As he passed out, Rosa whispered to her mother, "What does he mean
about a deacon's selling women and children?"

Before an answer could be given, Mr. Bright reappeared with a
bird-cage. "I guess this is a pretty old parrot," said he.

"Yes, she is quite old," replied Mrs. Delano. "But we are all attached
to her; and our house being shut up for the summer, we were unwilling
to trust her with strangers."

The parrot, conscious of being talked about, turned up her head
sideways, and winked her eye, without stirring from the corner of
the cage, where she was rolled up like a ball of feathers. Then she
croaked out an English phrase, which she had learned of the children,
"Polly wants a cacker."

"She shall have a cracker," said good-natured Mr. Bright; and Rosa and
little Lila were soon furnished with a cracker and a lump of sugar for
Poll.

In a short time they were summoned to tea; and after enjoying Mrs.
Bright's light bread and sweet butter, they saw no more of their host
and hostess for the evening. In the morning the whole family were up
before the hour appointed for breakfast, and were out in the garden,
taking a look at the environments of their new abode. As Mrs.
Blumenthal was walking among the bushes, Mr. Bright's beaming face
suddenly uprose before her, from where he was stooping to pluck up
some weeds.

"Good morning, ma'am," said he. "Do hear that old thief trying to come
Paddy over the Lord!"

As he spoke, he pointed his thumb backward toward Deacon Stillham's
house, whence proceeded a very loud and monotonous voice of prayer.

Mrs. Blumenthal smiled as she inquired, "What did you mean by saying
he sold women and children?"

"Made his money by slave-trading down in Carolina, ma'am. I reckon a
man has to pray a deal to get himself out of that scrape; needs to
pray pretty loud too, or the voice of women screaming for their babies
would get to the throne afore him. He don't like us over and above
well, 'cause we're Abolitionists. But there's Betsey calling me; I
mustn't stop here talking."

Mrs. Blumenthal amused her companions by a repetition of his remarks
concerning the Deacon. She was much entertained by their host's
original style of bubbling over, as she termed it. After breakfast
she said: "There he is in the garden. Let's go and talk with him,
Florimond."

And taking her parasol, she went out, leaning on her husband's arm.

"So you are an Abolitionist?" said Mr. Blumenthal, as they stop