I could hardly see where we had room for all the gifts that came to us, for Clara's part of the house was well filled, and Aunt Hildy's belongings took nearly all the upstairs room we could spare; but by moving and shifting, and using a little gumption, as Aunt Hildy expressed it, they were all disposed of properly.

The clock occupied a corner in Louis' room, which had been Hal's studio, and was now to belong, with one other on Clara's side, to us two. Mother had said before our marriage:

"I can never let Emily go unless it be absolutely necessary. The boys are both settled, and I desire Emily to remain here. It would be lonely for her father and myself should she leave us."

I had no wish to do so, and Louis and Clara were as one in this matter; so we were to live right on together, and the convenient situation of the rooms made it pleasant for all concerned.

"Don't want no men folks round under foot," Aunt Hildy said, and there was no need for it, for Louis' room, while accessible, was out of the way, and it seemed to me as if the plan had fallen from a hand that knew our wants better than we knew ourselves. What Louis' work would be, I could not say, neither could he. To use his own language, as we talked together of the coming days, "I am to be ready to do daily all that my hand finds to do; and the work for which I am fitted will, I trust, fall directly before me." He had a right to be called the "Town's Friend," I thought, for his active brain and tender heart were constantly bringing before him some errand of mercy, or act of charity, all of which were willingly and well performed.

It was not long after our marriage that he was called on to fill Mr. Davis' place in the pulpit. I trembled to think of it; but you should have seen Clara when, as we entered the church together, he passed the pew door to follow Mr. Davis to the pulpit; for the latter, though from weakness of the bronchial tubes unable to speak, was anxious to be by the side of his friend, as he verified his prediction. There was a glory covering Clara's face, and her eyes turned full upon her boy with an unwavering light of steadfast faith in his power and goodness, as from his lips fell the text, "If a man die shall he live again?"

His opening prayer was impressively simple, and the text, it seemed to me, just like a door which, swinging on its hinges, brought full before his vision the picture of the life that is and the life that is to come. His illustrations were so naturally drawn, and so beautifully fitted to the needs of our earthly and spiritual existence, that I knew no words had ever thrown around the old church people so wondrous a garment of well-fitted thought.

"If this is all," he said, "this living from day to day, oppressed with the needs of the flesh, we have nothing to be thankful for; but if, as I can both see and know, man lives again, we have all to give great praise, and also rejoice through our deeds, that we are the children of the eternal Father."

Not a word of utter darkness, not a terrifying picture of a wrathful and impatient God did he draw, but it was all tenderness and love that found its way to the hearts of all his hearers; and when, in his own blessed way, he pronounced the benediction, I felt that a full wave of kindness covered us all, and I said in my heart:

"Oh, Louis, Emily will help you; Emily will do it!"

Mr. Davis' eyes were bright with gratitude and great joy as he greeted us after the service, and he whispered to me:

"You are the wife of a minister."

This was only a beginning, and for months after, every other Sabbath Louis occupied the pulpit, and to the surprise of Mr. Davis, all those who had become interested in the dispensation of Mr. Ballou, and who had now for a long time been to the church where we had heard the sermon which came as dew to my hungry soul, began to come again to the old church. Louis' preaching drew them there, and they settled in their old place to hear, as they expressed it, "the best sermons that ever were preached." This was pleasant. Louis had said:

"I cannot subscribe to the articles of your creed, or of any other, but am willing and anxious to express to others the thoughts that are within me."

This made no difference, for they knew he spoke truly, and also that the armor of his righteousness was made of the good deeds which he performed daily. It helped Mr. Davis along, and after a time his health became better; but even then he insisted on Louis preaching often, which he gladly did.

On the Christmas of this year, 1846, there was service as usual at our church, and both Mr. Davis and Louis occupied the pulpit. A Christmas service was not usual save in the Episcopal church, but Mr. Davis asked this privilege. His father had been a strict Episcopalian, and he had learned in his early years to love that church. Our people were not loth to grant his request, and I think this Christmas will never be forgotten.

