“Mr. Bell, I must again urge it upon your conscience,” said Mr. Percival, “that you are more responsible than the captain in this matter.  Your captains, of course, act under your orders, and would do nothing contrary to your expressed wishes.  Captain Kane has, doubtless, consulted you in this business.”

“That’s none of your concern, sir,” retorted the irascible merchant.  “My captains know that I think Southern gentlemen ought to be protected in their property; and that is sufficient.  I stand by the Constitution, sir.  I honor the reverend gentleman who said he was ready to send his mother or his brother into slavery, if the laws required it.  That’s the proper spirit, sir.  You fanatics, with your useless abstractions about human rights, are injuring trade, and endangering the peace of the country.  You are doing all you can to incite the slaves to insurrection.  I don’t pretend, to be wiser than the framers of the Constitution, sir.  I don’t pretend to be wiser than Daniel Webster, sir, who said in Congress that he; would support, to the fullest extent, any law Southern gentlemen chose to frame for the recovery of fugitive slaves.”

“I wish you a better conscience-keeper,” rejoined Francis Jackson, rising as he spoke.  “I don’t see, my friend, that there’s any use in staying here to talk any longer.  There’s none so deaf as those that won’t hear.”

Mr. Percival rose at this suggestion, and “Good evening” was exchanged, with formal bows on both sides.  But sturdy Francis Jackson made no bow, and uttered no “Good evening.”  When they were in the street, and the subject was alluded to by his companion, he simply replied:  “I’ve pretty much done with saying or doing what I don’t mean.  It’s a pity that dark-complexioned grandson of his couldn’t be carried off as a slave.  That might, perhaps, bring him to a realizing sense of the state of things.”

CHAPTER XXVII.

A few days past the middle of the following May, a carriage stopped before the house of Mr. Joseph Bright, in Northampton, and Mrs. Delano, with all the Blumenthal family, descended from it.  Mr. Bright received them at the gate, his face smiling all over.  “You’re welcome, ladies,” said he.  “Walk in! walk in!  Betsey, this is Mrs. Delano.  This is Mrs. Bright, ladies.  Things ain’t so stylish here as at your house; but I hope you’ll find ’em comfortable.”

Mrs. Bright, a sensible-looking woman, with great moderation of manner, showed them into a plainly furnished, but very neat parlor.

“O, how pleasant this is!” exclaimed Mrs. Blumenthal, as she looked out of one of the side-windows.

The children ran up to her repeating:  “How pleasant!  What a nice hedge, mamma!  And see that wall all covered with pretty flowers!”

“Those are moss-pinks,” said Mrs. Bright.  “I think they are very ornamental to a wall.”

“Did you plant them?” inquired Rosa.