Out of Bondage

I.

FRIEND LEMUEL VARNEY urged his well-conditioned but tired mare along the highway with a more impatient voice than he was wont to use; for the track was heavy with the deep, unbeaten snow of a recent storm, and Lemuel was in a hurry to deliver an article of value which had been entrusted to his care. Except that the article was somewhat bulky, nothing could have been guessed of its character from the irregular rounded form vaguely shown by the buffalo skin which covered it and the legs of the driver, —and for the latter it left none too much room in the ample bread-tray-shaped body of the sleigh. The high back of this conveyance hid from rearward observation all the contents except Lemuel’s head, over which was drawn, for the protection of his ears, a knit woolen cap of un-Quakerly red,—a flagrant breach of discipline which was atoned for by the broad brim and the hard discomfort of the drab beaver hat which surmounted and overshadowed it.

The light of the brief winter day, further abbreviated by a cloudy sky, was fading, and the pallid dusk of the longer night was creeping over the landscape ; blurring the crests of woodlands against the sky, blending their nearer borders with the dimmed whiteness of the fields, and turning stacks, barns, and isolated groups of trees to vague, undistinguishable blots upon the fields, whose fences trailed away into obscurity.

Friend Lemuel carefully scanned the wayside for landmarks by which to note his progress, but looked more anxiously behind when the jingle of sleigh-bells approaching from that direction struck his ear. It was a pleasant and cheerful discord of high and low pitched tones of Boston bells, but it seemed to have a disquieting effect upon his accustomed placidity.

“ There comes the stage, sure enough. I did hope I could git tu where we turn off tu Zeb’lon’s afore it come along,” he said, with some show of irritation, and not quite as if speaking to himself or to the mare, which he now addressed as he vigorously shook the reins: " Do git up, thee jade, why don’t thee ? I say for it, if I had a whip, I should be almost tempted tu snap it at thee. But I know thee’s tired, poor creatur, and I had n’t ort tu blame thee, if I be tried.”

In response to the threat or the expression of sympathy the mare mended her pace, as Lemuel cast another glance behind and saw the stage and its four horses, vaguely defined, moving briskly down the descending road. He slightly raised the edge of the buffalo, and, bending toward it, said in a low voice, “ Thee 'd better fill thyself up with fresh air as quick as thee can, for the stage is comin’, and I shall have tu cover thee pretty clust till it gits past.”

There was a slight movement under the robe, but nothing became visible except some quickly recurring puffs of vapor steaming out upon the cold air. After a moment Lemuel replaced the robe and gave it a cautionary pat. “ Now thee must keep clust, for there’s no fellin’ who may be a-lookin’ at us out o’ that stage.”

The stage-sleigh, roofed and curtained, was close behind him, the muffled driver shouting imperative orders to the private conveyance to get out of the road. Lemuel pulled his mare out of the track at some risk of a capsize, for the packing of successive snowfalls had raised the beaten path considerably above the general level of the road.

“ Git aout, o’ the road, ol’ stick-in-the-mud ! ” the driver called, as his horses came to a walk and the merry jangle of the bells fell to a soberer chime.

“ Thee ’ll hafter give me a little time,” Lemuel urged mildly; “ it’s consid’able sidelin’, an’ I dare say, if thee had a bag of pertaters in thy sleigh, thee would n’t want ’em upsot in the snow, this cold night.”

“ Oh, blast your ’taters! ” the other said. “ What’s ’taters compared tu the United States mail I’ve got under my laigs ? ” And then, in better humor as the bread-tray sleigh, after a ponderous tilt, regained its equilibrium, “ There, I c’n git by naow, if ye ’ll take off your hat an’ turn it up aidgeways. Say,” continuing his banter in a tone intended only for the Quaker’s ear, as he leaned toward him from his lofty perch and cast a scrutinizing glance upon the sleigh, “ your ’taters hain’t niggertoes, be they ? ”

Lemuel gave an involuntary upward look of surprise, but answered quietly, as the driver touched the leaders with his long lash and the heavy passenger sleigh swept past, “No ; long Johns.”

He was chuckling inwardly at the hidden meaning of his ready answer, as the mare climbed the bank to regain the track at a steeper place than she had left it, when the lurching sleigh lost its balance and turned over upon its side, tumbling out all its contents into the snow. Lemuel was upon his feet almost instantly, holding up the frightened mare with a steady hand and soothing her with a gentle voice, while the buffalo robe seemed imbued with sudden life, tossing and heaving in strange commotion as a smothered, alarmed voice issued from it: “ ’Fore de Lawd, marse, is we done busted ? and then the voice broke in a racking cough.

“ Keep quiet, John,” Friend Lemuel said in a low tone, “ an’ git behind the sleigh as quick as thee can. The stage hain’t out o’ sight.” As he righted the sleigh, a tall, stalwart negro, creeping from under the robe, took shelter behind the high back till the path was regained, and then resumed his place and was again covered by the robe.

“’Fore de Lawd, Marse Varney,” he whispered hoarsely, venturing his head a little above the robe, “ I was dat skeered I’s jus’ shook to pieces.”

“ John,” exclaimed Lemuel, with severity, “ thee must n’t call me or any other man ‘ master,’ as I’ve told thee more than once. I am thy friend and brother, and thee must n’t call me anything else.”

“ Pears like I could n’t get useter dat away, nohow, Marse Frien’ Varney.”

“ But thee will,” said Lemuel decidedly, “ when thee gets usedtu the fact that thee is thy own master, with no one over thee but thy heavenly Father, the Lord and Master of the highest and the lowest of mortals. Now take a doste of this hive surrup an’ cover up thy head, for this cold air won’t help thy cough a mite.” So saying, he drew forth a vial from the inner breast pocket of his tightfitting surtout and held it to the negro’s lips, then covered his head carefully, and urged forward the tired mare.

II.

“ What was it you were saying to that old chap about niggahs ? ” asked a dark, keen-eyed man who shared the box with the stage driver.

“ Niggers ? Oh, niggertoes was what I said,” the driver laughed, and went on to explain : “ That’s the name of a kin’ o’ ’taters they hev raound here. Pooty good kind o’ ’taters they be, tew, —good yielders, an’ cook up mealy ; but some folks spleen agin ’em ’caount o’ the’ bein’ black, but I don’t. I’ve knowed some tol’able dark - complected folks — yes, rael niggers — ’at was pooty good sorter folks.”

“ Co’se,” assented the passenger. “ Niggahs are all right in their place. I would n’t object to ownin’ a hundred likely boys.”

“ Wal,” considered the driver, “ I do’ know ezackly ’baout ownin’ so many folks. One’s ’baout all I c’n manage, an’ he ’s gin me consid’able trouble sen I come of age. Ownin’ other folks kin’ o’ goes agin my Yankee grain.” Hearing no answer, he recurred to the opening of the conversation : “ That was ol’ Uncle Lem Varney, an’ I was jes’ a-jokin’ on him a leetle. They say 'at he hes dealin’s wi’ the undergraoun’ railroad, an’ I was tryin’ tu make him think ’at I s’mised he hed a runaway nigger ’n under his buffalo, but I hed n’t no sech a idee.”

