t dream, the motions of those about
her. She saw the door open into the other room; saw the supper-table,
with its snowy cloth; heard the dreamy murmur of the singing tea-kettle;
saw Ruth tripping backward and forward, with plates of cake and saucers
of preserves, and ever and anon stopping to put a cake into Harry's
hand, or pat his head, or twine his long curls round her snowy fingers.
She saw the ample, motherly form of Rachel, as she ever and anon came to
the bedside, and smoothed and arranged something about the bedclothes,
and gave a tuck here and there, by way of expressing her good-will;
and was conscious of a kind of sunshine beaming down upon her from her
large, clear, brown eyes. She saw Ruth's husband come in,--saw her fly
up to him, and commence whispering very earnestly, ever and anon, with
impressive gesture, pointing her little finger toward the room. She saw
her, with the baby in her arms, sitting down to tea; she saw them all
at table, and little Harry in a high chair, under the shadow of
Rachel's ample wing; there were low murmurs of talk, gentle tinkling of
tea-spoons, and musical clatter of cups and saucers, and all mingled
in a delightful dream of rest; and Eliza slept, as she had not slept
before, since the fearful midnight hour when she had taken her child and
fled through the frosty starlight.

She dreamed of a beautiful country,--a land, it seemed to her, of
rest,--green shores, pleasant islands, and beautifully glittering water;
and there, in a house which kind voices told her was a home, she saw her
boy playing, free and happy child. She heard her husband's footsteps;
she felt him coming nearer; his arms were around her, his tears falling
on her face, and she awoke! It was no dream. The daylight had long
faded; her child lay calmly sleeping by her side; a candle was burning
dimly on the stand, and her husband was sobbing by her pillow.

The next morning was a cheerful one at the Quaker house. "Mother" was up
betimes, and surrounded by busy girls and boys, whom we had scarce time
to introduce to our readers yesterday, and who all moved obediently to
Rachel's gentle "Thee had better," or more gentle "Hadn't thee better?"
in the work of getting breakfast; for a breakfast in the luxurious
valleys of Indiana is a thing complicated and multiform, and, like
picking up the rose-leaves and trimming the bushes in Paradise, asking
other hands than those of the original mother. While, therefore, John