cats, that ate one another up to the tip o' their tails. The
Deacon is sensible enough, too, about many other subjects; but he nor
no other man can saw straight with a crooked saw."

"It's an old saying," rejoined Blumenthal, "that, when men enter into
a league with Satan, he always deserts them at the tightest pinch; and
I've often observed he's sure to do it where arguments pinch."

"I don't wonder you are far from being a favorite with the Deacon,"
remarked Flora; "for, according to your own account, you hit him
rather hard."

"I suppose I do," rejoined Mr. Bright. "I'm always in earnest myself;
and when I'm sure I'm in the right, I always drive ahead. I soon get
out o' patience trying to twist a string that ain't fastened at nary
end, as an old neighbor of my father used to say. I suppose some of us
Abolitionists _are_ a little rough at times; but I reckon the coarsest
of us do more good than the false prophets that prophesy smooth
things."

"You said Mrs. Bright had been a teacher in the South. What part of
the South was it?" inquired Mrs. Blumenthal.

"She went to Savannah to be nursery governess to Mrs. Fitzgerald's
little girl," replied he. "But part of the time she was on an island
where Mr. Fitzgerald had a cotton plantation. I dare say you've heard
of him, for he married the daughter of that rich Mr. Bell who lives in
your street. He died some years ago; at least they suppose he died,
but nobody knows what became of him."

Flora pressed her husband's arm, and was about to inquire concerning
the mystery, when Mrs. Delano came, hand in hand with Rosa and Lila,
to say that she had ordered the carriage and wanted them to be in
readiness to take a drive.

They returned to a late dinner; and when they rose from a long chat
over the dessert, Mr. Bright was not to be found, and his wife was
busy; so further inquiries concerning Mr. Fitzgerald's fate were
postponed. Mr. Blumenthal proposed a walk on Round Hill; but the
children preferred staying at home. Rosa had a new tune she wanted to
practise with her guitar; and her little sister had the promise of a
story from Mamita Lila. So Mr. Blumenthal and his wife went forth on
their ramble alone. The scene from Round Hill was beautiful with the
tender foliage of early spring. Slowly they sauntered round from point
to point, pausing now and then to look at the handsome villages before
them, at the blooming peach-trees, the glistening river, and the
venerable mount