A quiet scene now rises before us. A large, roomy, neatly-paintedkitchen, its yellow floor glossy and smooth, and without a particleof dust; a neat, well-blacked cooking-stove; rows of shining tin,suggestive of unmentionable good things to the appetite; glossy greenwood chairs, old and firm; a small flag-bottomed rocking-chair, witha patch-work cushion in it, neatly contrived out of small pieces ofdifferent colored woollen goods, and a larger sized one, motherly andold, whose wide arms breathed hospitable invitation, seconded by thesolicitation of its feather cushions,--a real comfortable, persuasiveold chair, and worth, in the way of honest, homely enjoyment, a dozen ofyour plush or _brochetelle_ drawing-room gentry; and in the chair, gentlyswaying back and forward, her eyes bent on some fine sewing, sat ourfine old friend Eliza. Yes, there she is, paler and thinner than in herKentucky home, with a world of quiet sorrow lying under the shadow ofher long eyelashes, and marking the outline of her gentle mouth! Itwas plain to see how old and firm the girlish heart was grown underthe discipline of heavy sorrow; and when, anon, her large dark eye wasraised to follow the gambols of her little Harry, who was sporting, likesome tropical butterfly, hither and thither over the floor, she showed adepth of firmness and steady resolve that was never there in her earlierand happier days.

By her side sat a woman with a bright tin pan in her lap, into whichshe was carefully sorting some dried peaches. She might be fifty-five orsixty; but hers was one of those faces that time seems to touch onlyto brighten and adorn. The snowy lisse crape cap, made after the straitQuaker pattern,--the plain white muslin handkerchief, lying in placidfolds across her bosom,--the drab shawl and dress,--showed at once thecommunity to which she belonged. Her face was round and rosy, witha healthful downy softness, suggestive of a ripe peach. Her hair,partially silvered by age, was parted smoothly back from a high placidforehead, on which time had written no inscription, except peace onearth, good will to men, and beneath shone a large pair of clear,honest, loving brown eyes; you only needed to look straight into them,to feel that you saw to the bottom of a heart as good and true as everthrobbed in woman's bosom. So much has been said and sung of beautifulyoung girls, why don't somebody wake up to the beauty of old women? Ifany want to get up an inspiration under this head, we refer them toour good friend Rachel Halliday, just as she sits there in her littlerocking-chair. It had a turn for quacking and squeaking,--that chairhad,--either from having taken cold in early life, or from someasthmatic affection, or perhaps from nervous derangement; but, as shegently swung backward and forward, the chair kept up a kind of subdued"creechy crawchy," that would have been intolerable in any other chair.But old Simeon Halliday often declared it was as good as any music tohim, and the children all avowed that they wouldn't miss of hearingmother's chair for anything in the world. For why? for twenty yearsor more, nothing but loving words, and gentle moralities, and motherlyloving kindness, had come from that chair;--head-aches and heart-achesinnumerable had been cured there,--difficulties spiritual and temporalsolved there,--all by one good, loving woman, God bless her!

"And so thee still thinks of going to Canada, Eliza?" she said, as shewas quietly looking over her peaches.

"Yes, ma'am," said Eliza, firmly. "I must go onward. I dare not stop."

"And what'll thee do, when thee gets there? Thee must think about that,my daughter."

"My daughter" came naturally from the lips of Rachel Halliday; for herswas just the face and form that made "mother" seem the most natural wordin the world.

Eliza's hands trembled, and some tears fell on her fine work; but sheanswered, firmly,

"I shall do--anything I can find. I hope I can find something."

"Thee knows thee can stay here, as long as thee pleases," said Rachel.

"O, thank you," said Eliza, "but"--she pointed to Harry--"I can't sleepnights; I can't rest. Last night I dreamed I saw that man coming intothe yard," she said, shuddering.

"Poor child!" said Rachel, wiping her eyes; "but thee mustn't feel so.The Lord hath ordered it so that never hath a fugitive been stolen fromour village. I trust thine will not be the first."

The door here opened, and a little short, round, pin-cushiony womanstood at the door, with a cheery, blooming face, like a ripe apple. Shewas dressed, like Rachel, in sober gray, with the muslin folded neatlyacross her round, plump little chest.

"Ruth Stedman," said Rachel, coming joyfully forward; "how is thee,Ruth? she said, heartily taking both her hands.