The traveler turned in his seat and looked back interestedly, while the driver continued: —

“ I do’ know ’s I should keer if he hed, fer kerryin’ that kind o’ passengers don’t interfere much wi’ my business. The’ was tew on ’em, though, on my stage las’ summer, jest the cutest. One on ’em was as light-complected as what you be, an’ a turrible genteel lookin’ an’ actin’ feller, an’ he made b’lieve he was master tu t’other one, which he was so black a coal would make a white mark on him; an’ they rid right along as grand as Cuffy, nob’dy s’pectin’ nothin’ till a week arter. Then they was arter ’em hot-foot f’m away daown tu Virginny ; but Lord ! they was safe beyund Canerdy line days afore.”

“ And you people gen’ally favor that sort o’ thing? ” the stranger asked.

“ Wal, no, not tu say favor. The gen’al run don’t bother ’emselves one way ner t’other, don’t help ner hender ; an’ then agin the’ ’s some ’at’s mean ’nough tu du anythin’ fer pay.”

“ And they help the niggahs ? ” suggested the traveler.

“ Bless ye, no. They help the ketchers; the’ hain’t no money in helpin’ niggers.”

The other only said “ H-m-m ” in a tone that might imply doubt or assent, and seemed inclined to drop the conversation, and the driver, after mentally wondering for some time, commented, “ One of them blasted Southerners.” The stranger’s speech was unfamiliar, softening the r’s too much for a Yankee of the Champlain Valley, and not as deliberately twisting the vowels as a Yankee of any sort does, but giving them an illusive turn that type cannot capture, midway between the nasal drawl of the New Englander and the unctuous roll of the New Yorker.

The lights of a little hamlet began to glimmer along the dusky road, and presently the steaming horses were haloed in the broad glare of the tavern bar-room and came to a halt before the wide stoop, where the bareheaded landlord and lantern-bearing hostlers bustled forth, with a more leisurely following of loungers, to welcome an arrival that lost nothing in interest or importance through semidaily occurrence.

The driver threw down the mail-bag, tossed the reins to a hostler, and, clambering from his seat, stamped straightway into the bar-room. The landlord opened the door of the coach, and invited the passengers to alight while the horses were changed, — an invitation which was accepted with alacrity by all. He ushered them into the welcome indoor warmth, closed the door behind the last guest, and fell to feeding the fire within the huge box stove with a generous supply of wood. With this clatter and the roar of the opened draught he mingled comments on the weather and words of hospitable intent, and then made the most of the brief time to learn what he might of his guests, whence coming and whither going, according to the custom of landlords in those days, when the country tavern had neither the name nor the register of a hotel.

The outside passenger invited the company to drink at his expense, and every one accepted save a stalwart Washingtonian ; for it was before the days of prohibition, when many otherwise goodly people drank unadulterated liquor publicly in Vermont inns, without shame or fear of subpoenas. The stranger called for Bourbon, to the bewilderment of Landlord Manum.

“ Borebone ? That must be some furrin drink, suthin’ like Bord O, mebby ? ” he queried, with a puzzled face, half resentful of a joke.

“ Never heard of Boobon whiskey, sir, the best whiskey in the wauld, sir?” asked the stranger.

“ Wal, if it’s good whiskey you want, I ’ve got some Monongerhely ’at ’s ten year ol’; ” and the stranger accepted the compromise with a look of approval, while each of the others, according to taste or predilection, warmed his interior with Medford, Jamaica, gin, brandy, or wine.

Then the driver began to muffle his head in a voluminous comforter and slowly to draw on his gloves, and when he announced, “ Stage ready, gentlemen,” there was a general exodus of the company, but the outside passenger did not remount to his place.

“ Just chuck me my valise. I reckon I ’ll stop heah a day or so.”

A cylindrical leathern portmanteau, such as was in common use by horseback travelers, was tossed down upon the stoop. The driver tucked himself in, gathered up the reins, cracked his whip, and with a sudden creak the sleigh started on its course and went jangling away into the dusk. The landlord and the hostlers watched it intently, as if to assure themselves of its actual departure; then of one accord retreated from the outer chill into the warmth of the barroom. The host helped the guest to rid himself of his overcoat and hung it on a hook, where it impartially covered the last summer’s advertisements of the Champlain steamers and of a famous Morgan stallion. The three or four remaining idlers resumed their accustomed places. The hostlers diffused an odor of the stable as they divested themselves of their coats and began their ablutions at the corner sink, where a soiled roller towel and the common comb and brush, attached to a nail by a long string, hung on opposite sides of a corrugated little looking-glass. The landlord closed the draught of the stove, subduing its roar to a whisper, and then blew out one of the lights. The other two seemed to burn more dimly, the smoky atmosphere grew heavier, and the room took on again its wonted air of dull expectancy that rarely received a higher realization than the slightly varied excitements of the stage arrivals.

Having performed all other duties, the landlord, who was also postmaster, now took the mail-bag from the floor where it had been tossed and had remained an object of secondary interest, carried it into the office adjoining the bar, and began a deliberate sorting of the mail, curiously watched through the narrow loopholes of the boxes by several of the loungers. The Washingtonian drummed persistently on the window of his box till he was given his copy of the county paper, which he at once began reading, after comfortably seating himself, with legs at full length, on the bunk which was a table by day, a bed by night. Others receiving their papers pocketed them to await more leisurely digestion at home. One who was given an unexpected letter studied the postmark and address a long time, trying to guess from whom it came, and then putting it in his pocket still sat guessing, oblivious of the conversation going on about him.

A traveler who “ treated ” was one whose acquaintance was worth cultivating by the bar-room loungers, and they had already made some progress in that direction when the landlord’s announcement of supper dispersed them reluctantly to their own waiting meals, from which they returned as soon as might be, with reinforcements.

The free-handed stranger gave them to understand that he was a Pennsylvanian, making a winter tour of the Northern States and Canada for his own pleasure and enlargement of information, and he quite won their hearts by his generous praise of their .State, its thrift, its Morgan horses, its merino sheep, and especially the bracing sub-arctic atmosphere, in which all true Vermonters take pride.

The Washingtonian, still sitting on the bunk, was so absorbed in the county paper, read by the light of the small whale-oil lamp, that he took no part in the conversation till he had finished the last item of news and glanced over the probate notices. Then he laid the paper across his outstretched legs and took off his spectacles, but kept both in hand for the contingency of immediate need, as he remarked, with an inclusive glance of the company, “ Wal, it does beat all haow they be a-agitatin’ slav’ry, an’ what efforts they be a-makin’ to diabolish it. They’ve ben a-hevin’ a anti-slav’ry convention up to Montpelier, an’ they raised a turrible rookery an’ clean broke it up. I jest ben a-readin’ a piece abaout it here in the paper.”

“ Sarved ’em right,” declared a big, burly, red-faced fellow who occupied a place by the stove opposite the stranger. “ Blast the cussed Aberlitionists, they’d ort tu be ’bleeged tu quit meddlin’ wi’ other folks’ business.”

“ Wal, I do’ know,” said the reader, laying aside the paper and putting his spectacles into his pocket as he swung his legs off the bunk. “ It ’s a free country, an’ folks has got a right to tell what they think, an’ to argy, an’ hev the’ argyments met wi’ argyments. Rotten aigs hain’t argyments, Hiel.”

