e Born." Joel, up in the barn by himself,
worked through the long day in the old fashion,--pondering gravely
(being of a religious turn) upon a sermon by the Reverend Mr. Clinche,
reported in the "Gazette;" wherein that disciple of the meek Teacher
invoked, as he did once a week, the curses of the law upon
slaveholders, praying the Lord to sweep them immediately from the face
of the earth. Which rendering of Christian doctrine was so much
relished by Joel, and the other leading members of Mr. Clinche's
church, that they hinted to him it might be as well to continue
choosing his texts from Moses and the Prophets until the excitement of
the day was over. The New Testament was,--well,--hardly suited for
the--emergency; did not, somehow, chime in with the lesson of the hour.
I may remark, in passing, that this course of conduct so disgusted the
High Church rector of the parish, that he not only ignored all new
devils, (as Mr. Carlyle might have called them,) but talked as if the
millennium were un fait accompli, and he had leisure to go and hammer
at the poor dead old troubles of Luther's time. One thing, though,
about Joel: while he was joining in Mr. Clinche's petition for the
"wiping out" of some few thousands, he was using up all the fragments
of the hot day in fixing a stall for a half-dead old horse he had found
by the road-side.

Perhaps, even if the listening angel did not grant the prayer, he
marked down the stall at least, as a something done for eternity.

Margret, through the stifling air, worked steadily alone in the dusty
office, her face bent over the books, never changing but once. It was
a trifle then; yet, when she looked back afterwards, the trifle was all
that gave the day a name. The room shook, as I said, with the
thunderous, incessant sound of the engines and the looms; she scarcely
heard it, being used to it. Once, however, another sound came
between,--an iron tread, passing through the long wooden corridor,--so
firm and measured that it sounded like the monotonous beatings of a
clock. She heard it through the noise in the far distance; it came
slowly nearer, up to the door without,--passed it, going down the
echoing plank walk. The girl sat quietly, looking out at the dead
brick wall. The slow step fell on her brain like the sceptre of her
master; if Knowles had looked in her face then, he would have seen
bared the secret of her life. Holmes had gone by, unconscious of who
was within th