sewing-machine for us. The year 1867 and a good part of 1868 were largely occupied with work for the Cretan cause. My mother and sisters, Julia and Laura, accompanied my father to Europe, I having remained behind from choice. This was partly out of deference to the wishes of my fiancé and partly because I had not yet recovered from the strain received during the removal to Boylston Place. A quiet summer was indicated for me—but how was it possible to compass this when the letters from Greece were so moving? Sister Laura, in particular, wrote such harrowing accounts of the refugees that I could not remain inactive. Brother Harry, sister Maud and I were spending the greater part of the summer at our home in Lawton’s Valley, where our aunt, Mrs. Joseph N. Howe, and her daughters were installed for the season. I rashly decided to arrange an amateur concert for the benefit of the Cretans. True, I knew something of music, but of the nature of amateur musicians I was blissfully ignorant. The first step was easy enough. The stirring letters from Greece afforded plenty of ammunition for a circular appeal to the leading people of Newport, of which we wrote many copies. Brother Harry, now a junior at Harvard College, was my right hand in the whole matter, working most unselfishly and constantly. Day after day we took the six-mile drive to Newport, calling upon prospective patronesses and singers. The former responded nobly. Mrs. E. D. Morgan, wife of the war Governor of New York State, took fifty tickets, although her husband had already contributed to the cause.