"Nicely," said Ruth, taking off her little drab bonnet, and dusting itwith her handkerchief, displaying, as she did so, a round little head,on which the Quaker cap sat with a sort of jaunty air, despite all thestroking and patting of the small fat hands, which were busily appliedto arranging it. Certain stray locks of decidedly curly hair, too, hadescaped here and there, and had to be coaxed and cajoled intotheir place again; and then the new comer, who might have beenfive-and-twenty, turned from the small looking-glass, before which shehad been making these arrangements, and looked well pleased,--as mostpeople who looked at her might have been,--for she was decidedly awholesome, whole-hearted, chirruping little woman, as ever gladdenedman's heart withal.

"Ruth, this friend is Eliza Harris; and this is the little boy I toldthee of."

"I am glad to see thee, Eliza,--very," said Ruth, shaking hands, as ifEliza were an old friend she had long been expecting; "and this is thydear boy,--I brought a cake for him," she said, holding out a littleheart to the boy, who came up, gazing through his curls, and accepted itshyly.

"Where's thy baby, Ruth?" said Rachel.

"O, he's coming; but thy Mary caught him as I came in, and ran off withhim to the barn, to show him to the children."

At this moment, the door opened, and Mary, an honest, rosy-looking girl,with large brown eyes, like her mother's, came in with the baby.

"Ah! ha!" said Rachel, coming up, and taking the great, white, fatfellow in her arms, "how good he looks, and how he does grow!"

"To be sure, he does," said little bustling Ruth, as she took the child,and began taking off a little blue silk hood, and various layers andwrappers of outer garments; and having given a twitch here, and a pullthere, and variously adjusted and arranged him, and kissed him heartily,she set him on the floor to collect his thoughts. Baby seemed quite usedto this mode of proceeding, for he put his thumb in his mouth (as ifit were quite a thing of course), and seemed soon absorbed in his ownreflections, while the mother seated herself, and taking out a longstocking of mixed blue and white yarn, began to knit with briskness.

"Mary, thee'd better fill the kettle, hadn't thee?" gently suggested themother.

Mary took the kettle to the well, and soon reappearing, placed it overthe stove, where it was soon purring and steaming, a sort of censer ofhospitality and good cheer. The peaches, moreover, in obedience to a fewgentle whispers from Rachel, were soon deposited, by the same hand, in astew-pan over the fire.

Rachel now took down a snowy moulding-board, and, tying on anapron, proceeded quietly to making up some biscuits, first saying toMary,--"Mary, hadn't thee better tell John to get a chicken ready?" andMary disappeared accordingly.

"And how is Abigail Peters?" said Rachel, as she went on with herbiscuits.

"O, she's better," said Ruth; "I was in, this morning; made the bed,tidied up the house. Leah Hills went in, this afternoon, and baked breadand pies enough to last some days; and I engaged to go back to get herup, this evening."

"I will go in tomorrow, and do any cleaning there may be, and look overthe mending," said Rachel.

"Ah! that is well," said Ruth. "I've heard," she added, "that HannahStanwood is sick. John was up there, last night,--I must go theretomorrow."

"John can come in here to his meals, if thee needs to stay all day,"suggested Rachel.

"Thank thee, Rachel; will see, tomorrow; but, here comes Simeon."

Simeon Halliday, a tall, straight, muscular man, in drab coat andpantaloons, and broad-brimmed hat, now entered.

"How is thee, Ruth?" he said, warmly, as he spread his broad open handfor her little fat palm; "and how is John?"

"O! John is well, and all the rest of our folks," said Ruth, cheerily.

"Any news, father?" said Rachel, as she was putting her biscuits intothe oven.

"Peter Stebbins told me that they should be along tonight, with_friends_," said Simeon, significantly, as he was washing his hands at aneat sink, in a little back porch.

"Indeed!" said Rachel, looking thoughtfully, and glancing at Eliza.

"Did thee say thy name was Harris?" said Simeon to Eliza, as hereentered.

Rachel glanced quickly at her husband, as Eliza tremulously answered"yes;" her fears, ever uppermost, suggesting that possibly there mightbe advertisements out for her.

"Mother!" said Simeon, standing in the porch, and calling Rachel out.

"What does thee want, father?" said Rachel, rubbing her floury hands, asshe went into the porch.

"This child's husband is in the settlement, and will be here tonight,"said Simeon.

"Now, thee doesn't say that, father?" said Rachel, all her face radiantwith joy.

"It's really true. Peter was down yesterday, with the wagon, to theother stand, and there he found an old woman and two men; and one saidhis name was George Harris; and from what he told of his history, I amcertain who he is. He is a bright, likely fellow, too."

"Shall we tell her now?" said Simeon.