“ Good ’nough argyments fer cussed nigger-stealin’ Aberlitionists,” Hiel declared, “ a-interferin’ wi’ other folks’ prop’ty.”

“ Sho, Hiel, they hain’t interferin’ wi’ nobody’s prop’ty. They b’heve it hain’t right to hol’ slaves, an’ they say so,— that ’s all,” the other replied.

“ Don’t they ? ” Hiel sneered. “ They ’re al’ys a-coax in’ niggers tu run away, an’ a-helpin’ on ’em steal emselves, which is the same as stealin’. Look of ol’ Quaker Barclay over here, Jacup Wright. I ’ll bet he everiges a dozen runaway niggers hid in his haouse ev’y year ’at goes over his head. Damn him ! he don’t du nothin’ else only go tu niggerhuggin’ Boberlition meetin’s.”

“ Exceptin’ when he ’s a-raisin’ subscriptierns to git caows fer folks at’s lost theirn,” said Jacob quietly.

“ I never ast him tu raise no ’scriptierns fer me, a caow,” said Hiel James quickly.

“ He done it jest the same, a-headin’ on ’t wi’ five dollars,” Jacob replied.

“ Wal, if folks is a mineter gi’ me a caow, I hain’t fool ’nough tu refuse it,” Hiel said, dismissing the subject with a coarse laugh. “ Blast the runaway niggers ! Let ’em stay where they b’long. I’d livser help ketch ’em an’ take ’em back ’an tu help 'em git away.”

“ Oh, sho, Hiel! No, you wouldn’t nuther, Hiel ! That would be pooty mean business fer a V’monter. 'T hain’t never ben in their line to send slaves back to the’ masters.”

During the conversation a stalwart young man had entered the room, and after including the company in a common salutation, he got his mail from the office, and stood at the bar to read a letter. He had a brave, handsome face, and his well-formed figure was clad in garments of finer fashion, more easily worn, than was the wont of young farmers. Yet a shrewd guess would place him as a prosperous member of that class. He took no part in the conversation nor gave it apparent heed, yet joined in the general murmur of approval with which Jacob’s remark was received by all but the non-committal landlord, the silent stranger, whose keen, deliberate eyes roved over the company, and Hiel, who stoutly asserted, “ I’d jest as soon du it as send a stray hoss er critter back tu the’ owner. Yis, sir, jest as soon airn a dollar a-ketchin’ a nigger as any other sort o’ prop’ty.”

“ I think you would, Hiel,” said the newcomer, in a tone that for all its quietness did not conceal contempt; and then he went out, anti his sleigh-bells were already jingling out of hearing when Hiel’s slow retort was uttered: —

“ That ’ere Bob Ransom cuts consid’able of a swath, but he 'll be consid’able older ’n he is naow ’fore he gits ol’ Quaker Barclay’s darter. Ketch him lettin’ his gal marry anybody aoutside o’ the Quaker an’ Boberlition ring.”

In some way, the brawny, coarse-featured Hiel seemed more than others to attract the regard of the stranger, who held him in casual conversation till the rest had departed, and warmed his heart with a parting glass of the landlord’s most potent liquor.

III.

The stage-coach had left Lemuel far behind when he turned into a less frequented road, which led him, after a mile of uninterrupted plodding, to a group of farm - buildings that flanked it on either side, and clustered about a great square uupainted house. From the unshuttered lower windows broad bands of light shone hospitably forth into the dim whiteness, revealinghere the furrows of a newly beaten track, there a white-capped hitching-post, and above, a shining square of snowy shed-roof, beneath which the mare made her way without guiding. Lemuel, disembarking noiselessly, looked cautiously about before he uncovered his passenger, and whispered to him to follow into the stable, whither he led as one familiar with the place even in the darkness. Opening the door of an inclosed stall, and assuring himself by feeling that it was filled with straw, he gently pushed the negro in.

“ Now thee cover thyself up an’ keep still till thee hears thy name called. Put this medicine in thy pocket, and don’t let thyself cough. Thee ’ll be made comfortable as soon as possible, but thee must be patient.”

With these whispered injunctions Lemuel silently closed the door upon his charge, and, after blanketing the mare, entered the house without other announcement than the stamping of his snowy feet. The family were at supper in the large kitchen, which was full of the light and warmth of a wide fireplace, and the savor of wholesome fare that the chilled and hungry guest sniffed with appreciative foretaste.

Zebulon Barclay, a man of staid, benevolent mien, with kindly keen gray eyes, sat at the board opposite Deborah, his wife, a portly woman, whose calm face, no less kindly than his own, wore the tranquil dignity of self-conquest and assured peace of soul. Beside her sat their daughter Ruth, like her mother in feature, and with promise of tire attainment, of the maternal serenity in her bright, young face, yet with some harmless touches of worldly vanity in the fashion of her dress. There were also Julia, the hired girl, a brisk spinster of thirty-five, and Jerome, the hired man, a restless-eyed Canadian, both of whom were of the world’s people ; the one shocked their employers by her levity, and the other with his mild profanity.

“ How does thee do. Deh’ry ? ” said the visitor, advancing straight to the matron with outstretched hand, as she turned in her seat and recognized him. “ Keep thy settin’, keep thy settin’,” he protested against her rising to greet him, and then bustled around to Zebulon, who arose to give him welcome, and a glance of intelligence passed between him and his wife which the daughter caught and understood.

“ Why, Lemuel,” said the host heartily, “ how does thee do ? And how are Rebecca and the children ? ”

As Lemuel replied he mumbled in an undertone, “ I left a package in the stable for thee.”

“ Oh, Rebecca is well, is she ? ” Zebulon remarked with satisfaction, and without apparent notice of the other information. “ And is it a general time of health among Friends in your Quarter ? Well, lay off thy greatcoat, and have some supper as soon as thee ’s warm enough. Jerome will put out thy horse directly.”

Lemuel hesitated, but began the arduous task of getting off his tight surtout as the Canadian arose from the table and took the tin lantern from its hook.

“ I b’lieve I hain’t seen thee afore, Jerome. Is thee tol’able well ? And I say for it, if that hain’t thee, Julia! Thee stays right by, don’t thee ? Wal, that’s clever.” He paused in the struggle with his surtout, when the Canadian went out, to ask, with a nod toward the door that had closed behind him, " Is he a safe person, Zeb’lon ? ”

“ I’m not quite clear, but I fear not,” said Zebulon, laying hold of the stubborn coat. " We ’ll be on our guard. While he ’s out, Ruth, thee ’d better carry some victuals up to the room, and when he comes in I ’ll get him out of the way till we get our package upstairs. Has thee had it in thy keeping long, Lemuel ? ”

“ Goin’ on a week, an’ would ha’ ben glad tu a spell longer, for he ’s got a tumble cold an’ cough; but we ’spected they was sarchin’ for him, an’ we dassent keep him no longer, an’ so I started at four o’clock this mornin’ ; an’ I tell thee, I found tough travelin’ most o’ the way.”

“ Well, I ’m glad thee’s got here safe, Lemuel. Now sit right down to thy supper. Thee ’ll have a chance to step out and bring in thy goods.”

