t was not long after her removal to the Atlantic coast that Mrs.
Wiggin, now a widow and separated much of the year from her special
work in California, threw herself eagerly into the kindergarten
movement in New York, and it was in this interest that she was drawn
into the semi-public reading of her own stories. Her interpretation of
them is full of exquisite taste and feeling, but she has declared most
characteristically that she would rather write a story for the love of
doing it, than be paid by the public for reading it; hence her readings
have always been given purely for philanthropic purposes, especially
for the introduction of kindergartens, a cause which she warmly
advocates, and with which she has most generously identified herself.

I may say that there is an old meeting-house in Hollis in which she has
been interested since her childhood. Each succeeding summer the whole
countryside within a radius of many miles gathers there to hear her
bright, sympathetic readings of her manuscript stories, sometimes
before even her publishers have a peep at them. These occasions are
rare events that are much talked over and planned for, as I learned
soon after reaching that neighborhood. During the summer of 1895 she
read one of her manuscript stories--_The Ride of the Midnight Cry_ (now
published in _The Village Watch Tower_)--to a group of elderly ladies
in the neighborhood of Quillcote, who are deeply interested in all she
writes. The story takes its title from an ancient stage-coach well
known throughout that region in its day, and known only by the
suggestive if not euphonious name of "The Midnight Cry."

Mrs. Wiggin possesses rare musical taste and ability, and
enthusiastically loves music as an art. It is simply a recreation and
delight to her to compose and adapt whatever pleases her fancy to her
own flow of harmony. She is the possessor of some very rare and
interesting foreign instruments; among this collection is a Hawaiian
guitar, the tiniest of stringed instruments, and also one of curious
Portuguese workmanship.

In the early months of 1895 she was married to George C. Riggs, of New
York, but she prefers to retain in literature the name with which she
first won distinction. I will speak of her New York winter home only
to say that it is the gathering-place of some of the most eminent
authors and artists in the country. She goes abroad yearly, and Maine
levies a heavy claim on her by right of home