taken to her home in Rochester, and one month
from that day we conducted her funeral services. The nurse who had
accompanied her from Baltimore remained with her until two others had
been secured to take her place, and every care that love or medical
science could suggest was lavished on the patient. But from the first
it was plain that, as she herself had foretold, "Aunt Susan's" soul was
merely waiting for the hour of its passing.

One of her characteristic traits was a dislike to being seen, even by
those nearest to her, when she was not well. During the first three
weeks of her last illness, therefore, I did what she wished me to do--I
continued our work, trying to do hers as well as my own. But all the
time my heart was in her sick-room, and at last the day came when I
could no longer remain away from her. I had awakened in the morning with
a strong conviction that she needed me, and at the breakfast-table I
announced to her niece, Miss Lucy Anthony, the friend who for years has
shared my home, that I was going at once to "Aunt Susan."

"I shall not even wait to telegraph," I declared. "I am sure she has
sent for me; I shall take the first train."

The journey brought me very close to death. As we were approaching
Wilkes-Barre our train ran into a wagon loaded with powder and dynamite,
which had been left on the track. The horses attached to it had been
unhitched by their driver, who had spent his time in this effort, when
he saw the train coming, instead of in signaling to the engineer. I was
on my way to the dining-car when the collision occurred, and, with every
one else who happened to be standing, I was hurled to the floor by the
impact; flash after flash of blinding light outside, accompanied by
a terrific roar, added to the panic of the passengers. When the train
stopped we learned how narrow had been our escape from an especially
unpleasant form of death. The dynamite in the wagon was frozen, and
therefore had not exploded; it was the explosion of the powder that had
caused the flashes and the din. The dark-green cars were burned almost
white, and as we stood staring at them, a silent, stunned group, our
conductor said, quietly, "You will never be as near death again, and
escape, as you have been to-day."

The accident caused a long delay, and it was ten o'clock at night when
I reached Rochester and Miss Anthony's home. As I entered the house Miss
Mary Anthony rose in surprise to greet me.

"How did y