On their return to America, my father and mother began to make preparations for a fair in behalf of the Cretans. My share was to revive the sewing-circle of the previous year. Instead of working on “pajamas” and “togas,” we now had the more interesting occupation of sewing on pretty things. White coats with colored silk trimmings were then in fashion. I conceived the brilliant idea of making them at our sewing-circle, and so reaping a handsome profit. The girls groaned at undertaking anything so serious as outside garments, but I persuaded them that they could—and ought. These sold for a high price—between thirty and forty dollars apiece! The fair was a great success, more than thirty thousand dollars being raised. The work for the Cretans involved many meetings. Money was raised by lectures and in other ways. A poster in one of the theaters announcing a performance for their benefit drew this comment from a passer-by: “The Cretans? Who in h—l are the Cretans?” In spite of the splendid struggle made by the brave inhabitants of the island, they were at last obliged to go back under barbarian rule. But it was only for a time. My father did not live to see Crete freed, but we, the children of the Philhellene, rejoiced and were exceeding glad when the hated Mohammedan yoke was thrown off. The Cretan episode had one very unexpected result. Among my father’s helpers in Athens was a young Greek, Michael Anagnostopoulos. When he was asked what payment he desired for his services, he replied: “What do you receive for yours, Doctor Howe?” “Nothing,” said my father. “Neither do I wish to be paid,” the young Greek answered. But he _did_ want to see America! He returned with the family to Boston, where, after mastering the difficulties of the English language, he became Doctor Howe’s assistant at the Institution for the Blind. In the year 1870 he married sister Julia, succeeding to the directorship after my father’s death in 1876. We were all made happy by the purchase of No. 32 Mount Vernon Street, soon after the return of the family from Europe. This residence, on the top of Beacon Hill, was spacious and pleasant. The preceding owner was a maiden lady with a great fondness for cats. They were not included in the bill of sale, but hung about the place. Cats seemed to be our fate! As I had not fully recovered my strength, a room on the ground floor was allotted to me, so that I need not climb the stairs. A furnace burning wood was put into the house as being more wholesome than anthracite coal. Once or twice I heard a friendly tap on the window-pane, and opened the door to admit brother Harry, who had forgotten his latch-key. From the lapel of his dress-coat gleamed many favors, tokens of the mimic victories of the german. For he was a good dancer and a favorite in society.