nt Ruth found the leather case,
and when she did, the glasses wanted wiping before they could be used.
After comfortably adjusting them on his nose, he read the warrant over
leisurely.

"Come, Mr. Dugdale, we can't wait all day," said the officer.

"Well, will thee read it for me?" returned the Quaker.

The officer complied, and the man in drab said,--

"Yes, thee may go in, now. I am inclined to throw no obstacles in the
way of the execution of the law of the land."

On approaching the door, the men found some forty or fifty nails in it,
in the way of their progress.

"Lend me your hammer and a chisel, if you please, Mr. Dugdale," said the
officer.

"Please read that paper over again, will thee?" asked the Quaker.

The officer once more read the warrant.

"I see nothing there which says I must furnish thee with tools to open
my door. If thee wants a hammer, thee must go elsewhere for it; I tell
thee plainly, thee can't have mine."

The implements for opening the door are at length obtained, and, after
another half-hour, the slave-catchers are in the barn. Three hours is a
long time for a slave to be in the hands of Quakers. The hay is turned
over, and the barn is visited in every part; but still the runaway is
not found. Uncle Joseph has a glow upon his countenance; Ephraim shakes
his head knowingly; little Elijah is a perfect know-nothing, and, if you
look toward the house, you will see Aunt Ruth's smiling face, ready to
announce that breakfast is ready.

"The nigger is not in this barn," said the officer.

"I know he is not," quietly answered the Quaker.

"What were you nailing up your door for, then, as if you were afraid we
would enter?" inquired one of the kidnappers.

"I can do what I please with my own door, can't I," said the Quaker.

The secret was out; the fugitive had gone in at the front door and out
at the back; and the reading of the warrant, nailing up of the door,
and other preliminaries of the Quaker, was to give the fugitive time and
opportunity to escape.

It was now late in the morning, and the slave-catchers were a long way
from home, and the horses were jaded by the rapid manner in which they
had travelled. The Friends, in high glee, returned to the house for
breakfast; the man of the law, after taking his fee, went home, and the
kidnappers turned back, muttering, "Better luck next time."

CHAPTER XXI. SELF-SACRIFICE

NOW in her seventeenth year, Clotelle's personal a