The Canadian entered hastily and in evident trepidation. “ Say. Mésieu Barcle,” he burst out, “ you s’pose ghos’ can cough, prob’ly ? ”

“ What’s thee talking about, Jerome ? ” Zebulon asked in surprise.

“ Yas, sah, bah jinjo, Ah’m was hear nowse in de barn zhus’ sem lak somebody cough, an’ Ah b’lieve he was ghos’ of dat hol’ man come dead for ’sumption on de village las’ week ’go.”

“ Nonsense, Jerome ; it was a cat sneezing that thee heard. Don’t put out the lantern, but come down cellar with me and get some small potatoes for the sheep.”

“ Cat ? Bah gosh, you ’ll got cat sneeze lak dat, Ah’m ant want for hear it yaller, me,” Jerome retorted, as he led the way down cellar.

Lemuel’s hand was on the latch, when there was a sound of arriving sleighbells.

“ What be we goin’ tu da ? ” he asked, turning a troubled face to the women. " That poor creatur’ must n’t stay aout in the cold no longer. Who’s that a-comin’ in, wi’ bells on the’ horse ? ”

“ Let me go,” said Ruth, blushing red as a rose. “ I can bring the man in safe.”

“ Oh, it’s some friend of thine that’s come ? ” Lemuel asked ; but the shrewd twinkle of his eyes showed that he needed no answer. “ Well, go into the box stall and call for John, and bring in the one who answers.”

Ruth hastily put on a hood and shawl and went out. A tall figure advanced from the shed to meet her with outstretched hands, which she clasped for an instant as she said in a low voice, “ Don’t speak to me. Don’t see me, nor any one I may have with me ; and wait a little before thee comes in, Robert,” and she disappeared in the dark shadows of the building.

Presently she came out with the shivering negro almost crouching behind her, and led him into the house. In the kitchen her mother met him with an assuring word of welcome, and guided him from it so quickly into a narrow staircase that it seemed to the others as if they had seen but a passing shadow, gone before they could catch form or feature.

When Zebulon Barclay returned from the cellar, Lemuel was quietly eating his supper, waited upon by the nimblehanded Julia, Ruth sat by the fireplace in decorous, low-voiced conversation with Robert Ransom, and the quiet room gave no hint of a recent unaccustomed presence. Lemuel pushed aside his plate and supped the last draught of tea from his saucer with a satisfied sigh before he found time for much conversation.

“ I s’pose thee’s heard what turrible goin’s-on the anti-slavery meetin’ hed tu Montpelier, Zeb’lon ? ” he asked.

“ Heard ?” his friend replied, his calm face flushing and his eyes kindling. “ I saw it with my own eyes, and a shameful sight it was to see in the capital of this free State. Deborah and I were there.”

“ Thee don’t say so ! And was it as bad as the papers tell for ? ”

“ Even worse than any papers but our own report it. The Voice of Freedom and the Liberator tell it as it was. Several of the speakers were pelted with rotten eggs, and there were threats of laying violent hands upon some.”

“ But the’ wa’n’t nobody r’ally hurt ? ”

“ No, but Samuel J. May was seriously threatened ; and I don’t know what might have happened if Deborah, here, had n’t taken his arm and walked out through the mob with him. That shamed them to forbearance.”

“ Thee don’t say so ! ” Lemuel again ejaculated. “ But I guess if Jonathan Miller was there, he was n’t very docyle ? ”

“ Well, no,” rejoined Zebulon, “ Jonathan is not a man of peace, and he called the rioters some pretty hard names, and faced them as brave as a lion.”

Lemuel rubbed his hand in un-Quakerly admiration of this truculent champion of the oppressed, and said, with a not altogether distressed sigh. “ I ’m afeard he would n’t hesitate tu use carnal weepons if he was pushed tew fur. He has been a man of war, an’ fit in Greece.”

“ W’at dat? ” asked Jerome, who had been listening intently as he slowly cut the sheep’s potatoes, and now held his knife suspended and stared in wide-eyed wonder. “ He was faght in grease ? Ah’m was hear of mans faght in snow, an’ faght in water, an’ faght in mud, but bah jin jo, faght in grease, All ant never was hear so ’fore, me.”

“ Why, Jerome,” explained Zebulon, with an amused smile, “ thee don’t understand. Greece is a country, away across the sea, where this brave man went, according to his light, to help the people war against their oppressors, the Turks.”

“ Bah jinjo,” said the Canadian, resuming his occupation, “ dat mus’ be w’ere de folkses leeve on de fat of de lan’, sem Ah’ms hear you tol’ of sometam. An’ dey got turkey too, hein ? Ah’ms b’lieve dat was good place for go, me.”

“ When it is quite convenient, Zeb’lon,” Lemuel said, after some further talk of anti-slavery affairs, diverging to the most economic means of procuring free-labor goods, “ I want an opportunity tu open my mind tu thee an’ Deb’ry consarnin’ certain weighty matters.”

“ Come right in the other room,” responded the host, rising and leading the way. “ I think Deborah is there.”

The Canadian, presently finishing his task and his last pipe, lighted a candle and climbed the stairs to his bed in the kitchen chamber, and Julia, having set the supper dishes away and hung her wiping-cloths on the poles suspended from the ceiling by iron hooks, with a satisfied air of completion, discreetly withdrew, and the young people had the rare opportunity of being alone.

“ Ruth, you must give me a glimmer of hope,” Robert Ransom pleaded.

“ How can I when it would grieve father and mother so to have me joined to a companion who is not of our faith, and has so little unity with us on the question of slavery ? If thee could but have light given thee to see these matters as they are so clearly shown to us ! ”

“ If I would pretend to be a Quaker, and meddle with affairs that don’t concern me,” he said bitterly, “ I should be all right, and they would give me their daughter. But I can’t pretend to believe what I don’t, even for such a reward. As for the other matter of difference, you know, Ruth, that I would n’t hold a slave or send one back to his master; but slavery exists under the law, and we have no more business to interfere with the slaveholders’ rights than they with ours.”

“ There can be no right to do wrong, and it is every one’s business to bear testimony against evil-doing. Thee knows, Robert, I would not take thee on any pretense of belief. But if thee could only have light! ”

“ Oh, Ruth, you will not let these differences of belief keep us apart? What are they, to stand in the way of our love ? ”

“ It would not be right to deny thee is very dear to me, Robert, and that I pray the way may be opened for us, but I cannot see it clear yet.” Ruth’s eyes met his with a look that was warmer than her calm words.

“ But you will, Ruth,” he said, with suppressed earnestness ; and then a stir and louder murmur of voices were heard in the next room. “ The Friends have ‘ broke their meeting,’ as your people say, and it’s time for me to go. I want to caution you, though, to keep a certain person you have in the house very close. I 'm afraid there are parties on the lookout for him not far off.”

“ Oh, thank thee, Robert. Why does thee think so ? ” she asked in some alarm.

“ From something I heard in the village to-day, I think there’s a party of slave-hunters prowling around in this part of the State, and I saw a stranger at Manum’s to-night who is likely enough to be one of them. It ’s an odd season for a man to be traveling for pleasure here. There may be nothing in it, but tell your father to be careful. Good-night.”

