es of many who mistook their involuntary
virtue for a sin. Sobs were audible in the female section of the house,
and every man who was a father drew his hand across his eyes. Tobias
Pearson was agitated and uneasy, but a certain feeling like the
consciousness of guilt oppressed him, so that he could not go forth and
offer himself as the protector of the child. Dorothy, however, had
watched her husband's eye. Her mind was free from the influence that had
begun to work on his, and she drew near the Quaker woman, and addressed
her in the hearing of all the congregation.

"Stranger, trust this boy to me, and I will be his mother," she said,
taking Ilbrahim's hand. "Providence has signally marked out my husband
to protect him, and he has fed at our table and lodged under our roof,
now many days, till our hearts have grown very strongly unto him. Leave
the tender child with us, and be at ease concerning his welfare."

The Quaker rose from the ground, but drew the boy closer to her, while
she gazed earnestly in Dorothy's face. Her mild, but saddened features,
and neat matronly attire harmonized together, and were like a verse of
fireside poetry. Her very aspect proved that she was blameless, so far
as mortal could be so, in respect to God and man; while the enthusiast,
in her robe of sackcloth and girdle of knotted cord, had as evidently
violated the duties of the present life and the future, by fixing her
attention wholly on the latter. The two females, as they held each a
hand of Ilbrahim, formed a practical allegory; it was rational piety and
unbridled fanaticism contending for the empire of a young heart.

"Thou art not of our people," said the Quaker, mournfully.

"No, we are not of your people," replied Dorothy, with mildness, "but we
are Christians, looking upward to the same Heaven with you. Doubt not
that your boy shall meet you there, if there be a blessing on our tender
and prayerful guidance of him. Thither, I trust, my own children have
gone before me, for I also have been a mother; I am no longer so," she
added, in a faltering tone, "and your son will have all my care."

"But will ye lead him in the path which his parents have trodden?"
demanded the Quaker. "Can ye teach him the enlightened faith which his
father has died for, and for which I, even I, am soon to become an
unworthy martyr? The boy has been baptized in blood; will ye keep the
mark fresh and ruddy upon his forehead?"

"I will not deceive you,"