cher's church, opposite the Governor's Circle. Seven
children in all were granted to them, of whom the eldest, a daughter,
was born on March 10, 1840, in this same little red house on the
Circle. When the infant was two years old she and her mother were
taken into the Second Presbyterian Church, and were baptized by Henry
Ward Beecher in the White River, in the presence of a concourse of
several thousand spectators. The record of this noteworthy occasion is
still preserved in the church at Indianapolis.

The little girl was named Frances Matilda, but when she grew older the
second name was finally dropped. To her family and friends she was
known as "Fanny."

The main source, in fact almost the only one, from which I have been
able to draw a description of the childhood of Fanny Stevenson is an
article on early reminiscences written by my sister herself, which was
found among her papers after her death. As she was always her own
worst critic, she has dwelt on mischievous childish escapades and has
said little of the sweetness and charm and warm generosity that even
then drew all hearts to her. From this article, called _A Backwoods
Childhood_, I quote the following extracts for the sake of the vivid
picture they give of those Indiana days:

"Our life in the backwoods was simple and natural; we had few
luxuries, but we had few cares. In our kitchen gardens potatoes,
cabbages, onions, tomatoes, Indian corn, and numerous other vegetables
grew most luxuriantly; and of fruits we had great abundance. We lived
a natural life and were content. The loom and the spinning-wheel,
though they had by this time largely disappeared from the towns, still
had a place in every farmhouse. We raised our own food and made our
own clothing, often of the linsey-woolsey woven by the women on their
home-made looms. We breakfasted by the light of a tin lamp fed with
lard, four o'clock being a not unusual hour, dined at noon, supped at
five, and went to bed with the chickens. Our carpets were made of our
old cast-off garments torn into strips, the strips then sewn together
at the ends and woven into carpet breadths by a neighbor, who took her
pay in kind. Wheat broken and steeped in water gave a fine white
starch fit for cooking as well as laundry work. We tapped the maple
tree for sugar, and drank our sassafras tea with relish. The virgin
forest furnished us with a variety of nuts and berries and wild
fruits, to say nothing of more beautiful wi