Under cover of the noise of Ransom’s exit Jerome closed the disused stovepipe hole in the chamber floor, at which he had been listening, crept into bed, and fell asleep while puzzling out the meaning of what he had overheard.

Ruth Barclay lost no time in imparting the caution to her parents and their trusty friend Lemuel, and her father’s thoughtful face was troubled as he said, “ Our poor friend must have rest. Thy mother has been ministering to him, and says he is a very sick man. He cannot go farther at present, but I wish he was nearer Canada. Well, we will watch and wait for guidance. Perhaps to-morrow night I can take him to thy uncle Aaron’s, and then we can count on his safety. I hope thee has not been indiscreet in letting Robert into our secret, my child ? ”

“ Thee need not fear, father,” Ruth answered, with quiet assurance. “ Robert is faithful.”

“ I am not quite clear,” and the father sighed. “ Robert is not light or evilminded, but his father is a Presbyterian and a Democrat, and very bitter against Friends and anti-slavery people. I am not quite clear concerning Robert.”

IV.

The next morning Jerome was encouraging the fire newly kindled from the bed of coals on the hearth, and tiptoeing between it and the wood-box in his stockings, when Julia made her appearance in the kitchen, holding between her compressed lips some yet unutilized pins while she tied the strings of her check apron.

“ Morny, Julie,” he saluted cheerily. Her speech being restrained by the pins, she nodded, and he went on interrogatively, as he seated himself and began mellowing his stiff boots with thumb and fingers : “ Ah’ms tol’ you, Julie. W’at you s’pose kan o’ t’ing was be raoun’ dese buildin’ for scairt me so plenty ? ”

“ Why, J’rome ? ” Julia, like a true Yankee, answered with a question, when she had found a place in her dress for the last pin. “ What hes ben a-scarin’ of you, I sh’d like tu know ? ”

“ Ah’ms can’ tol’ you, ’cause Ah’ms can’ see; Ah’ms only zhus’ hear. Las’ naght w’en Ah’ms go on de barn, Ah’ms hear some nowse lak somebody cough, cough, an’ dere ant not’ing for see. W’en Ah’ms go on de bed, Ah’ms hear it some more upstair, cough, cough, zhus’ de sem. Ah’ms b’lieve it was ghos’.”

Julia searched his face with a quick glance, and compelled her own to express no less fear and wonder. “ Good land o’ massy ! You don’t say ! ” she exclaimed in an awed undertone. “ Where did it ’pear tu be, J’rome? ”

“ Ah don’ know if it be in de chimbley or behin’ de chimbley, me. Ah’ms ’fraid for ex-amine.”

“ Examine ! Ketch me a-pokin’ behind that ’ere chimbley, if I c’d git there, which it ’s all closed up these I do’ know haow many year. No, sir, not for all this world, in broad daylight, I would n’t!” Julia protested, with impressive voice and slow shakes of the head.

“ Bah jinjo ! W’at you s’pose he was?” Jerome asked, under his breath.

“ I ’ve hearn tell ’t the Injuns er the British killed some hired man there, ’way back in Gran’f’ther Barclay’s day,” Julia whispered; and then, in a more reassuring tone, “ But you may depend it hain’t nothin’ ’at ‘ll hurt us, if we let it alone, J’rome.”

“ W’at for Zeb’lon try foolish me wid cat-sneeze w’en he know it was be ghos’ ? Ah’ms ant s’pose Quaker mans was tol’ lie, prob’ly. Ah’ms hear dat Ramson tol’ Rut’ he ’fraid somet’ing. Ah don’ know, me.” And having pulled on his boots after a brief struggle, he lighted the lantern and went out to his chores.

“ I wonder haow much the critter heard.” Julia soliloquized, as she leaned on the broom and looked with unseeing eyes at the door which had just closed behind him, “ an’ if he mistrusts suthin’ ? I would n’t trust him no finder ’n I ’d trust a dog wi’ my dinner.”

When Deborah Barclay came into the kitchen her usually placid face was troubled, and it was not lightened when Julia told her suspicions, ending with the declaration, “ You can’t never trust a Canuck, man or womern, an’ this ’ere J’rome loves colored folks as a cat loves hot soap. He’s al’ys an’ forever a-goin’ on abaout ’em.”

“ Ah me ! ” Deborah sighed. “ The way seems dark this morning. Zebulon was taken with one of his bad turns in the night and is n’t able to get up, and Lemuel is obliged to go home at once. We heard last night that there are slavehunters about, and if it is needful to remove our poor friend upstairs to a safer place we have no one that we can trust to do it, — if indeed he can be removed without endangering his life; for he’s in a miserable way, and needs rest and nursing. But perhaps the way will be made clear to us. It always has been in these matters.”

Friend Lemuel reëmbarked on his homeward voyage, in the huge breadtray, soon after the early breakfast, and the Quaker household fell into more than its wonted outward quiet. This was scarcely disturbed when, in the afternoon, Jehiel James drove past, and halted a little for a chat, with Jerome to discuss the merits of the colt the latter was breaking. It did not escape Julia’s sharp eyes that the two had their heads together, nor did her ears fail to catch Hiel’s parting injunction : “ Come over tu the tarvern in the evenin’ an’ we ’ll strike up a dicker for the cult.”

“ I guess suthin’ ’ll happen so ’s ’t you won’t go tu no tarvern tu-night,” she said to herself. " I b’lieve there 'll be a way pervided, as aour folks says, tu hender it;.” and she went about her work considering the possible ways of Providence.

Not long afterward Jerome came in, and on some pretext went up to his sleeping-room. Julia, listening intently while he moved stealthily to and fro, or maintained suspicious intervals of silence, thought she detected once the cautious opening of a door. When he reappeared there was an ill-concealed gleam of triumph in his beady black eyes, and they furtively sought hers as if to read her thought.

“ Ah’ms t’ink Ah’ms ant mos’ never goin’ fan mall tobac,” he said, ostentatiously biting off a corner of a plug, and then asked, “ Haow was be Zeb’lon ? He ant goin’ be seek, don’t it ? ”

“ I do’ know, J’rome. He’s putty bad off. He’s got a burn in’ fever an’ a turrible pain acrost him. I should n’t wonder if you hed tu go arter the darkter this evenin’.”

“ Ah’ms can’ go dis evelin’,” he answered hastily. “ Ah’ms gat some beesinees, me. W’at for Ah can’ go gat doctor ’fore de chore, hein ? ”

“ You ’ll hafter go right past the tarvern tu git the Thompsonian darkter, which aour folks won’t hev no other,” she answered irrelevantly.

“ More Ah’ms t’ink of it,” Jerome said, after a little consideration, “ more Ah’ms t’ink Ah’in could go.”

“ If I only hed sperits enough,” Julia communed with herself meantime. “ I’d git you so all-fired minky, you would n’t know where tu go, an’ would n’t git there if you did. But Mis’ Barclay would n’t le’ me hev enough tu du that, not tu save all Afriky. Mebby, though,” with a flash of inspiration, “she’d le’ me hev a good doste for medicine.”

“ J’rome,” she said aloud, “what’s the motter ails ye ? Ye hain’t a-lookin’ well.”

