ather than fraternal
equality.

He carefully assisted his wife to alight, and De Courcy led the horse to
the hitching-shed. Susan Donnelly was a still blooming woman of forty;
her dress, of the plainest color, was yet of the richest texture; and
her round, gentle, almost timid face looked forth like a girl's from the
shadow of her scoop bonnet. While she was greeting Abraham Bradbury,
the two daughters, Sylvia and Alice, who had been standing shyly by
themselves on the edge of the group of women, came forward. The latter
was a model of the demure Quaker maiden; but Abraham experienced as much
surprise as was possible to his nature on observing Sylvia's costume.
A light-blue dress, a dark-blue cloak, a hat with ribbons, and hair in
curls--what Friend of good standing ever allowed his daughter thus to
array herself in the fashion of the world?

Henry read the question in Abraham's face, and preferred not to answer
it at that moment. Saying, "Thee must make me acquainted with the rest
of our brethren," he led the way back to the men's end. When he had
been presented to the older members, it was time for them to assemble in
meeting.

The people were again quietly startled when Henry Donnelly deliberately
mounted to the third and highest bench facing them, and sat down beside
Abraham and Simon. These two retained, possibly with some little inward
exertion, the composure of their faces, and the strange Friend became
like unto them. His hands were clasped firmly in his lap; his full,
decided lips were set together, and his eyes gazed into vacancy from
under the broad brim. De Courcy had removed his hat on entering the
house, but, meeting his father's eyes, replaced it suddenly, with a
slight blush.

When Simon Pennock and Ruth Treadwell had spoken the thoughts which had
come to them in the stillness, the strange Friend arose. Slowly, with
frequent pauses, as if waiting for the guidance of the Spirit, and with
that inward voice which falls so naturally into the measure of a chant,
he urged upon his hearers the necessity of seeking the Light and walking
therein. He did not always employ the customary phrases, but neither did
he seem to speak the lower language of logic and reason; while his tones
were so full and mellow that they gave, with every slowly modulated
sentence, a fresh satisfaction to the ear. Even his broad a's and the
strong roll of his r's verified the rumor of his foreign birth, did not
detract from the auth