“Well, I’d like to see this paragon of yours.  I believe I’ll go.”

“Well, let us get ready.”

“When do you start?”

“To-morrow.”

“All right.  I’ll be on hand.”  And with these words the two friends parted to meet again the next day at the railroad station.

The first of the speakers is the son of Josiah Collins, and his friend is Louis Le Croix, Camilla’s adopted brother.  He is somewhat changed within the last ten years.  Time has touched the golden wealth of his curls with a beautiful deep auburn, and the rich full tones of his voice tell that departed is written upon his childhood.

He is strongly Southern in his feelings, but having been educated in the North, whilst he is an enthusiast in defense of his section, as he calls the South, he is neither coarse and brutal in actions, nor fanatical in his devotion to slavery.  He thinks the Negroes are doing well enough in slavery, if the Abolitionists would only let matters rest, and he feels a sense of honor in defending the South.  She is his mother, he says, and that man is an ingrate who will not stand by his mother and defend her when she is in peril.

He and Charles Collins are fast friends, but [on the subject of slavery they are entirely opposed?].  And so on that point they have agreed to disagree.  They often have animated and exciting discussions, but they [pass?] and Josiah and Louis are just as friendly as they were before.

There were two arrivals the next evening in the [quiet?] village of S. One was Charles Collins, the other his Southern friend, who was received with the warmest welcome, and soon found himself at home in the pleasant society of his friend’s family.  The evening was enlivened with social chat and music, until ten o’clock, when Josiah gathered his children and having read the Bible in a deeply impressive manner, breathed one of the most simple and fervent prayers he had ever heard.

While they were bending at prayer in this pleasant home, a shabby looking man came walking slowly and wearily into the village.  He gazed cautiously around and looked anxiously in the street as though he were looking for some one, but did not like to trust his business to every one.

At length he saw an elderly man, dressed in plain clothes, and a broad brim hat, and drawing near he spoke to him in a low and hesitating voice, and asked if he knew a Mr. Thomas Carpenter.

“My name is Carpenter,” said the friend, “come with me.”

There was something in the voice, and manner of the friend that assured the stranger.  His whole manner changed.  A peaceful expression stole over his dark, sad face, and the drooping limbs seemed to be aroused by a new infusion of energy.

“Come in,” said Thomas, as he reached his door, “come in, thee’s welcome to stop and rest with us.”

“Anna,” said Thomas,[2] his face beaming with kindness, “I’ve brought thee a guest.  Here is another passenger by the Underground Railroad.”