“ Me ? Ah’m was feel fus’-rate.”

“ But you hain’t well, — I know you hain’t. You look pale ’s you can, complected as you be, and you ’re dark ’n under your eyes. I must git you suthin’ tu take. Mebby I c’n git a doste o’ hot sperits f’m Mis’ Barclay.”

Jerome’s face was comical, with its mixed expression of satisfaction and simulated misery. “ Bah jin jo, Julie, Ah’ms ant felt so well Ah’ms t’ink Ah was. Ah’ms gat col’ come, w’en Ah’ms chaupin’. Dey ant not’ing cure me so fas’ lak some whiskey.”

“ Don’t you say nothin’, an’ I ’ll see if I c’n git you a doste afore supper.”

Ruth was in close attendance upon her father while her mother ministered to the hidden fugitive, so the handmaiden had little opportunity for speech with either till toward nightfall. At the first chance, in a beguiling tone, she besought Deborah : “ I du hate tu ask you, but I he so tuckered an’ kinder all gone, I wish’t you ’d gi’ me a rael big squilch o’ sperits.”

“ Why, surely, thee poor child, if thee needs it, thee shall have it. I 'll give thee the bottle, and thee can help thyself. I know thee ’ll be prudent,” and Deborah passed up the narrow staircase with a steaming bowl of gruel.

When possessed of the spirits, Julia fortified herself with a moderate dram, “jest tu keep my word good,” she said to herself. “Now I ’ll see what I can du for the benefit of your health, Mr. J’rome,” and she poured out a bountiful draught of the ripe old Jamaica, and added to it. from a vial, a spoonful of a dark liquid, carefully stirred the mixture, and tasted it with critical deliberation.

“ That tinctur’ o’ lobele does bite, but my sakes, he won’t never notice. There you come.” as she heard Jerome stamping at the threshold. “ I hope this ’ere won’t kill ye, not quite, but you ’ll think it ’s goin’ tu if you never took no lobele afore. My senses ! ” and she made a disgusted face as she recalled her own experiences of Thompsonian treatment. A few minutes later she covertly handed Jerome the glass, and with a sense of righteous guilt watched his eager draining of the last drop.

“ Oh. Julie,” he whispered hoarsely, with resounding smacks of satisfaction, “ you was good womans. Dat was cure me all up.”

“ I du hope it ’ll du good,” she responded, and mentally added, “ an’ keep you f’m tellin’ tales out o’ school.”

Warmed by the potent spirits, and without the calm restraint of his employer’s presence, Jerome was more than usually garrulous at the supper-table, till suddenly his tongue began to falter and a ghastly pallor overspread his dark face.

“ Oh ! ” he groaned, as his glaring eyes sought imploringly the alarmed countenances of the women, lingering longest upon Julia’s, “ w’at you s’pose hail me ? Oh, Ah’ms goin’ to dead ! Mah hinside all turn over ! Oh, Julie, was you pazzin me wid bugbed pazzin ? ” He pushed himself from the table and staggered toward the door, whither he was anxiously followed by Deborah and Ruth.

“ What is it, Jerome ? Is it a sickness or a pain ? ” Deborah inquired with concern. “ Shall I give thee some pepper tea, or salt and water ? Thee ’d better go upstairs and lie down.”

“ Oh, sacre, mon Dieu ! ” he groaned. ” All Ah’ms want was for dead, so quick Ah can ! Oh, Ah’ms bus’ open ! Ah’ms bile over ! Ah’ms tore up ! Dat damn hol’ gal Julie spile me all up! ” and he floundered out of doors, retching and groaning.

Deborah was about to follow him, when she was withheld by Julia. “ Don’t you stir a step arter him, Mis’ Barclay. He ’ll come all right plenty soon ’nough. I know what ails him. I only give him a little doste o’ medicine.”

“ Julia Peck,” said Deborah severely, “ what has thee been doing ? ”

“ I ’ll tell ye the hull truth, Mis’ Barclay, as true as I live an’ breathe. I was jes’ as sure as I stan’ here that him an’ that ere Hiel James was a-connivin’ tu help take that man we’ve got in aour chamber, an’ Jerome was a - peekin’ raoun’ this very arternoon tu find aout if he was here ; an’ I know by the look of him he did find aout, an’ he was a-goin’ tu the tarvern tu-night tu let ’em know, an’ I jest put a stop tu it; for what was we a-goin’ tu du, with Mr. Barclay sick abed, an’ nob’dy but us women ? Naow, I don’t think he ’ll go jest yit.”

Deborah smiled while she tried to express a proper degree of severity in her words and voice. “ Julia, I fear thee has done wrong. I do hope thee has n’t given the poor misguided man anything very injurious ? ”

“ As true as I live an’ breathe, it hain’t nothin’ but tinctur’ o’ lobele, an’ it ’ll clear aout his stomach an’ du him good.”

“ We will hope for the best. But ah me, we are sore beset. We have no way to get our friend to a place of safety to-night, and to-morrow the slavehunters may be here, and they will search the whole house. Besides, the poor man’s cough would betray him wherever we hid him. What can we do ? ”

“ Would n’t Mr. Weeks help, if we c’d git him word ? I c’d cut over there in no time, if you say so,” and Julia made a move toward her hood and shawl behind the door.

“ Thee’s very kind. I 've thought of him, but he ’s gone across the lake to visit Friends, and won’t be back till Seventh Day. And he ’s the only Friend here that’s in full unity with us in these matters,” and Deborah sighed.

“ Could n’t I take Tom and get the man to uncle Aaron’s before morning, mother ? ” asked Ruth.

“ Oh, my child, if thee could, he is not able to ride so far. No, dear; yet I know not what to do or which way to turn,” said the mother, and she walked to the window, and stood looking out, as if some guidance was to come to her out of the growing shadows of evening.

“ Mother,” said Ruth earnestly, after an unbroken silence of some length. “ I will get some one to help us. Julia, will thee help me harness Tom ? Don’t ask me any questions, mother, but thee trust me.”

“ I do trust thee, my child. But I can’t think who thee can get.”

“ I ’ll harness or du anything, Reuth ; but if that Canuck does turn hisself wrong side aout an’ die, don’t you tell of me. But I guess he wa’n’t borned tu die of Thompsonian medicine ; an’ there he comes. I ’m glad, for I al’ys did spleen agin findin’ corpses layin’ raoun’ permiscus.”

Jerome came into the room, and, woebegone of countenance and limp of form, too sick to notice any lack of sympathy, he crept ignominiously on all fours up the stairs to bed. Julia gave a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind the abject figure.

“ There, thanks be tu goodness and lobele, he’s safte for this night. Naow, Reuth, we ’ll harness the hoss.”

V.

The faithful old family horse seemed to understand the necessity of a swifter pace than was employed in his jogging to First Day and Fifth Day meetings, and he took a smart trot with little urging by his young mistress. The half-buried fences and the trees drifted steadily past, and the long shadows cast in the light of the rising moon swung slowly backward, while the jagged crests of the distant hills marched forward in stately procession; yet in her anxiety the progress was slow to Ruth, the way never so long. It was shortened by the good fortune of meeting Robert Ransom a halfmile from his home, and she counted it no less a favor to be saved the awkwardness of seeking an interview with him.

