“Say!” spoke up Fessenden’s, “can I stop here over night?”

“You don’t suppose,” said Mr. Williams, “we’d turn you out in such weather as this, do you?”

“Wal!” said Fessenden’s, “nobody else would keep me.”

“Don’t you be troubled!  While we ’ve a ruf over our heads, no stranger don’t git turned away from it that wants shelter, and will put up with our ’commodations.  We can keep you to-night, and probably to-morrow night, if you like to stay; but after that I can’t promise.  Mebby we sha’n’t have a ruf for our own heads then.  But we’ll trust the Lord,” said Mr. Williams, with a deep, serious smile,—­while Mrs. Williams sighed.

“How is it about that matter?” Gentleman Bill inquired.

“The house is to be tore down Monday, I suppose,” replied his father, mildly.

“My gracious!” exclaimed Bill; “Mr. Frisbie a’n’t really going to carry that threat into execution?”

“That’s what he says, William.  He has got a prejudice ag’inst color, you know.  Since he lost the election, through the opposition of the abolitionists, as he thinks, he’s been very much excited on the subject,” added Mr. Williams, in his subdued way.

“Excited!” echoed his wife, bitterly.

She was a much-suffering woman, inclined to melancholy; but there was a latent fire in her when she seemed most despondent, and she roused up now and spoke with passionate, flashing eyes:—­

“Sence he got beat, town-meetin’ day, he don’t ’pear to take no comfort, ’thout ‘t is hatin’ Judge Gingerford and spitin’ niggers, as he calls us.  He sent his hired man over agin this mornin’, to say, if we wa’n’t out of the house by Monday, ’t would be pulled down on to our heads.  Call that Christian, when he knows we can’t git another house, there ’s sich a s’picion agin people o’ color?”

“’T wa’n’t alluz so; ’t wa’n’t so in my day,” said the old woman, pausing, as she was administering the gruel to Fessenden’s with a spoon.  “Here’s gran’pa, he was a slave, and I was born a slave, in this here very State, as long ago as when they used to have slaves here, as I’ve told ye time and agin; though I don’t clearly remember it, for I scacely ever knowed what bondage was, bless the Lord!  But we allus foun’ somebody to be kind to us, and got along,—­for it did seem as though God kind o’ looked arter us, and took keer on us, same as He did o’ white folks.  We’ve been carried through, somehow or ’nother; and I can’t help thinkin’ as how we shall be yit, spite o’ Mr. Frisbie.  S’pose God’ll forgit us ’cause His grand church-folks do?  S’pose all they can say’ll pedijice Him?”

Having advanced this unanswerable question, she turned once more to her patient, who put up his head, and opened his mouth wide, to receive the great spoon.

“Lucky for them that can trust the Lord!” said Mrs. Williams, over her patching.  “But if I was a man, I’m ’fraid I should put my trust in a good knife, and stan’ by the ol’ house when they come to pull it down!  The fust man laid hands on ’t ’ud git hurt, I’m dreffle ‘fraid!  Prayin’ won’t save it, you see!”