FullReads

The old stone house in front, the spring-house in a green little hollow just below it, the walled garden, with its clumps of box and lilac, and the vast barn on the left, all joining in expressing a silent welcome to their owner, as he drove up the lane. Moses, a man of twenty-five, left his work in the garden, and walked forward in his shirt-sleeves.

“Well, father, how does thee do?” was his quiet greeting, as they shook hands.

“How’s mother, by this time?” asked Eli.

“Oh, thee needn’t have been concerned,” said the son. “There she is. Go in: I’ll tend to the horse.”

Abigail and her daughter appeared on the piazza. The mother was a woman of fifty, thin and delicate in frame, but with a smooth, placid beauty of countenance which had survived her youth. She was dressed in a simple dove-colored gown, with book-muslin cap and handkerchief, so scrupulously arranged that one might have associated with her for six months without ever discovering a spot on the former, or an uneven fold in the latter. Asenath, who followed, was almost as plainly attired, her dress being a dark- blue calico, while a white pasteboard sun-bonnet, with broad cape, covered her head.

“Well, Abigail, how art thou?” said Eli, quietly giving his hand to his wife.

“I’m glad to see thee back,” was her simple welcome.

No doubt they had kissed each other as lovers, but Asenath had witnessed this manifestation of affection but once in her life– after the burial of a younger sister. The fact impressed her with a peculiar sense of sanctity and solemnity: it was a caress wrung forth by a season of tribulation, and therefore was too earnest to be profaned to the uses of joy. So far, therefore, from expecting a paternal embrace, she would have felt, had it been given, like the doomed daughter of the Gileadite, consecrated to sacrifice.

Both she and her mother were anxious to hear the proceedings of the meeting, and to receive personal news of the many friends whom Eli had seen; but they asked few questions until the supper-table was ready and Moses had come in from the barn. The old man enjoyed talking, but it must be in his own way and at his own good time. They must wait until the communicative spirit should move him. With the first cup of coffee the inspiration came. Hovering at first over indifferent details, he gradually approached those of more importance,–told of the addresses which had been made, the points of discipline discussed, the testimony borne, and the appearance and genealogy of any new Friends who had taken a prominent part therein. Finally, at the close of his relation, he said–

“Abigail, there is one thing I must talk to thee about. Friend Speakman’s partner,–perhaps thee’s heard of him, Richard Hilton,– has a son who is weakly. He’s two or three years younger than Moses. His mother was consumptive, and they’re afraid he takes after her. His father wants to send him into the country for the summer–to some place where he’ll have good air, and quiet, and moderate exercise, and Friend Speakman spoke of us. I thought I’d mention it to thee, and if thee thinks well of it, we can send word down next week, when Josiah Comly goes”

“What does THEE think?” asked his wife, after a pause

“He’s a very quiet, steady young man, Friend Speakman says, and would be very little trouble to thee. I thought perhaps his board would buy the new yoke of oxen we must have in the fall, and the price of the fat ones might go to help set up Moses. But it’s for thee to decide.”

“I suppose we could take him,” said Abigail, seeing that the decision was virtually made already; “there’s the corner room, which we don’t often use. Only, if he should get worse on our hands–“