"They?"--I stared.

"Yes; Silas and Hester--and Sidney--and Mingo. They must have started
soon after moonrise, and had the whole bright night, with its black
shadows, for going."

"For going where, auntie; going where?"

"Then the rain came in God's own hour," she continued, as if wholly to
herself, "and washed out their trail."

I sprang from the bed. "Aunt 'Liza!"

"Yes, Maud, they've run away, and if only they may _get_ away. God be
praised!"

Of course, I cried like an infant. I threw myself upon her bosom.
"Oh, auntie, auntie, I'm afraid it's my fault! But when I tell you how
far I was from meaning it----"

"Don't tell me a word, my child; I wish it were my fault; I'd like to
be in your shoes. And, I don't care how right slavery is, I'll never
own a darky again!"


One day some two months after, at home again with father. Just as I
was leaving the house on some errand, Sidney--ragged, wet, and
bedraggled as a lost dog--sprang into my arms. When I had got her
reclothed and fed I eagerly heard her story. Three of the four had