ve-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 appearance presented a
great contrast to the time when she lived with old Mrs. Miller. Her
tall and well-developed figure; her long, silky black hair, falling in
curls down her swan-like neck; her bright, black eyes lighting up her
olive-tinted face, and a set of teeth that a Tuscarora might envy, she
was a picture of tropical-ripened beauty. At times, there was a
heavenly smile upon her countenance, which would have warmed the heart
of an anchorite. Such was the personal appearance of the girl who was
now in prison by her own act to save the life of another. Would she be
hanged in his stead, or would she receive a different kind of
punishment? These questions Clotelle did not ask herself. Open, frank,
free, and generous to a fault, she always thought of others, never of
her own welfare.

The long stay of Clotelle caused some uneasiness to Miss Wilson; yet
she dared not tell her father, for he had forbidden the slave-girl's
going to the prison to see her lover. While the clock on the church
near by was striking eleven, Georgiana called Sam, a