We took supper at Hal's with Aunt Phebe, who had come with her husband to pay us, what Mr. Dayton termed, "a young visit." He had perfect knowledge of the English language, and power to express himself not only with words, but with a most characteristic combination of them. He said his wife felt anxious that he should be on amicable terms with her consanguineous friends, but he expected we should attribute less of goodness to him than to her, for "Phebe Ann" was a remarkable woman. "And this," he added, "is why she appreciates me."

Ben tried in vain to interest him more than a few moments at a time, even though he displayed his young stock and invited him into the broom-corn room.

It was not till he espied a Daboll's Arithmetic in Hal's studio that he became interested in the belongings of that house, albeit Hal and Mary had shown him the statuary they so much prized. He looked at the statuettes and remarked to Hal:

"You do that better than I do, but what after all does it amount to? It never will save a man from sin; never break a fetter, or dash away a wine-cup. But what do you know about figures? Do you think you know very much?"

"Not as much as I wish," Ben answered, as Hal smiled at the plain question.

"I thought so," said Mr. Dayton; "and the very best thing you can do, young man, is to come down to my house, or perhaps I can come up here, and gather some really useful and necessary information about figures. It will make a man of you. I guess you're a pretty good boy, and you only need brightening up a little."

Hal replied: "I wish you would, Uncle Dayton; that is just what I should like."

"Well," said he, "it wouldn't do you any hurt to come with him."

"I should come, too," said Mary.

"Come right along," was the reply. At supper time he said he preferred a simple dish of bread and milk, which he seemed to enjoy greatly, and all the niceties Mary had prepared were set aside unnoticed.

"Do you know what day you were born on, Ben?" he said.

"I know the day of the month, sir, but not the day of the week."

"Tell me the day of the month and year and I will tell you the day of the week."

"September 6, 1828."

"Let's see," said the philosopher, turning his eyes to the ceiling; "that came on Saturday."

We all asked the solving of this problem, and the instantaneous result seemed wonderful. After supper, at our request, he told us his history, and when we realized that this man had gained for himself all his knowledge, we looked on him as one coming from wonderland. It was hardly credible that he should have power to solve the most difficult mathematical problems, calculate eclipses, as well as do all that could be required in civil or hydraulic engineering, and that he had accomplished this by his own will, which, pushing aside all obstacles, fought for the supremacy of his brain life. His father desired him to have no book knowledge, and he told us that when a young boy he would wait for sleep to close his father's eyes, and would then, by the light of pitch-pine knots and birch-bark in the fireplace, pursue his studies. This was pursuing knowledge under difficulties which would have proved insurmountable to many. But not so to Mr. Dayton, for he steadily gained; and though to an utter disregard for his unquenchable thirst for knowledge was added the daily fight for bread, he rose triumphantly above these difficulties, and mastered the most intricate mathematical calculation with the ease which is born only of a superior development of brain. Matthias had told us truly, and when he left us for his home we felt that in him we found new strength for much that was good and true, and for abhorrence of evil.

During this visit the Camlet cloak was brought out, and Aunt Phebe and I together ripped out the sleeves. She said they would make a splendid green stripe in a carpet, and in her quiet, careful way she sat removing their linings, when she started as if frightened, exclaiming:

"Why, Emily, what on earth does this mean?"

"What is it?" I said, and she held before me in her hand a long brown paper, and within its folds were two bills of equal denomination.

"I wonder if this one has anything in it?" I said, and even as I said it my fingers came upon a similarly folded paper, and two more bills were brought to light. They were a valuable gift, and Aunt Phebe's gratitude gave vent in a forcible way, I knew, for Aunt Hildy told me afterward she thanked her "e'en a'most to death." I could hardly wait to rip the body of the cloak, and my surprise was unbounded when I discovered its contents.

There were two sums of money left in trust with us, and in her dear, good way she had made us wondrously grateful to her for the faith she had reposed in us; a deed of some of her land, which the street had cut into, which she desired us to use for some one who was needy, unless we ourselves needed it; and in the last sentences of her message to us she said:

"If ever anybody belongin' to me comes in your path, give 'em a lift. I can trust you to do it, and the Lord will spare your lives, I know. Don't tell any livin' soul, Emily." This was a sacred message to both Louis and myself, and I should feel it sacrilege to write it all out here, even though I much desire to.

