In our meetings he gradually came to feel at home, and at last surprised us one evening by a recital of his life, and an earnest appeal to Christians to forget not those who looked to the star in the North as to a light that promised them freedom and the comforts of a home.  His large, expressive eyes grew luminous with feeling, and as he stood, rapt in his own thought, which carried him back to the old home, he seemed like a tower of strength in our midst, and when at the close of the meeting, as we walked behind them, he took his father’s arm, I heard Matthias say: 

“John, you’s done made me proud as Loosfer.”

And his handsome son bowed his head as he answered: 

“Thank the God who made us all to be brothers that I have the power to tell these thoughts that rise within me.  You feel just as I do, father, only you can’t express it, because they did not let you grow.  The heavy weight of slavery has held you close to the ground, and this is the foundation of the system.  The ignorance of the chattel is the life that feeds the master’s power.  Like horses, if slaves knew this power, they could break their bondage, and no hand on earth could stop them.”

Among the pleasant occurrences of this summer were the picnics of the mill children, who enjoyed two days in July and two days in August rambling in the woods and taking dinner in the old hemlock grove, where the trees had been so lavish of their gifts that a soft carpet of their fallen leaves covered the ground the long year through.  The coolness of this beautiful shelter was most refreshing, and it seemed as if nature knew just how much room was needed to spread our lunch-cloth, for there was the nicest spot in the world right in the heart of the grove, and as we sat around our lowly table every third or fourth person had a splendid hemlock tree to lean against.  This was a rare treat to the mill children, and oh, the faces of the pictures we painted in these days.

Willie and Burton both had their own friends with them, and when in conversation Louis spoke of the work of repairing the church and putting in new pews, Burton Brown said: 

“My father can do such work.”

“Can you, Mr. Brown?” said Louis.

“Yes, sir,” he replied; “working in lumber is my trade; change and hard luck forced me into the mill.”

I cannot tell you of all the events that occurred among us, but when the smoke from a new chimney rose in the very spot almost where Aunt Hildy’s cottage stood, it was due to the fact that a new double house had been erected on a splendid lot, and Willie and Burton were living there with their parents.

Mrs. Moore had grown young looking, though the grey hairs that mingled with the brown still held their places.  Mr. Brown did not meet temptations here, and as Aunt Hildy said: 

“Headin’ him off in a Christian way was the thing that saved him; poor critter, his stomach gnawed, and he needed just them bitters I made for him, and Louis’ kind treatment and planning to help him be born agin, and its done good and strong, jest as I knew it would be.”