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 paternalembrace, 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--"
"Friend Speakman says there's no danger. He is only weak-breasted,

as yet, and clerking isn't good for him. I saw the young man at
the store. If his looks don't belie him, he's well-behaved and

orderly."
So it was settled that Richard Hilton the younger was to be an

inmate of Friend Mitchenor's house during the summer.
II.

At the end of ten days he came.
In the under-sized, earnest, dark-haired and dark-eyed young man of

three-and-twenty, Abigail Mitchenor at once felt a motherly
interest. Having received him as a temporary member of the family,

she considered him entitled to the same watchful care as if he were
in reality an invalid son. The ice over an hereditary Quaker

nature is but a thin crust, if one knows how to break it; and in
Richard Hilton's case, it was already broken before his

arrival. His only embarrassment, in fact, arose from the
difficulty which he naturally experienced in adapting himself to

the speech and address of the Mitchenor family. The greetings of
old Eli, grave, yet kindly, of Abigail, quaintly familiar and

tender, of Moses, cordial and slightly condescending, and finally
of Asenath, simple and natural to a degree which impressed him like

a new revelation in woman, at once indicated to him his position
among them. His city manners, he felt, instinctively" target="_blank" title="ad.本能地">instinctively, must be

unlearned, or at least laid aside for a time. Yet it was not easy
for him to assume, at such short notice, those of his hosts.

Happening to address Asenath as "Miss Mitchenor," Eli turned to him
with a rebuking face.

"We do not use compliments, Richard," said he; "my daughter's name
is Asenath.

"I beg pardon. I will try to accustom myself to your ways, since
you have been so kind as to take me for a while," apologized

Richard Hilton.
"Thee's under no obligation to us," said Friend Mitchenor, in his

strict sense of justice; "thee pays for what thee gets."
The finer feminineinstinct of Abigail led her to interpose.

"We'll not expect too much of thee, at first, Richard," she
remarked, with a kind expression of face, which had the effect of

a smile: "but our ways are plain and easily learned. Thee knows,
perhaps, that we're no respecters of persons."

It was some days, however, before the young man could overcome his
natural hesitation at the familiarity implied by these new forms of

speech. "Friend Mitchenor" and "Moses" were not difficult to
learn, but it seemed a want of respect to address as "Abigail" a

woman of such sweet and serenedignity as the mother, and he was
fain to avoid either extreme by calling her, with her cheerful

permission, "Aunt Mitchenor." On the other hand, his own modest
and unobtrusive nature soon won the confidence and cordial regard

of the family. He occasionally busied himself in the garden, by
way of exercise, or accompanied Moses to the corn-field or the

woodland on the hill, but was careful never to interfere at
inopportune times, and willing to learn silently, by the simple

process of looking on.
One afternoon, as he was idly sitting on the stone wall which

separated the garden from the lane, Asenath, attired in a new gown
of chocolate-colored calico, with a double-handled willow work-

basket on her arm, issued from the house. As she approached him,
she paused and said--

"The time seems to hang heavy on thy hands, Richard. If thee's
strong enough to walk to the village and back, it might do thee

more good than sitting still."
Richard Hilton at once jumped down from the wall.

"Certainly I am able to go," said he, "if you will allow it."
"Haven't I asked thee?" was her quiet reply.

"Let me carry your basket," he said, suddenly, after they had
walked, side by side, some distance down the lane.

"Indeed, I shall not let thee do that. I'm only going for the
mail, and some little things at the store, that make no weight at

all. Thee mustn't think I'm like the young women in the city, who,
I'm told, if they buy a spool of Cotton, must have it sent home to

them. Besides, thee mustn't over-exert thy strength."
Richard Hilton laughed merrily at the gravity with which she

uttered the last sentence.
"Why, Miss--Asenath, I mean--what am I good for; if I have not

strength enough to carry a basket?"
"Thee's a man, I know, and I think a man would almost as lief be

thought wicked as weak. Thee can't help being weakly-inclined, and
it's only right that thee should be careful of thyself. There's

surely nothing in that that thee need be ashamed of."
While thus speaking, Asenath moderated her walk, in order,

unconsciously to her companion, to restrain his steps.
"Oh, there are the dog's-tooth violets in blossom?" she exclaimed,

pointing to a shady spot beside the brook; "does thee know them?"
Richard immediately gathered and brought to her a handful of the

nodding yellow bells, trembling above their large, cool, spotted
leaves.

"How beautiful they are!" said he; "but I should never have taken
them for violets."

"They are misnamed," she answered. "The flower is an
Erythronium; but I am accustomed to the common name, and like it.

Did thee ever study botany?"
"Not at all. I can tell a geranium, when I see it, and I know a

heliotrope by the smell. I could never mistake a red cabbage for
a rose, and I can recognize a hollyhock or a sunflower at a

considerable distance. The wild flowers are all strangers to me;
I wish I knew something about them."