Down from its nail she took and lighted the great

tin lantern

Pierced with holes, and round, and roofed like the top of a lighthouse,

And went forth to receive the coming guest at the door

way,

Casting into the dark a network of glimmer and shadow Over the falling snow, the yellow sleigh, and the horses, And the forms of men, snow-covered, looming gigantic. Then giving Joseph the lantern, she entered the house. with the stranger.

Youthful he was and tall, and his cheeks aglow with the night air;

And as he entered, Elizabeth rose, and, going to meet

him,

As if an unseen power had announced and preceded his

presence,

And he had come as one whose coming had long been

expected,

Quietly gave him her hand, and said, "Thou art welcome, John Estaugh."

And the stranger replied, with staid and quiet behavior, "Dost thou remember me still, Elizabeth? After so many Years have passed, it seemeth a wonderful thing that I

find thee.

Surely the hand of the Lord conducted me here to thy

threshold.

For as I journeyed along, and pondered alone and in

silence

On his ways, that are past finding out, I saw in the

snow-mist,

Seemingly weary with travel, a wayfarer, who by the wayside

Paused and waited.

Forthwith I remembered Queen

Candace's eunuch,

How on the way that goes down from Jerusalem unto

Gaza,

Reading Esaias the Prophet, he journeyed, and spake unto Philip,

Praying him to come up and sit in his chariot with him. So I greeted the man, and he mounted the sledge be

side me,

And as we talked on the way he told me of thee and thy homestead,

How, being led by the light of the Spirit, that never deceiveth,

Full of zeal for the work of the Lord, thou hadst come to this country.

And I remembered thy name, and thy father and mother in England,

And on my journey have stopped to see thee, Elizabeth

Haddon,

Wishing to strengthen thy hand in the labors of love. thou art doing."

And Elizabeth answered with confident voice, and

serenely

Looking into his face with her innocent eyes as she

answered,

"Surely the hand of the Lord is in it; his Spirit hath led thee

Out of the darkness and storm to the light and peace of my fireside.”

Then, with stamping of feet, the door was opened, and

Joseph

Entered, bearing the lantern, and, carefully blowing the

light out,

Hung it up on its nail, and all sat down to their sup

per;

For underneath that roof was no distinction of persons, But one family only, one heart, one hearth, and one household.

When the supper was ended they drew their chairs to the fireplace,

Spacious, open-hearted, profuse of flame and of firewood, Lord of forests unfelled, and not a gleaner of fagots, Spreading its arms to embrace with inexhaustible bounty All who fled from the cold, exultant, laughing at winter! Only Hannah the housemaid was busy in clearing the

table,

Coming and going, and bustling about in closet and

chamber.

Then Elizabeth told her story again to John Estaugh, Going far back to the past, to the early days of her childhood;

How she had waited and watched, in all her doubts and besetments

Comforted with the extendings and holy, sweet inflowings

Of the spirit of love, till the voice imperative sounded, And she obeyed the voice, and cast in her lot with her

people

Here in the desert land, and God would provide for the issue.

Meanwhile Joseph sat with folded hands, and de

murely

Listened, or seemed to listen, and in the silence that

followed

Nothing was heard for awhile but the step of Hannah the housemaid

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 path

way

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 window, 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 melo dies vernal.

Then it came to pass, one pleasant morning, that slowly Up the road there came a cavalcade, as of pilgrims, Men and women, wending their way to the Quarterly Meeting