“I’ll be bound you ax fer Jule first, my much-respected comrade.  But it’s only one of the ole woman’s conniption fits, and you know she’s got nineteen lives.  People of the catamount sort always has.  You’d better gin a thought to yourself now.  I got you into this scrape, and I mean to see you out, as the dog said to the ’possum in its hole.  Git up onto this four-legged quadruped and go as fur as I go on the road to peace and safety.  Now, I tell you what, the hawk’s got a mighty good purchase onto you, my chicken, and he’s jest about to light, and when he lights, look out fer feathers!  Don’t sleep under the paternal shingles, as they say.  Go to Andrew’s castle, and he’ll help you git acrost the river into the glorious State of ole Kaintuck afore any warrant can be got out fer takin’ you up.  Never once thought of your bein’ took up.  But don’t delay, as the preachers say.  The time is short, and the human heart is desperately wicked and mighty deceitful and onsartain.”

As far as Jonas traveled his way, he carried August upon the gray horse.  Then the latter hurried across the fields to his father’s cabin.  Little Wilhelmina sat with face against the window waiting his return.

“Where did you go, August?  Did you see the pretty girl at Anderson’s?”

He stooped and kissed her, but, without speaking a word to her, he went over to where his mother sat darning the last of her basket of stockings.  All the rest were asleep, and having assured himself of this, he drew up a low chair and leaned his elbow on his knee and hi head on his hand, and told the whole adventure of the evening to his mother, and then dropped his head on her lap and wept in a still way.  And the sweet-eyed, weary Moravian mother laid her two hands upon his head and prayed.  And Wilhelmina knelt instinctively by the side of her brother.

[Illustration:  THE MOTHER’S BLESSING.]

Perhaps there is no God.  Or perhaps He is so great that our praying has no effect.  Perhaps this strong crying of our hearts to Him in our extremity is no witness of his readiness to hear.  Let him live in doubt who can.  Let me believe that the tender mother-heart and the loving sister-heart in that little cabin did reach up to the great Heart that is over us all in Fatherly love, did find a real comfort for themselves, and did bring a strength-giving and sanctifying something upon the head of the young man, who straightway rose up refreshed, and departed out into the night, leaving behind him mother and sister straining their eyes after him in the blackness, and carrying with him thoughts and memories, and—­who shall doubt?—­a genuine heavenly inspiration that saved him in the trials in which we shall next meet him.

At two o’clock that night August Wehle stood upon the shore of the Ohio in company with Andrew Anderson, the Backwoods Philosopher.  Andrew waved a fire-brand at the steamboat “Isaac Shelby,” which was coming round the bend.  And the captain tapped his bell three times and stopped his engines.  Then the yawl took the two men aboard, and two days afterward Andrew came back alone.