"Let's tell Ruth," said Rachel. "Here, Ruth,--come here."

Ruth laid down her knitting-work, and was in the back porch in a moment.

"Ruth, what does thee think?" said Rachel. "Father says Eliza's husbandis in the last company, and will be here tonight."

A burst of joy from the little Quakeress interrupted the speech. Shegave such a bound from the floor, as she clapped her little hands, thattwo stray curls fell from under her Quaker cap, and lay brightly on herwhite neckerchief.

"Hush thee, dear!" said Rachel, gently; "hush, Ruth! Tell us, shall wetell her now?"

"Now! to be sure,--this very minute. Why, now, suppose 't was my John,how should I feel? Do tell her, right off."

"Thee uses thyself only to learn how to love thy neighbor, Ruth," saidSimeon, looking, with a beaming face, on Ruth.

"To be sure. Isn't it what we are made for? If I didn't love John andthe baby, I should not know how to feel for her. Come, now do tellher,--do!" and she laid her hands persuasively on Rachel's arm. "Takeher into thy bed-room, there, and let me fry the chicken while thee doesit."

Rachel came out into the kitchen, where Eliza was sewing, and openingthe door of a small bed-room, said, gently, "Come in here with me, mydaughter; I have news to tell thee."

The blood flushed in Eliza's pale face; she rose, trembling with nervousanxiety, and looked towards her boy.

"No, no," said little Ruth, darting up, and seizing her hands. "Neverthee fear; it's good news, Eliza,--go in, go in!" And she gently pushedher to the door which closed after her; and then, turning round, shecaught little Harry in her arms, and began kissing him.

"Thee'll see thy father, little one. Does thee know it? Thy father iscoming," she said, over and over again, as the boy looked wonderingly ather.

Meanwhile, within the door, another scene was going on. Rachel Hallidaydrew Eliza toward her, and said, "The Lord hath had mercy on thee,daughter; thy husband hath escaped from the house of bondage."

The blood flushed to Eliza's cheek in a sudden glow, and went back toher heart with as sudden a rush. She sat down, pale and faint.

"Have courage, child," said Rachel, laying her hand on her head. "He isamong friends, who will bring him here tonight."

"Tonight!" Eliza repeated, "tonight!" The words lost all meaning to her;her head was dreamy and confused; all was mist for a moment.

When she awoke, she found herself snugly tucked up on the bed, with ablanket over her, and little Ruth rubbing her hands with camphor. Sheopened her eyes in a state of dreamy, delicious languor, such as onewho has long been bearing a heavy load, and now feels it gone, and wouldrest. The tension of the nerves, which had never ceased a moment sincethe first hour of her flight, had given way, and a strange feeling ofsecurity and rest came over her; and as she lay, with her large, darkeyes open, she followed, as in a quiet dream, the motions of those abouther. She saw the door open into the other room; saw the supper-table,with its snowy cloth; heard the dreamy murmur of the singing tea-kettle;saw Ruth tripping backward and forward, with plates of cake and saucersof preserves, and ever and anon stopping to put a cake into Harry'shand, or pat his head, or twine his long curls round her snowy fingers.She saw the ample, motherly form of Rachel, as she ever and anon came tothe bedside, and smoothed and arranged something about the bedclothes,and gave a tuck here and there, by way of expressing her good-will;and was conscious of a kind of sunshine beaming down upon her from herlarge, clear, brown eyes. She saw Ruth's husband come in,--saw her flyup to him, and commence whispering very earnestly, ever and anon, withimpressive gesture, pointing her little finger toward the room. She sawher, with the baby in her arms, sitting down to tea; she saw them allat table, and little Harry in a high chair, under the shadow ofRachel's ample wing; there were low murmurs of talk, gentle tinkling oftea-spoons, and musical clatter of cups and saucers, and all mingledin a delightful dream of rest; and Eliza slept, as she had not sleptbefore, since the fearful midnight hour when she had taken her child andfled through the frosty starlight.

She dreamed of a beautiful country,--a land, it seemed to her, ofrest,--green shores, pleasant islands, and beautifully glittering water;and there, in a house which kind voices told her was a home, she saw herboy playing, free and happy child. She heard her husband's footsteps;she felt him coming nearer; his arms were around her, his tears fallingon her face, and she awoke! It was no dream. The daylight had longfaded; her child lay calmly sleeping by her side; a candle was burningdimly on the stand, and her husband was sobbing by her pillow.

