Then Southern Mary and her husband laughed, not in derision, for they admired Aunt Hildy, and Mr. Waterman said: 

“If men had your backbone, Mrs. Patten, there would be a different state of things altogether.”

“My husband is almost an Abolitionist,” said Mary.  “Some of our people dislike him greatly; but my father is a good man and he does not illtreat one of his people.  He is one of the exceptional cases.  But the system is, I know, accursed by God.  I believe it to be a huge scale that fell from the serpent’s back in the Garden, and I feel the day will dawn when the accursed presence of slavery will be no longer known.”

“Good!” said Aunt Hildy, “and there’s more kinds than one.  Them little children is slaves—­or was.”

“When you get ready to make out your pension papers, Mrs. Patten,” said Mary, “let me help jest a little; I would like to lay a corner-stone somewhere in this village for some one’s benefit.  You know this is the site of a drama in my life; I pray never to enact its like again.”

“I’ll give you a chance,” said Aunt Hildy.

Louis went over to Jane’s in the morning, and the boys returned with him to tell us what a good supper and breakfast they had had.

“And such a nice bed,” added Burton.  “When we looked out of the window this morning I wished mother could come.”

“Poor little soul!” I said, “your mother shall come.  We will move every obstacle from her path.”

“If father could find work here it would be nice,” and a little while after, he said in a low tone: 

“There ain’t any rum shops here, is there?”

He was a tender plant, touchingly sensitive, and when I told him we were to send word to his mother that he liked his home, his joy was a pleasure to witness.

“Miss North says we may have some flowers, and we’d better go back, Willie, and see about getting the spot ready—­she had her seed box out last night, but I guess she’ll give us plants too, to put in the ground.”

He was very thoughtful, and would not stay too long for anything, he said.  Aunt Hildy looked after them, and sighed with the thoughts that rose within, but said no word.

The three weeks of Mr. and Mrs. Waterman’s stay were at an end.

“On the morrow,” said Mary, “we go to Aunty Goodwin’s.  I want to go, and dread to leave.  But is that Matthias coming over the hill?  It is, and I have something to tell him.  I have meant to do it before, but there was really no opportunity.  Come out with me, and let’s sit down under the elm tree while I tell him.  Come, Allie,” and she lifted the blue-eyed baby tenderly.  Oh, how sweet she was! and I wondered how we could bear to lose her.  She crowed with delight at Matthias’ approach, and at Mary’s suggestion he took a seat beside us.

“I have something to tell you now; open wide your ears, Uncle Peter.”

“What’s dat you say, Miss Molly; got some news from home?”