One of their first acts, after their removal, was to take back to their service the incompetent Stephen whom they had been forced to discharge from Fort Lee, and who had lived a precarious life afterwards.  They gave him work on the farm, paid him the usual wages, and patiently endeavored to correct his faults.  A young nephew in delicate health was also added to their household; and, a few months later, Angelina having heard that an old friend and her daughter in Charleston were in pecuniary distress and feeble health, wrote and offered them a home with her for a year.

“They have no means of support, and are anxious to leave Carolina,” wrote Angelina to Jane Smith; “we will keep them until their health is recruited, their minds rested, and some situation found for them where they can earn their own living.  We know not,” she adds, “whom else the Lord may send us, and only pray Him to help us to fulfil His will towards all whose lot may be cast among us.”

The visitors to the Belleville farm—­chiefly old and new anti-slavery friends—­were numerous, and were always received with a cordiality which left no room to doubt its sincerity.

At one time they received into their family a poor young man from Jamaica, personally a stranger, but of whose labors as a self-appointed missionary among the recently emancipated slaves of the West Indies they had heard.  He had labored for three years, supporting himself as he could, until he was utterly broken down in health, when he came back to die.  His friendless situation appealed to the warmest sympathy of the Welds, and he was brought to their hospitable home.  The pleasantest room in the house was given to him, and every attention bestowed upon him, until death came to his relief.

The people of their neighborhood soon learned to know where they could confidently turn for help in any kind of distress.  It would be difficult to tell the number of times that one or the other of the great-hearted trio responded to the summons from a sick or dying bed, and gave without stint of their sympathy, their time, and their labor.

Once, following only her own conviction of duty, Angelina left her home to go and nurse a wretched colored man and his wife, ill with small-pox and abandoned by everyone.  She stayed with them night and day until they were so far recovered as to be able to help themselves.

What a picture is this!  That humble cabin with its miserable occupants—­and they negroes—­ill with a loathsome disease, suffering, praying for help, but deserted by neighbors and friends.  Suddenly a fair, delicate face bends over them; a sweet, low voice bids them be comforted, and gentle hands lift the cooling draught to their parched lips, bathe their fevered brows, make comfortable their poor bed, and then, angel as she appears to them, stations herself beside them, to minister to them like the true sister of mercy she was.