Much of the natural beauty of Swissvale had been destroyed by pioneer
improvements, which I sought in some degree to replace. I loved the
woods, and with my little grubbing-hoe transplanted many wild and
beautiful things. This my mother-in-law did not approve, as her love for
the beautiful was satisfied by a flower border in the garden. One day
she said:

"James, I would not have that willow in that corner. The roots will get
into the race. It is the real basket willow, and if you cut it into
stubs and stick them in the swamp, you can sell enough willow to buy all
your baskets."

I replied:

"Grandmother, you forget that is my tree; I want it to drape that bare
knoll. The roots will run below the bed of the race. The boys can get
plenty of stubs at Flemming's."

She only replied by a "humph!" and next day I discovered my tree had
been sawed into pieces and planted in the swamp. Words would not restore
it, and I wasted none; but next morning rose early, and, hatchet in
hand, went to the parent tree, climbed on a fence and cut off a limb,
which I dragged home, feeling glad that anything had brought me a walk
on such a glorious morning. I planted the main stock in that corner,
then put about a hundred twigs in the swamp for basket willow. In a few
days my second tree disappeared, and I brought another, for a tree there
was indispensable, and I hoped to make my husband see as I did, and
thought I had won his consent to willows. So I went up and down the race
and runs, putting in twigs, and thinking of the "willows by the
watercourses," and Israel's lament:

"By Babel's streams we sat and wept
When Zion we thought on,
In midst thereof we hanged our harps
The willow trees upon."

I was banished from my Zion, never permitted to hear the teachings of my
old pastor, for which my soul panted as the thirsty hart for the water
brooks, and in my Babylon I wanted willows. Some of my plantings were
permitted to remain, and Swissvale is now noted for its magnificent
willows; but that main tree was chopped up and burned. In its stead I
planted a young chestnut, where it still stands, a thing of beauty and
joy to the boys.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE WATERS GROW DEEP.--AGE, 29.

The plans for my conversion seemed to be aided by our coming to the
farm, as I fitted up the "prophet's chamber" to entertain my husband's
friends in his house. There were two preachers in the circuit. The
eldest, a plain, blun