Dear Aunt Hildy! when we essayed to thank her, she said:

"There, there, don't say a word; I've allus said I'd be my own executioner, (I did not correct her mistake), and I know that's the way. You see, some day I'll go out like a candle, for all my mother's folks died that way, so I want to be ready. The other side of the house live longer, more pity for it too. They've handed down more trouble than you know, but I aint like one of 'em; it's my mother I belong to."

It seemed to me now that the years went like days and the first five after our marriage, that ended with the summer of 1851, were filled for the most part with pleasant cares. I was still my mother's girl, and helped about the house as always before. Of course, some sorrows came to us in these years, for changes cannot be perfectly like clear glass. Hal and Mary had held to their hearts one beautiful Baby blossom, who only lived four months to cheer them, and then passed from their brooding tenderness on to the other side. We sorrowed for this, and "Love's Fawn" had pale cheeks for a long time. Hal feared she would follow her child, and it might have been had not a somewhat necessary journey across the Atlantic brought great benefit to her.

The venture Mr. Hanson had made had proved so eminently successful, that when, this year, he again went to the Old World, it was deemed wise and right for them to accompany himself and family. I almost wanted to go, too, and when Hal sent back to us his beautifully written account of all he saw, I stood in spirit beside him, and anticipated many of his proposed visits. They both returned with improved health and added fortune.

The mining fever of 1849 took a few of our townspeople from us. Aunt Phebe wrote us that her second son had gone to find gold, and Ben had a little idea of trying the life of a pioneer; but the sight of the waiting acres, which he hoped some day to call his, detained him, and he still kept on making a grand success of farming, for he was doing the work he desired and that which he was capable of carrying to a successful end.

Louis' work had lain in all directions; helping Mr. Davis still as his varying strength required, interesting himself in the improvements about us, etc. Gradually widening the sphere of his influence, slowly but surely feeling his way among human hearts, he could not fail to be recognized, and after a time to be sought for among such as needed help. No appeal was ever made in vain from this quarter.

Capitalists, who had reared in the village below us a huge stone mill designed for the manufacture of woolens, had made advances which he did not meet as desired, for their system of operating was disloyal, he said, to all true justice, encroaching, as it did, upon the liberties of a class largely represented in this, as well as in all other towns. Three gentlemen, who represented the main interests, called on Louis, and he expressed to them what seemed to him to be the truth regarding this, and said:

"The years to come will be replete with suffering, and vice, degradation, and misery are sure to follow in the steps you are taking. I do not say that you realize this, but if you will think of it as I have, you cannot fail to reach the same conclusion. You cause to be rung a morning bell at five o'clock, that rouses not only men from their slumbers, but the little growing children who need their unbroken morning dreams. These children must work all day in the close and stifling rooms of your mill. Their tender life must feel the daily dropping seed of disease, and with each recurring nightfall, overworked bodies fall into a heavy slumber, instead of slipping gradually over into the realm of peace. The mothers and fathers of these children suffer in this strife for daily bread. Fathers knowing not their children, and entire families living to feel only the impetus of a desire to satisfy the cravings of hunger, and to shield themselves from the cold of winter or the summer's heat. What does all this mean? If we look at the elder among your employees we shall find men, who, not being strong enough to work twelve hours a day, naturally, and almost of necessity, have resorted to the stimulant of tobacco, and the strength of spirituous liquors.

"I can personally vouch for the truth of all I say regarding it. The practice of fathers is already adopted or soon will be adopted by their children, and by this means the little substance they may gain through hard toil, for you well know their gain is small if your profit is what you desire, falls through the grated bars of drunkenness and waste, into the waiting pit of penury and pauperism. Bear with me, gentlemen, if I speak thus plainly, and believe me it is for your own comfort as well as for the cultivation of the untouched soil in the minds of your workmen, that I feel called upon to address you earnestly.

"You do not ask, neither would you permit, your wives and children to work in the mill beside these people, and only the line of gold draws the distinction between you. There are sweet faces in your mill, there are tender hearts and there is intellect which might grow to be a power in our midst. But the sweet faces have weary eyes, the tender hearts beat without pity, and the strength which might exalt these men and us as their brothers, becomes the power of a consuming fire, which as time flies, and our population increases, will burn out all the true and loyal life that might have developed among us. When our village becomes a city, we, like other denizens of cities, must see prison houses rise before us, and to-day we are educating inmates for these walls. Remember also, that the laces our wives shall wear in those days of so-called prosperity, will be bought with human life. I will not stand amenable before God for crime like this.

