she refused to rise from her bed, and said to her children, “Thee need never bring my gown again.” She was determined to go, and so she slept sweetly out of this world’s life.
But before that calm change came upon her, she spent many hours with Mary Baker, hours of mutual consolation and uplifting. These two women, between whom yawned a half century, loved each other tenderly, calling one another by her Christian name, which in both cases was Mary. Their intercourse was of a heavenly sweetness. They would sit side by side on a sofa with hands clasped, sometimes conversing and sometimes meditating. Mr. Phillips, returning home and finding them there, would call his wife and say, “Hannah, do you see our two saints? There they sit together, the two Marys.”
In this house silent prayer was the custom before eating. Mary Baker yielded to this custom with great reverence, often saying it seemed to her like a holy communion. With Mr. Phillips she had frequent conversation about her religious views and her healing experience, delineating for him the features of her discovery, stating the principle to be Divine Life operating in human consciousness. He was the first to listen to her intelligently; he was the first to see that she was depicting a new mental state that would elevate all human existence. Upon the aged grandmother her words fell like dew, graciously accepted as pious utterances, but scarcely understood. Upon other members of the family they made but slight impression and, were it not
