That day, after Mr. Burrell had finished his dinner, he remarked to his wife, “I saw something this morning, my dear, that made a deep impression on me.  I haven’t been able to get it out of my head for any length of time since; it touched me deeply, I assure you.”

“Why, what could it have been?  Pray tell me what it was.”

Thereupon, he gave his wife a graphic account of the events that had transpired at Blatchford’s in the morning; and in conclusion, said, “Now, you know, my dear, that no one would call me an Abolitionist; and I suppose I have some little prejudice, as well as others, against coloured people; but I had no idea that sensible men would have carried it to that extent, to set themselves up, as they did, in opposition to a little boy anxious to earn his bread by learning a useful trade.”

Mrs. Burrell was a young woman of about twenty-two, with a round good-natured face and plump comfortable-looking figure; she had a heart overflowing with kindness, and was naturally much affected by what he related.  “I declare it’s perfectly outrageous,” exclaimed she, indignantly; “and I wonder at Blatchford for submitting to it.  I wouldn’t allow myself to be dictated to in that manner—­and he such an Abolitionist too!  Had I been him, I should have stuck to my principles at any risk.  Poor little fellow!  I so wonder at Blatchford; I really don’t think he has acted manly.”

“Not so fast, my little woman, if you please—­that is the way with almost all of you, you let your hearts run away with your heads.  You are unjust to Blatchford; he could not help himself, he was completely in their power.  It is almost impossible at present to procure workmen in our business, and he is under contract to finish a large amount of work within a specified time; and if he should fail to fulfil his agreement it would subject him to immense loss—­in fact, it would entirely ruin him.  You are aware, my dear, that I am thoroughly acquainted with the state of his affairs; he is greatly in debt from unfortunate speculations, and a false step just now would overset him completely; he could not have done otherwise than he has, and do justice to himself and his family.  I felt that he could not; and in fact advised him to act as he did.”

“Now, George Burrell, you didn’t,” said she, reproachfully.

“Yes I did, my dear, because I thought of his family; I really believe though, had I encouraged him, he would have made the sacrifice.”

“And what became of the boy?”

“Oh; poor lad, he seemed very much cut down by it—­I was quite touched by his grief.  When I came out, I found him standing by a shop window crying bitterly.  I tried to pacify him, and told him I would endeavour to obtain a situation for him somewhere—­and I shall.”

“Has he parents?” asked Mrs. Burrell.

“Yes; and, by the way, don’t you remember whilst the mob was raging last summer, we read an account of a man running to the roof of a house to escape from the rioters?  You remember they chopped his hands off and threw him over?”