Quiet Days in the Hills

*A retelling for children, based on **Mahmúd's Diary** (entries from July and August of 1912).*

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For weeks and weeks, the cities had been loud and crowded and very, very busy. Every single day, 'Abdu'l-Bahá gave talks. Every single day, more people came to see Him than the day before. The summer was hot, and the rooms were full, and there was hardly a quiet moment from morning until night.

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So the friends found a special place where 'Abdu'l-Bahá could rest. It was a little town called Dublin, tucked among green hills in New Hampshire, near a big mountain and a quiet lake. Painters and writers came there in the summertime to live in small cottages. Now 'Abdu'l-Bahá would stay there too, for a few weeks.

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The days in the hills had a gentle, peaceful rhythm.

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In the mornings, 'Abdu'l-Bahá worked. There were so many letters waiting to be answered — letters to friends far away in Persia, and letters to friends all across America. He spoke the words out loud, and Mírzá Maḥmúd wrote them down carefully at the table.

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After lunch, it was time to walk. Sometimes 'Abdu'l-Bahá walked all by Himself, and sometimes one or two friends walked beside Him. They went among the tall pine trees and along the edge of the lake. The air smelled fresh and clean, the way mountain air does. 'Abdu'l-Bahá said the quiet all around them was a great gift.

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But this was not a place where 'Abdu'l-Bahá hid away from people. Oh, no. The folks who lived in the hills had heard that a special guest from a faraway land was staying nearby, and they wanted to meet Him. So in the afternoons, they came up the road. Some were ministers from churches. Some were ladies from the city of Boston. Some were painters who came straight from their work, still wearing their paint-splattered clothes. A few were children, sent by their parents just to see what they might see.

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And here is the lovely part: 'Abdu'l-Bahá welcomed every single one of them. Not one person was turned away. In that cozy parlour, He talked about gentle, everyday things — about families, and about how to raise children, and about how to take care of our own hearts.

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In the evenings, 'Abdu'l-Bahá would sit out on the porch and watch the sun go down behind the hills. As the light faded, the pine trees turned dark and still. He did not say very much then. The friends sat with Him quietly, and somehow the quiet itself felt like the most beautiful lesson of all.

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At last it was time to pack up and go back to the busy cities. And as they left, 'Abdu'l-Bahá said that these quiet days in the hills had given Him a rest He would lean on for the rest of the long journey.

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Everyone needs to rest sometimes — even the kindest and busiest person of all. But notice this: even while He was resting, 'Abdu'l-Bahá still opened the door to everyone who came. Resting did not mean shutting people out. It meant catching His breath in a peaceful place, and welcoming each visitor with the very same love.

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*This is a retelling for children. For the fuller account, see ["The Quiet Days at Dublin: 'Abdu'l-Bahá Among the New Hampshire Hills"](/stories/md-dublin-nh-summer-retreat-1912).*

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