Eliza recognized the voice and face for a man who owned a farm not far
from her old home.

"O, Mr. Symmes!--save me--do save me--do hide me!" said Elia.

"Why, what's this?" said the man. "Why, if 'tan't Shelby's gal!"

"My child!--this boy!--he'd sold him! There is his Mas'r," said she,
pointing to the Kentucky shore. "O, Mr. Symmes, you've got a little
boy!"

"So I have," said the man, as he roughly, but kindly, drew her up the
steep bank. "Besides, you're a right brave gal. I like grit, wherever I
see it."

When they had gained the top of the bank, the man paused.

"I'd be glad to do something for ye," said he; "but then there's nowhar
I could take ye. The best I can do is to tell ye to go _thar_," said
he, pointing to a large white house which stood by itself, off the main
street of the village. "Go thar; they're kind folks. Thar's no kind o'
danger but they'll help you,--they're up to all that sort o' thing."

"The Lord bless you!" said Eliza, earnestly.

"No 'casion, no 'casion in the world," said the man. "What I've done's
of no 'count."

"And, oh, surely, sir, you won't tell any one!"