“It seems odd that the police-officer should apply to him to catch a runaway,” said Mrs. Delano.

“That’s the fun of it,” responded Mr. Percival.  “The extinguishers are themselves taking fire.  The fact is, Boston policemen don’t feel exactly in their element as slave-hunters.  They are too near Bunker Hill; and on the Fourth of July they are reminded of the Declaration of Independence, which, though it is going out of fashion, is still regarded by a majority of the people as a venerable document.  Then they have Whittier’s trumpet-tones ringing in their ears,—­

  “’No slave hunt in our borders! no pirate on our strand! 
  No fetters in the Bay State! no slave upon our land!’”

“How did Mr. Brick describe Mr. Fitzgerald’s runaway slave?” inquired Flora.

“He said he was tall and very black, with a white scar over his right eye.”

“That’s Tom!” exclaimed she.  “How glad Chloe will be!  But I wonder he didn’t come here the first thing.  We could have told him how well she was getting on in New Bedford.”

“Father Snowdon will tell him all about that,” rejoined Mr. Percival.  “If Tom was in the city, he probably kept him closely hidden, on account of the number of Southerners who have recently arrived; and after the hint the police-officer gave him, he doubtless hustled him out of town in the quickest manner.”

“I want to hurrah for that policeman,” said Flora; “but Mamita would think I was a very rude young lady, or rather that I was no lady at all.  But perhaps you’ll let me sing hurrah, Mamita?”

Receiving a smile for answer, she flew to the piano, and, improvising an accompaniment to herself, she began to sing hurrah! through all manner of variations, high and low, rapidly trilled and slowly prolonged, now bursting full upon the ear, now receding in the distance.  It was such a lively fantasia, that it made Mr. Percival laugh, while Mrs. Delano’s face was illuminated by a quiet smile.

In the midst of the merriment, the door-bell rang.  Flora started from the piano, seized her worsted-work, and said, “Now, Mamita, I’m ready to receive company like a pink of propriety.”  But the change was so sudden, that her eyes were still laughing when Mr. Green entered an instant after; and he again caught that archly demure expression which seemed to him so fascinating.  The earnestness of his salutation was so different from his usual formal politeness, that Mrs. Delano could not fail to observe it.  The conversation turned upon incidents of travel after they had parted so suddenly.  “I shall never cease to regret,” said he, “that you missed hearing La Senorita Campaneo.  She was a most extraordinary creature.  Superbly handsome; and do you know, Miss Delano, I now and then caught a look that reminded me very much of you.  Unfortunately, you have lost your chance to hear her.  For Mr. King, the son of our Boston millionnaire, who has lately