ence I
don't know--I certainly made no noise to attract him--but he certainly
knew I was there. Suspending the conversation in which he was
engaged--he was seated in a revolving chair--he suddenly turned so as
to confront me, and silently looked me over. At last he arose, and,
stepping up to me, lifted my hat with one hand, and laid the other
upon my head. I understood very well what his movements meant. He was
looking for outward evidences of negro blood. So far as my complexion
went a suspicion of African taint might very well have been
entertained. I had been assisting my father in harvesting his wheat
crop, and my face and hands had a heavy coating of tan, but my hair
was straight and stiff. I could see that the old gentleman was
puzzled. Not a word, so far, had been spoken on either side.

"Where is thee from?" was the question that broke the silence.

I answered that I was from Clark County, meaning Clark County, Ohio.

Coffin, however, evidently thought I referred to Clark County,
Kentucky, from which there had been many fugitives, and that settled
the matter in his mind. "But, my boy, thee seems to have had a good
home," continued the old gentleman as he looked over my clothes and
general appearance. "Why is thee running away?"

Then came the explanation and the solemn Quaker indulged in a hearty
laugh. He remarked that he knew my family very well by reputation, and
that he had met my father in Abolitionist conventions--meetings he
called them.

Then he invited me to go to his home and break bread with him. I
vainly tried to decline. The old man would accept no excuse.

"Thy father would not refuse my hospitality."

That settled the matter, and I accompanied my entertainer to his
domicile. I was glad that I did so, as it gave me the opportunity to
see and greet Coffin's wife, who was a charming elderly Quaker lady.
She had gained a reputation as a helper of the slave almost equal to
that of her husband.

When runaways set out on their venturesome journeys, they were
generally very indifferently equipped. Ordinarily they had only the
working garments they wore on the plantations, and these furnished but
slight relief for a condition very near to nudity. Mrs. Coffin set
apart a working room in her house, and there sympathizers of both
races joined her in garment-making, the result being that very few
fugitives left Cincinnati without being decently clothed.

At the Coffin table were several guests besid