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I know my duty to my children.
I see the hour must come.
You must take them, Henry; they are my last earthly comfort.
“ Ma'am, what shall I do with these egg-shells and all this truck here?
” interrupted Mina.
“Put them in the pail by you,” answered Harriet.
““They are my last earthly comfort,”” said I.
“ What next?”
She continued to dictate,--
You must take them away.
It may be — perhaps it must be — that I shall soon follow, but the breaking heart of a wife still pleads, “a little longer, a little longer.”
“ How much longer must the gingerbread stay in?”
inquired Mina.
“ Five minutes,” said Harriet.
““A little longer, a little longer,”” I repeated in a dolorous tone, and we burst into a laugh.
Thus we went on, cooking, writing, nursing, and laughing, till I finally accomplished my object.
The piece was finished, copied, and the next day sent to the editor.
The widely scattered members of the Beecher family had a fashion of communicating with each other by means of circular letters.
These, begun on great sheets of paper, at either end of the line, were passed along from one to another, each one adding his or her budget of news to the general stock.
When the filled sheet reached the last person for whom it was intended, it was finally remailed to its point of departure.
Except in the cases of Mrs. Stowe and Mrs. Perkins, the simple address “Rev. Mr. Beecher” was sufficient to insure its safe delivery in any town to which it was sent.
