at
seventy-five he was really younger, because tenderer of heart and more
considerate, than he had been at sixty.

Asenath was now a woman of thirty-five, and suitors had ceased to
approach her. Much of her beauty still remained, but her face had become
thin and wasted, and the inevitable lines were beginning to form around
her eyes. Her dress was plainer than ever, and she wore the scoop-bonnet
of drab silk, in which no woman can seem beautiful, unless she be very
old. She was calm and grave in her demeanor, save that her perfect
goodness and benevolence shone through and warmed her presence; but,
when earnestly interested, she had been known to speak her mind so
clearly and forcibly that it was generally surmised among the Friends
that she possessed "a gift," which might, in time, raise her to honor
among them. To the children of Moses she was a good genius, and a word
from "Aunt 'Senath" oftentimes prevailed when the authority of the
parents was disregarded. In them she found a new source of happiness;
and when her old home on the Neshaminy had been removed a little farther
into the past, so that she no longer looked, with every morning's sun,
for some familiar feature of its scenery, her submission brightened into
a cheerful content with life.

It was summer, and Quarterly-Meeting Day had arrived. There had been
rumors of the expected presence of "Friends from a distance," and not
only those of the district, but most of the neighbors who were not
connected with the sect, attended. By the by-road, through the woods,
it was not more than half a mile from Friend Mitchenor's cottage to the
meeting-house, and Asenath, leaving her father to be taken by Moses in
his carriage, set out on foot. It was a sparkling, breezy day, and the
forest was full of life. Squirrels chased each other along the
branches of the oaks, and the air was filled with fragrant odors of
hickory-leaves, sweet fern, and spice-wood. Picking up a flower here
and there, Asenath walked onward, rejoicing alike in shade and sunshine,
grateful for all the consoling beauty which the earth offers to a lonely
heart. That serene content which she had learned to call happiness had
filled her being until the dark canopy was lifted and the waters took
back their transparency under a cloudless sky.

Passing around to the "women's side" of the meeting-house, she mingled
with her friends, who were exchanging information concerning the
expected visitors. Micajah Mor