u to consider.

When the preparations were all made, Mammy Grace and old Simon were let
into the secret. Whether they said any thing by way of discussion I do
not know--at any rate, it did not alter Tidy's determination. I think,
however, that she found her two aged friends very useful in aiding her
last movements; and when the eventful moment arrived, and Tidy, attired
in Miss Amelia's garments, with a traveling-bag in her hand, containing
her hymn-book, her money, and a few needed articles, stood at the foot
of the walk that led into the public road, Mammy Grace stood with her in
the starlight of the early summer's morning, and bade her God-speed.

"Ye looks like a lady for all de world, honey; I 'clare dese yer old
eyes neber would a thought 'twas you, in dis yer fine dress--hi, hi, hi!
Specs nobody'll tink ye's run away. De old nuss hates to part wid her
chile; but ef ye must go, ye must, and de bressed Lord go wid ye, and
keep ye safe."

Then giving her a most affectionate hug, she put a paper of eatables in
her hand, and helped her to mount the horse before Uncle Simon, who was
already in the saddle. Where or how the old man procured the horse and
equipments, HE knew--but nobody else did.

The animal was a fast trotter, and brought them speedily five miles to
the village, where Tidy was to take the stage-coach to Baltimore. It
was before railroads and steam-engines were much talked of in Virginia.
Alighting in the outskirts of the town, Simon lifted the young girl to
the ground, and hastily commending her to "de bressed Lord of heaben and
earf," he bade her good-by, and went back to his bondage and toil. They
never saw each other again.

The day was fine, and riding a novel occupation for Tidy, but so full
was her trembling heart of anxiety and fear that she could not enjoy it.
She was afraid to look out of the window lest she might be recognized by
some one; and she dared not look at the two pleasant-faced gentlemen who
were in the coach with her, lest they might question her, and find out
her true condition. So she cuddled back as closely as possible in the
corner, and when they kindly offered her cakes and fruit, she just
ventured to say, "No, thank you." Her own food, which the dear old nurse
had taken so much pains to put up for her, lay untouched in her lap, for
her heart was so absorbed she could not eat.

Night brought her to the hotel in Baltimore. The great city, the large
building, and busy servan