The next morning was a cheerful one at the Quaker house. "Mother" was upbetimes, and surrounded by busy girls and boys, whom we had scarce timeto introduce to our readers yesterday, and who all moved obediently toRachel's gentle "Thee had better," or more gentle "Hadn't thee better?"in the work of getting breakfast; for a breakfast in the luxuriousvalleys of Indiana is a thing complicated and multiform, and, likepicking up the rose-leaves and trimming the bushes in Paradise, askingother hands than those of the original mother. While, therefore, Johnran to the spring for fresh water, and Simeon the second sifted mealfor corn-cakes, and Mary ground coffee, Rachel moved gently, and quietlyabout, making biscuits, cutting up chicken, and diffusing a sort ofsunny radiance over the whole proceeding generally. If there was anydanger of friction or collision from the ill-regulated zeal of so manyyoung operators, her gentle "Come! come!" or "I wouldn't, now," wasquite sufficient to allay the difficulty. Bards have written of thecestus of Venus, that turned the heads of all the world in successivegenerations. We had rather, for our part, have the cestus of RachelHalliday, that kept heads from being turned, and made everything go onharmoniously. We think it is more suited to our modern days, decidedly.

While all other preparations were going on, Simeon the elder stood inhis shirt-sleeves before a little looking-glass in the corner, engagedin the anti-patriarchal operation of shaving. Everything went on sosociably, so quietly, so harmoniously, in the great kitchen,--it seemedso pleasant to every one to do just what they were doing, there was suchan atmosphere of mutual confidence and good fellowship everywhere,--eventhe knives and forks had a social clatter as they went on to the table;and the chicken and ham had a cheerful and joyous fizzle in the pan, asif they rather enjoyed being cooked than otherwise;--and when Georgeand Eliza and little Harry came out, they met such a hearty, rejoicingwelcome, no wonder it seemed to them like a dream.

At last, they were all seated at breakfast, while Mary stood at thestove, baking griddle-cakes, which, as they gained the true exactgolden-brown tint of perfection, were transferred quite handily to thetable.

Rachel never looked so truly and benignly happy as at the head of hertable. There was so much motherliness and full-heartedness even inthe way she passed a plate of cakes or poured a cup of coffee, that itseemed to put a spirit into the food and drink she offered.

It was the first time that ever George had sat down on equal terms atany white man's table; and he sat down, at first, with some constraintand awkwardness; but they all exhaled and went off like fog, in thegenial morning rays of this simple, overflowing kindness.

This, indeed, was a home,--_home_,--a word that George had never yetknown a meaning for; and a belief in God, and trust in his providence,began to encircle his heart, as, with a golden cloud of protection andconfidence, dark, misanthropic, pining atheistic doubts, and fiercedespair, melted away before the light of a living Gospel, breathed inliving faces, preached by a thousand unconscious acts of love and goodwill, which, like the cup of cold water given in the name of a disciple,shall never lose their reward.

"Father, what if thee should get found out again?" said Simeon second,as he buttered his cake.

"I should pay my fine," said Simeon, quietly.

"But what if they put thee in prison?"

"Couldn't thee and mother manage the farm?" said Simeon, smiling.

"Mother can do almost everything," said the boy. "But isn't it a shameto make such laws?"

"Thee mustn't speak evil of thy rulers, Simeon," said his father,gravely. "The Lord only gives us our worldly goods that we may dojustice and mercy; if our rulers require a price of us for it, we mustdeliver it up.

"Well, I hate those old slaveholders!" said the boy, who felt asunchristian as became any modern reformer.

"I am surprised at thee, son," said Simeon; "thy mother never taughtthee so. I would do even the same for the slaveholder as for the slave,if the Lord brought him to my door in affliction."

Simeon second blushed scarlet; but his mother only smiled, and said,"Simeon is my good boy; he will grow older, by and by, and then he willbe like his father."

"I hope, my good sir, that you are not exposed to any difficulty on ouraccount," said George, anxiously.

"Fear nothing, George, for therefore are we sent into the world. Ifwe would not meet trouble for a good cause, we were not worthy of ourname."

"But, for _me_," said George, "I could not bear it."

"Fear not, then, friend George; it is not for thee, but for God and man,we do it," said Simeon. "And now thou must lie by quietly this day, andtonight, at ten o'clock, Phineas Fletcher will carry thee onward to thenext stand,--thee and the rest of thy company. The pursuers are hardafter thee; we must not delay."

"If that is the case, why wait till evening?" said George.

"Thou art safe here by daylight, for every one in the settlement isa Friend, and all are watching. It has been found safer to travel bynight."