She drearily said to herself, after many days, that her influence was weak, that it accomplished nothing.

The strength of it pushed Susannah, who stood faltering at the parting of the ways, and the impetus of that push was felt in her rapid and unsteady step for many and many a year.
One day, when the men were out cutting the maize, Susannah rode with her uncle to the most distant of his fields, and found herself on the hill called in Smith's revelation Cumorah.
The sound of the men at work and the horses shaking their harness was close in her ears while she strayed over this bit of hilly woodland.

It is one of the low ridges that intersect the meadows on the banks of the Canandaigua, and here Smith professed to have found the golden book.

It was because of this that Susannah had the curiosity to climb it now.
The beech wood grew thick upon it; the afternoon sun struck its slant sunbeams across their boles.

Once, where the beeches parted, she came upon a fairy glade where two or three maples, fading early, had carpeted the ground with a mosaic of gold and red, and were holding up the remainder of their foliage, pink and yellow, in the light.