His experience in a little village where he and Mrs. Fields wanted to
find a boarding-house: The lady of the house demurred; she had "got
pretty tired of boarders," but at last capitulated with, "Well, I'll
let you come in if you'll do your own stretching." This proved to mean
no waitress at the table.

The morning after their arrival, he went out for a long walk in the
mountain air, and returning was accosted by his host: "I see you are
quite a predestinarian." As he was resting on one of the wooden
chairs, the man said: "I got those chairs for piazzary purposes," and
enlarged on the trouble of getting good help in haying time: "Why, my
neighbour, Jake Stebbins, had a boy in his gang named Henry Ward
Beecher Gooley. He was so dreadful pious that on extra hot mornings
he'd call 'em all together at eleven o'clock and ask 'em to join in
singing, 'Lord, Dismiss us with Thy Blessing.'"

All these anecdotes were told to me by Mr. Fields and I intend to give
only those memories which are _my own_.

Mr. Fields was wonderfully kind to budding authors. Professor Brown
sent him, without my knowledge, my two-column appreciation of dear Tom
Hood, after his memorials were written by his son and daughter. And
before many weeks came a box of his newest books for me, with a little
note on finest paper and wide margin, "hoping that your friendship may
always be continued towards our house."

I cannot speak of Mr. Fields and fail to pay my tribute of loving
admiration to his wife, Annie Fields. When I first met that lady in
her home at 148 Charles Street, she was so exquisitely dainty,
refined, spirituelle, and beautiful, I felt, as I expressed it,