t love for the souls of men, and a
pure desire to make known what they considered a revelation from
Heaven. But the rulers looked upon them as plotting the downfall of all
government and religion. They were banished from the colony. In a little
while, however, not only the first twelve had returned, but a multitude
of other Quakers had come to rebuke the rulers and to preach against the
priests and steeple-houses.

Grandfather described the hatred and scorn with which these enthusiasts
were received. They were thrown into dungeons; they were beaten with
many stripes, women as well as men; they were driven forth into the
wilderness, and left to the tender mercies of tender mercies of wild
beasts and Indians. The children were amazed hear that the more the
Quakers were scourged, and imprisoned, and banished, the more did the
sect increase, both by the influx of strangers and by converts from
among the Puritans, But Grandfather told them that God had put
something into the soul of man, which always turned the cruelties of the
persecutor to naught.

He went on to relate that, in 1659, two Quakers, named William Robinson
and Marmaduke Stephenson, were hanged at Boston. A woman had been
sentenced to die with them, but was reprieved on condition of her
leaving the colony. Her name was Mary Dyer. In the year 1660 she
returned to Boston, although she knew death awaited her there; and,
if Grandfather had been correctly informed, an incident had then taken
place which connects her with our story. This Mary Dyer had entered
the mint-master's dwelling, clothed in sackcloth and ashes, and seated
herself in our great chair with a sort of dignity and state. Then she
proceeded to deliver what she called a message from Heaven, but in the
midst of it they dragged her to prison.

"And was she executed?" asked Laurence.

"She was," said Grandfather.

"Grandfather," cried Charley, clinching his fist, "I would have fought
for that poor Quaker woman!"

"Ah, but if a sword had been drawn for her," said Laurence, "it would
have taken away all the beauty of her death."

It seemed as if hardly any of the preceding stories had thrown such
an interest around Grandfather's chair as did the fact that the poor,
persecuted, wandering Quaker woman had rested in it for a moment. The
children were so much excited that Grandfather found it necessary to
bring his account of the persecution to a close.

"In 1660, the same year in which Mary Dyer was