"If you will drop your present schemes, if you will be content to share with these men and children a portion of your profits, to let them toil eight hours instead of twelve per day, and if on every Saturday you will give to them one full long day in God's dear sunlight, I will invest the amount of capital necessary to cover all which you as a body have invested, and I will stand beside you in your mill. I would to God, gentlemen, you were ready to accept this offer, for it comes from my heart, but I can anticipate your reply. You will say I am speaking ahead of my time, that the world is not ready for these theories, much less for the practice I desire. And in return I would ask, when will it ever be? Has any new and valuable dispensation sought us through time, when hands were not raised in holy horror, and the voice of the majority has not sounded against it. You are to-day enjoying, in the machinery you use, the benefit of thought which against much opposition fought its way to the front. And shall we rest on our oars, and say we cannot even try to do what we know to be right, because the world, the unthinking, unmindful world, sees no good in it? It would be easier for many acting as one man, to move the wheels, but if this cannot be, I must wait as other hearts have waited, but I will work in any and in all ways to break the yokes which encircle the necks of our people."

He paused and looking still earnestly at them, waited a reply. The eldest said in answer:

"Mr. Desmonde, while you have spoken that which we have never before heard, I think I may say for my friends as well as myself, that your sentiments do not fall on entirely barren soil. While you were talking, it seemed to me the way looked plain, and I felt to say, Amen. But I know we are not ready for such a movement as this. Perhaps we ought to be, and if your picture is a true one, I say from the bottom of my heart I will for myself try to be of some good. I am willing to be taught how."

Louis crossed the room, and offering his hand, said with emotion:

"Thank God, the truth I uttered found soil. May the years water with the dews of their love, the one seed fallen on rich ground, and may we, sir, live to be a unit in our thought and action, and you too, gentlemen," turning to the two who were silent.

A short and pleasant conversation followed, and they took their departure. As they left us, Clara said:

"Well done, Louis. Here is a work and Emily will help you do it."

Louis had grown grandly beautiful through these years, and never had he seemed for one moment careless or unmindful of any simplest need. We walked together truly, keeping pace through the years whose crown we wore as yet lightly. He said I grew young all the time, and often, when thoughts of his work filled his mind, as he sat looking on into the future, finding one by one the paths which, like small threads running through a garment, led to the unfoldment of life, he would hold my hands in his, and when, like a picture, the way and means all made plain, he would say:

"My Emily, do you see it? Oh? you have helped me to find it, and still you see it not; then I must tell you," and he would unfold to me the work not of a coming day only—but sometimes even that of months and years.

He kept the promise made to the mill-owners, and the hearts of the little operatives knew him as their friend. When the work he was doing for them commenced, Aunt Hildy had said:

"That's it; put not your light under a bushel but where men can see it, Louis, for I tell you the candles you carry to folks' hearts are run in the mould of the Lord's love, and every gleam on 'em is worth seein'."

Aunt Hildy's step we knew was growing less firm, and now and then she rode to the village. Matthias got on bravely, and gloried in the deposit of some "buryin' money," as he called it, with Louis, who took it to the bank and brought him a bank-book.

"Who'd a thought on't, Mas'r Louis, me, an old nigger slave, up heah in de Norf layin' up money."

Ben had a saw-mill now of his own, and was an honest and thrifty young man. Many new houses had been built in our midst, and with them came of course new people and their needs.

We had, up to this time, heard often from our Southern Mary, and her letters grew stronger, telling us how noble a womanhood had crowned her life, and the latter part of 1851 she wrote us of a true marriage with one who loved her dearly. Her gifts to Mrs. Goodwin had been munificent, and well appreciated by this good woman. We hoped some time to see her in the North. She had never lost sight of Mr. Benton, and he still lived with his wife and boys. This delighted the heart of Mary, and I grew to think of him as one who perhaps had been refined through the fire of suffering, which I secretly hoped had done its work so well that he would not need, as Matthias thought Mas'r Sumner would, "dat eternal fire."