arrison demanded a trial, but the officials said that
they had locked him up merely to protect him, and that he was a base
ingrate. Official Boston now looked at the whole matter as a good thing
to forget. The prisoner's cell-door was left open, in the hope that he
would escape, just as, later, George Francis Train enjoyed the
distinction of being the only man who was literally kicked down the
stone steps of the Tombs.

Garrison was thrust out of limbo, with a warning, and a hint that
Boston-town was a good place for him to emigrate from.

But Garrison neither ran away nor went into hiding--he calmly began a
canvass to collect money to refit his printing-office. Boston had
treated him well--the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church--he
would stay. Men who fatten on difficulties are hard to subdue. Phillips
met Garrison shortly after his release, quite by chance, at the house of
Henry G. Chapman. Garrison was six years older than Phillips--tall,
angular, intellectual, and lacked humor. He also lacked culture.
Phillips looked at him and smiled grimly.

But in the Chapman household was still another person, more or less
interesting--a Miss Ann Terry Greene. She was an orphan and an
heiress--a ward of Chapman's. Young Phillips had never before met Miss
Greene, but she had seen him. She was one of the women who had come down
the stairs from "The Liberator" office, when the mob collected. She had
seen the tall form of Phillips, and had noticed that he used his elbows
to good advantage in opening up the gangway.

"It was a little like a cane-rush--your campus practise served you in
good stead," said the lady, and smiled.

And Phillips listened, perplexed--that a young woman like this, frail,
intellectual, of good family, should mix up in fanatical schemes for
liberating black men. He could not understand it!

"But you were there--you helped get us out of the difficulty. And if
worse had come to worst, I might have appealed to you personally for
protection!"

And the young lawyer stammered, "I should have been only too happy," or
something like that. The lady had the best of the logic, and a thin
attempt to pity her on account of the unfortunate occurrence went off by
the right oblique and was lost in space.

These Abolitionists were a queer lot!

Not long after that meeting at the Chapmans, the young lawyer had legal
business at Greenfield that must be looked after. Now, Greenfield is one
hundred miles from