Walking the floor overhead, and setting the chambers in order.

And Elizabeth said, with a smile of compassion, "The maiden

Hath a light heart in her breast, but her feet are heavy and awkward."

Inwardly Joseph laughed, but governed his tongue, and was silent.

Then came the hour of sleep, death's counterfeit, nightly rehearsal

Of the great Silent Assembly, the Meeting of shadows, where no man

Speaketh, but all are still, and the peace and rest are unbroken!

Silently over that house the blessing of slumber descended.

But when the morning dawned, and the sun uprose in his splendor,

Breaking his way through clouds that encumbered his path in the heavens,

Joseph was seen with his sled and oxen breaking a pathway

Through the drifts of snow; the horses already were harnessed,

And John Estaugh was standing and taking leave at the threshold,

Saying that he should return at the Meeting in May; while above them

Hannah the housemaid, the homely, was looking out of the attic,

Laughing aloud at Joseph, then suddenly closing the casement,

As the bird in a cuckoo-clock peeps out of its win

dow,

Then disappears again, and closes the shutter behind it.

III.

Now was the winter gone, and the snow; and Robin the Redbreast

Boasted on bush and tree it was he, it was he and no other

That had covered with leaves the Babes in the Wood, and blithely

All the birds sang with him, and little cared for his boasting,

Or for his Babes in the Wood, or the Cruel Uncle,

and only

Sang for the mates they had chosen, and cared for the nests they were building.

With them, but more sedately and meekly, Elizabeth Haddon

Sang in her inmost heart, but her lips were silent and songless.

Thus came the lovely spring with a rush of blossoms and music,

Flooding the earth with flowers, and the air with melodies vernal.

Then it came to pass, one pleasant morning,

that slowly

Up the road there came a cavalcade, as of pilgrims,

Line 7. Little cared for his Babes in the Wood, or the Cruel Uncle, and

only

Men and women, wending their way to the Quarterly Meeting

In the neighboring town; and with them came riding John Estaugh.

At Elizabeth's door they stopped to rest, and

alighting

Tasted the currant wine, and the bread of

the honey

rye, and

Brought from the hives, that stood by the sunny wall of the garden;

Then remounted their horses, refreshed, and continued their journey,

And Elizabeth with them, and Joseph, and Hannah the housemaid.

But, as they started, Elizabeth lingered a little, and leaning

Over her horse's neck, in a whisper said to John Estaugh:

"Tarry awhile behind, for I have something to tell

thee,

Not to be spoken lightly, nor in the presence of others;

Them it concerneth not, only thee and me it con

cerneth."

And they rode slowly along through the woods, conversing together.

It was a pleasure to breathe the fragrant air of the

forest;

It was a pleasure to live on that bright and happy May morning!

Then Elizabeth said, though still with a certain reluctance,

As if impelled to reveal a secret she fain would have guarded:

"I will no longer conceal what is laid upon me to tell thee;

I have received from the Lord a charge to love thee, John Estaugh."

And John Estaugh made answer, surprised at the words she had spoken,

"Pleasant to me are thy converse, thy ways, thy meekness of spirit;

Pleasant thy frankness of speech, and thy soul's immaculate whiteness,

Love without dissimulation, a holy and inward adorning.

But I have yet no light to lead me, no voice to direct me.

When the Lord's work is done, and the toil and the labor completed

He hath appointed to me, I will gather into the stillness

Of my own heart awhile, and listen and wait for his guidance."

Then Elizabeth said, not troubled nor wounded

in spirit,

"So is it best, John Estaugh. We will not speak of it further.

It hath been laid upon me to tell thee this, for to

morrow

Thou art going away, across the sea, and I know

not

Line 4. And John Estaugh made answer, surprised by the words she

had spoken,

When I shall see thee more; but if the Lord hath decreed it,

Thou wilt return again to seek me here and to find

me."

And they rode onward in silence, and entered the town with the others.

IV.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,

Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;

So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one

another,

Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.

Now went on as of old the quiet life of the

homestead.

Patient and unrepining Elizabeth labored, in all

things

Mindful not of herself, but bearing the burdens of

others,

Always thoughtful and kind and untroubled; and Hannah the housemaid

Diligent early and late, and rosy with washing and scouring,

Still as of old disparaged the eminent merits of Joseph,

And was at times reproved for her light and frothy behavior,

For her shy looks, and her careless words, and her evil surmisings,