silence over hill and plain, was it not dreary then?
It would have been dreary to one who entered upon this mode of life from
mere love of novelty, or a vain desire to do something extraordinary.
But the idea of extended usefulness, which had first lured this
remarkable girl into a path so unusual, sustained her through all
trials. She was too busy to be sad, and leaned too trustingly on her
Father's hand to be doubtful of her way. The neighboring Indians soon
loved her as a friend, for they found her always truthful, just, and
kind. From their teachings she added much to her knowledge of simple
medicines. So efficient was her skill, and so prompt her sympathy, that
for many miles around, if man, woman, or child were alarmingly ill, they
were sure to send for Elizabeth Haddon; and, wherever she went, her
observing mind gathered some hint for farm or dairy. Her house and heart
were both large, and as her residence was on the way to the Quaker
meeting-house in Newtown, it became a place of universal resort to
Friends from all parts of the country traveling that road, as well as an
asylum for benighted wanderers.

The Winter was drawing to a close, when, late one evening, the sound of
sleigh-bells was heard, and the crunching of snow beneath the hoofs of
horses as they passed into the barn-yard gate. The arrival of travelers
was too common an occurrence to excite or disturb the well-ordered
family.

Great logs were piled in the capacious chimney, and the flames blazed up
with a crackling warmth, when two strangers entered. In the younger
Elizabeth instantly recognized John Estaugh, whose preaching had so
deeply impressed her at eleven years of age. This was almost like a
glimpse of home--her dear old English home. She stepped forward with
more than usual cordiality, saying:

"Thou art welcome, Friend Estaugh, the more so for being entirely
unexpected."

"I am glad to see thee, Elizabeth," he replied, with a friendly shake of
the hand. "It was not until after I landed in America that I heard the
Lord had called thee here before me; but I remember thy father told me
how often thou hadst played the settler in the woods when thou wast
quite a little girl."

"I am but a child still," she replied, smiling.

"I trust thou art," he rejoined; "and as for these strong impressions in
childhood, I have heard of many cases where they seemed to be prophecies
sent of the Lord. When I saw thy father in London, I had even then an