Her old age was not to be the ideal age so passionately desired by the old, of quiet serenity, "honor, obedience, and troops of friends." The latter she had, with the added pang of keen anxiety for their safety and welfare. She was called upon to surrender all she held sacred or dear,--her king, her church, her glorious son, her kindred, her loved country home. She gave up all resignedly, uncomplainingly. It was after this triumph over her prejudices, this complete surrender to conviction of duty that her character blossomed into perfect beauty. A great calmness possessed her soul and shone in her face, a dignified resignation differing altogether from dumb despair. While her son was leading the troops of his country she was busily engaged in the industries of domestic life,--sorting the fleece and mingling it with shredded silk to make long hose for her son, the general; weaving substantial fabrics in the great cumbrous looms; learning cunning secrets of herbs and leaves to dye the cloth for garments; preparing balsams and lotions for the sick and needy. Her hands were never idle. Gathering her apron into a spacious pocket, she walked about with the woollen knitting for her son's soldiers. She became, it is true, somewhat more silent, more reserved. The lines of the face lost all hint of humor. She was too sad for that, but never peevish or complaining. Descendants of her old neighbors acknowledged that "Mrs. Washington was somewhat stern," but add that she and her daughter, Mrs. Lewis, possessed withal a lofty graciousness of manner peculiarly their own. General Washington had this manner, commanding deference and confidence, and forbidding familiarity or the smallest liberty; although it is certain that neither he nor his mother were conscious of the impression made upon others. Her daughter, Betty Lewis, lived at "Kenmore," the elegant mansion near Fredericksburg, and entreated her to come to her "to be taken care of," but she said, "My wants are few in this life, and I feel perfectly competent to take care of myself." She elected a home of her own very near "Kenmore," preferring to be independent. Thence she was driven every day by "old Stephen" in her phaeton to her farm across the river, whence she brought seeds and cuttings for her town garden and a jug of water from the spring out of which her husband and children had drunk. Old Stephen witnessed with glee her method of dealing with her overseer. The latter ventured one day to depart from her instructions, and she called him to account. "Madam," said the agent, "in my judgment the work has been done to better advantage than if I had followed your instructions." "And pray, sir, who gave you the right to exercise any judgment in the matter?" she asked; "I command you, sir! There is nothing left for you but to obey."