She was not disappointed in his response to her appeal, and it was not long before he was at her father’s bedside. A short consultation was held concerning the best means of baffling the slave-hunters whose descent upon this suspected hiding-place of the fugitive might occur at any time.

“ I ’ll carry the man anywhere you say, Mr. Barclay. Mrs. Barclay says he’s too weak to go far, and I 'll tell you my plan. It’s to take him to our sugar-house. No one ever goes there till sugaring-time, after the wood is hauled, and that’s just finished. It’s warm and there’s a bunk in it, so that by carrying along some buffaloes and blankets he can be made almost as comfortable as in any house.”

“ I don’t know a safer place, for no one would ever think of looking for a runaway negro on thy father’s premises,” said Zebulon, with due deliberation, yet with a humorous twinkle in his eye, and then added, “ My! what would he say ? ”

“ I don’t think it necessary to ask him, and I ’ll take the man there at once, if you say so.” The young man’s kindly face expressed an earnestness in which there was no guile.

“ I think thy plan is the only one we can adopt, and the sooner we do so the better. The women folks will provide thee with blankets, and there must be food and medicine. Deborah, does thee think he will be able to keep his own fire and wait on himself ? ”

“ He is not fit to leave his bed,” she answered ; “ but he must, long enough to get to a place of safety. Does thee think I should go with him, Zebulon ? I don’t see the way clear to leave thee, my dear, nor to let Ruth go, though she would not shrink from it if it seemed best.”

Robert’s face flushed, and be hastily said, “ Ruth go to nurse a sick ” — The offensive name “ nigger,” forbidden in that household, though familiar enough in his own, was barely withheld. " No, it would n’t be right for either to go, Mrs. Barclay. I will take care of the man.”

Zebulon bestowed a grateful look upon him, and stretched forth his hand to clasp that of the young man. “ Robert, I never thought to look to thee for help in such a case. Thee is very kind, and I shall not forget it in thee. if it is ever in my power to serve thee, thee must feel free to call on me.”

Robert blushed almost guiltily as he silently thought of the reward he most desired, and quietly thanked the sick man for his kindly expressions.

“ Now, I think thee would better be about the matter at once. Look out for Jerome, and be sure that no one is watching the house when thee starts, Robert. Farewell.”

Deborah stayed a moment to administer a dose of Thompsonian medicine known as “No. 6,” when Zebulon said, getting his breath after the fiery draught, “ Well, help has come in an unexpected way. I did not expect so much from Neighbor Ransom’s son.”

“ It is indeed a favor,” and there was a hope in the mother’s heart that the way might also become clear for her daughter’s happiness.

The Canadian had fallen into such a deep sleep from the reaction of Julia’s heroic treatment that he was not aroused by any stir around the house. The fugitive was taken from his hiding-place, a snug little chamber back of the great warm chimney, which had given safe and comfortable shelter to many escaping slaves, a use to which it was devoted. With the help of his ready-handed female assistants Robert soon had his charge in the sleigh, with bedding, provisions, and medicines.

When the sick man was carefully wrapped in blankets and hidden under the buffalo, Robert drove along the highway, swiftly and silently, till at last he turned through a gap into a pathless field, across which he made slower progress to the dusky border of the woods. Guided by familiar landmarks, he came to the narrow portal of a wood-road that wound its unbeaten but well-defined way among gray tree-trunks, snow-capped stumps and rocks, and thick haze of undergrowth. Inanimate material forms and impalpable blue shadows assumed shapes of fearful living things to the strained imagination of the negro, who was now permitted to free his head from the robe. He shrank as if struck when a tree snapped under stress of the cold, — a noise unaccountable to him, but like the click of a gun-lock, or the shot of a rifle, or the crack of a whip.

With calm manner and reassuring words Ransom again and again quieted the often reawakened fears of the fugitive, till at last they reached the sugarhouse. It was a picture of loneliness and desertion, with smokeless, snowcapped chimney and pathless approach. When they entered, the bare interior revealed by the light of a candle was dismal and comfortless. The blankets and pillows were soon arranged upon the bunk, and, having made his guest as easy as possible, Ransom kindled a fire in the great arch over which the sap was boiled, and put the stock of provisions into the rude corner cupboard.

The yellow light of the candle and the red gleams of the fire were reflected by some tin utensils that hung on the wall, by an old musket leaning in a corner, and by the piled tier of sap-buckets; the dancing shadows tripped to a less solemn measure ; a genial warmth began to pervade the room, and soon the place assumed the cheerful homeliness of a snug winter camp.

The troubled face of the negro brightened as he looked around, watching his companion’s preparations with languid interest.

“ Dis yere’s a mighty nice place fur lay in’ low,” he said in a hoarse voice. “ You’s powerful good to fetch me here, marster, an’ I ’s ’bleeged to ye.”

“ That ’s all right, my man,” Robert replied, as he set an inverted sap-tub by the bunk and placed a bottle of medicine upon it. “ Now here ’s the medicine for you to take, and my watch to show you when to take it. Keep quiet, and I ’ll be back in a couple of hours ; ” and after replenishing the fire, he departed to take the horse home, and filially returned on foot to his self-appointed post.

Perhaps the secrecy of the service, the relish of baffling eager search, and the possible chance of adventure made Ransom’s task more congenial than the mere sense of duty could have done, and he plodded his way back over the snowy road with a cheerful heart. When he had ministered to his patient’s needs and fed the fire, he rolled himself in his blankets and fell asleep.

VI.

Morning found Jerome recovered from the last night’s illness, but not restored to good humor. He had satisfied himself that the negro had been removed from the house, but how or where he could not conjecture, and he was savagely disappointed that the chance and reward of betrayal had slipped beyond his reach. As he plied his axe in Zebulon Barclay’s woodlot, the strokes fell with spiteful vigor; and when a great tree succumbed to them and went groaning to the final crash of downfall, he gloated over it as if it were a personal enemy. As the echoes boomed their last faint reverberation and left him in the midst of silence, his ear caught the sound of distant axe-strokes; and when, across the narrow cleared valley that lay between him and the next wooded hillside, he saw a column of smoke rising above the tops of the maples, after a long, intent look he asked himself, “ W’at you s’pose somebodee was do on hol’ Ramson sugar-place, dis tarn de year ? ”

Unable to answer except by unsatisfactory guesses, he resumed his chopping; but the itch of curiosity gave him no rest, for he was as inquisitive as any native of the soil; and when it could no longer he endured, he struck his axe into a stump, and set forth in quest of the certain knowledge which should be its cure. As he cautiously drew near the sugarhouse, in its rear, under cover of the great maple trunks that stood about it on every side, he heard low voices in broken conversation, and a moment later a racking, distressful cough which excited his suspicions.

Stooping low, he crept from the nearest tree to the one window, whose hoard shutter was swung open for the admission of light, and peered stealthily in. The brief survey revealed Robert Ransom looking anxiously down on the ghastly face of the negro. There was no softening touch of pity in the malignantly triumphant gleam of the Canadian’s snaky eyes as he returned to the cover of the trees, gliding from one to another till he regained the valley, and then resumed his chopping.

