He started out, and ran against Eliphalet.

“Hello!” he cried.  “Who’s this?”

“A young Yankee you landed here this morning, Lige,” said the Colonel.  “What do you think of him?”

“Humph!” exclaimed the Captain.

“He has no friends in town, and he is looking for employment.  Isn’t that so, sonny?” asked the Colonels kindly.

“Yes.”

“Come, Lige, would you take him?” said Mr. Carvel.

The young Captain looked into Eliphalet’s face.  The dart that shot from his eyes was of an aggressive honesty; and Mr. Hopper’s, after an attempt at defiance, were dropped.

“No,” said the Captain.

“Why not, Lige?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s been listening,” said Captain Lige, as he departed.

Colonel Carvel began to hum softly to himself:—­

    “’One said it was an owl, and the other he said nay,
     One said it was a church with the steeple torn away,
     Look a’ there now!’

“I reckon you’re a rank abolitionist,” said he to Eliphalet, abruptly.

“I don’t see any particular harm in keepin’ slaves,” Mr. Hopper replied, shifting to the other foot.

Whereupon the Colonel stretched his legs apart, seized his goatee, pulled his head down, and gazed at him for some time from under his eyebrows, so searchingly that the blood flew to Mr. Hopper’s fleshy face.  He mopped it with a dark-red handkerchief, stared at everything in the place save the gentleman in front of him, and wondered whether he had ever in his life been so uncomfortable.  Then he smiled sheepishly, hated himself, and began to hate the Colonel.

“Ever hear of the Liberator?”

“No, sir,” said Mr. Hopper.

“Where do you come from?” This was downright directness, from which there was no escape.

“Willesden, Massachusetts.”

“Umph!  And never heard of Mr. Garrison?”

“I’ve had to work all my life.”

“What can you do, sonny?”

“I cal’late to sweep out a store.  I have kept books,” Mr. Hopper vouchsafed.

“Would you like work here?” asked the Colonel, kindly.  The green eyes looked up swiftly, and down again.

“What’ll you give me?”

The good man was surprised.  “Well,” said he, “seven dollars a week.”

Many a time in after life had the Colonel reason to think over this scene.  He was a man the singleness of whose motives could not be questioned.  The one and sufficient reason for giving work to a homeless boy, from the hated state of the Liberator, was charity.  The Colonel had his moods, like many another worthy man.

The small specks on the horizon sometimes grow into the hugest of thunder clouds.  And an act of charity, out of the wisdom of God, may produce on this earth either good or evil.

Eliphalet closed with the bargain.  Ephum was called and told to lead the recruit to the presence of Mr. Hood, the manager.  And he spent the remainder of a hot day checking invoices in the shipping entrance on Second Street.