but more. And she has left behind her memories that attest it.
Mrs. Baker was one of those rare mothers of that period who found time for reading; and when guests filled her house, relatives, clergymen, or men of affairs, her judgments and observations were sought and her influence in conversation was reported inspiring and uplifting. She was no Penelope, silent at her own fireside while the guests alone enjoyed social discourse. From touching mind and heart with these guests while serving them with hospitable attentions, she deduced ideas for the benefit of her children, ideas which she applied to each according to his temperament. After her death her clergyman, the Rev. Richard S. Rust, D.D., “who,” Mrs. Eddy has said, “knew my sainted mother in all the walks of life,” wrote of her as one who possessed a presence which made itself felt like gentle dew and cheerful light. He said she possessed a strong intellect, a sympathizing heart, and a placid spirit, and as a mother was untiring in her efforts to secure the happiness of her family.
But the hands of this mother who labored untiringly were filled with duties in a home made prosperous through personal toil. It was an early American farm and the farm life hummed industriously from early morn until starlight, forwarded by the energy and will of both parents. Visible through the small-paned windows was the farm’s center of activity where the father and brothers went to and fro, now to the fields and now to the town, removing logs and rock, tending sheep and cattle, handling