Throughout the day, at the sugarhouse, the winter stillness was unbroken save by the small voices of the titmice and nuthatches and the subdued tapping of the industrious woodpeckers, sounds that harmonized with it and but intensified it. The place seemed as secure from enemies in its complete isolation as it was remote from the reach of medical aid, which Ransom felt was needed, and of which he was often on the point of going in quest. The sick man was racked with pain at times, his mind wandered, and he talked incoherently.

“ It’s mighty good to be free, Marse Ransom, ’deed it is dat. Oh, but it’s col’ up dis away. Oh, de snow ! I ’s wadin’ in de snow de hull endurin’ time ! It’s freezin’ on me ! I ’s comin to de sunshine ! I kin feel it a-warmin’ ! I’s in de eberlastin’ snow, an’ de dogs is arter me ! I can’t git ahead none ! Fur de Lawd’s sake, don’ let ’em kotch me ! ”

“ Don’t be afraid. Nothing shall harm you. We ’re safe here,” Ransom would repeat again and again in reassuring tones, while great beads of perspiration gathered on the dusky face, ashen gray with sickness and terror, and the stalwart form would now be shaken with ague, now burned with fever.

“ Take a drink of hot stuff, John, and let me cover you up warm and good,” Ransom urged, bringing a steaming cup of herb tea from the fire, saying to himself, “ It ’s old woman’s medicine, but it’s all I have.”

In the afternoon the sick man became easier, and fell into such a quiet sleep that his nurse began to think the rest and the simple remedies were working a cure. When night fell and the multitude of shadows were merged in universal gloom, he closed the window shutter, lighted the candle, and made needful preparations for the lonely night-watch. As he sat by the bunk, ready to attend to any want, there was no sound but the regular labored breathing, the crackling fire, the fall of a smouldering brand, and the slow gnawing of a woodmouse behind the tier of tubs. He felt a kind of exhilaration when he realized that he was so interested in the welfare of this poor waif that he thought nothing of his own weariness or trouble, but only how he could best serve the forlorn stranger.

After the passing of some hours, his charge still sleeping peacefully, Ransom thought he himself might take a little rest. He noiselessly replenished the fire with the last of the wood, and quietly stepped outside for more. He paused on the log step a moment, listening for one pulse of sound in the dead silence of the winter night. Not a withered leaf rustled in the bare treetops, not a buried twig snapped under the soft footfalls of wandering bare or prowling fox. Ransom loosed his held breath and was about to step into the moonlight, when he detected a stealthy invasion of the silence, and recognized the sharp screech of sleighrunners and the muffled tread of horses. His heart leaped at the probability of coming help, for it could hardly be aught else. Yet he would not be too sure, and, reëntering the house, he closed the door softly.

He slipped aside the covering of a small loophole in the door, made to afford the sugar-maker the amusement of shooting crows when time hung heavy on his hands, and looked out upon the scene. The full moon had climbed halfway to the zenith, and its beams fell in broad bands of white between the blue shadows of the tree-trunks and full upon the open space in front of the sugar-house. Presently a sleigh came into the narrow range of his vision. It halted, and three men alighted. He started back in dismay, for at the first glance he recognized the burly form and coarse features of Hiel, and the dark-visaged traveler whom he had seen at the tavern, while the third figure was unknown. He hurriedly fastened the door, for there could be no doubt as to the purpose of the visitors.

Who could have betrayed the fugitive’s hiding-place ? Escape was impossible, and successful resistance no less so. What could he do ? As the unanswered questions rapidly revolved in his mind, his heart grew suddenly sick with the thought that the Barclays might suspect him of treachery. The fugitive’s safety had been entrusted to him on his own offer. He was sharply recalled from these swift thoughts by a stir in the bunk. Aroused by the noise and instinctively divining danger, the negro had started up in terror and was staring imploringly at Ransom.

“ Dey’s arter me, marse. Don’ let ’em git me. Dey ’ll wollup me. Dey ’ll jes’ cut me to pieces. Don’ let ’em kotch me.”

“ No, they shan’t get you. Lie down and keep quiet,” said Ransom in a low, reassuring tone, still engaged with watching the movements of those outside.

The negro sank back submissively, with deep sighs and incoherent mutterings.

The door was now violently tried and loudly beaten upon, and a voice demanded that it should he opened.

“ Who’s there ? ” asked Ransom.

“ Never mind. You jest open the door an’ let us in,” Hiel’s voice answered.

“ What do you want ? ”

“ We want the nigger. Open the door, or we ’ll bust it. Come, naow, no foolin’.”

“ I won’t open the door,” said Ransom firmly; “ break it in if you dare.”

As his eyes searched the room almost hopelessly for some means of defense or deliverance, they fell upon the old musket in the corner, and in the same glance he saw that a great and sudden change had come upon the face of the negro. The shock of fright had been too great, and the stamp of death was already set upon the drawn features. After the first instant a strange exultation sprang tip in Ransom’s heart. An invisible ally would snatch the prey from their grasp, if he could but hold the hunters at bay for a while. He seized the musket and ran to the door. Looking out from his coign of vantage, he saw the three men advancing, carrying a heavy stick from the woodpile with the evident purpose of using it as a battering-ram. He thrust the rusty gun-muzzle through the loophole and called out, “ Drop that, or I 'll send a charge of shot into you ! ”

The assailants hesitated only a moment when they saw the threatening muzzle, and then Ransom heard the log drop in the snow. Soon, after some consultation, there was a sound of stealthy footsteps in the rear of the shanty, as of some one reconnoitring in that quarter; then the silence was broken by the gasping breath and whispers of the dying man. Ransom set the gun by the door and went to him.

“I’s mos’ ober de ribber — de dogs can’t kotch me. De sun shinin’ — de birds singin’ — de bees hummin’. Goodby, marse, I ’s gwine.”

The massive chest ceased its labored heavings. The look of terror faded out of the face, to give place to that expression of perfect rest which is the hopefulest solution to the living of the awful mystery of death.

Suddenly there were heavy blows on the shuttered window, which crashed in at once. At the same moment with this diversion in the rear came an assault upon the door. Ransom undid the fastening and threw it open. “ You can come ill,” he said quietly.

Hiel and the stranger whom Ransom had first seen at the tavern entered cautiously, as if suspecting a trap, the latter with a cocked pistol in his hand.

“ Don’t be afraid, Hiel,” Ransom said contemptuously ; “ the gun has n’t been loaded for a year.”

“ Damn putty business fer Square Ransom’s son, stealin’ niggers is,” Hiel declared. “Where’s yer nigger, anyway ? ”

Ransom pointed to the bunk, and the stranger, drawing a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, advanced toward the motionless figure. “Come, boy,” he said sharply, “the little game is up, an’ it’s no use playin’ ’possum. Hold out your hands.” He roughly seized one of the lifeless hands. “ What the hell! ” he exclaimed, recoiling from the icy touch. After an intent look at the quiet, peaceful face of him who had escaped from all bondage, he turned to Ransom, who stood calmly regarding him. “ Well, Mr. Ransom, I reckon you’ve played it rather low down on us, but you ’ve won the game and the niggah ’s yours. I reckon I don’t want him. Come, boys, let’s be off.”

Rowland E. Robinson.