“You’re in the right place,” said Rhoda assuringly, speaking barely above a whisper. “I am your friend—come in.”
She hurried the woman into the office, pulled down the shades and lighted a candle. Then she saw that the fugitive, besides the child, perhaps four or five years old, which she led by the hand, carried a baby underneath her shawl. The girl drew a swift breath that was almost a sob.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, running to the woman and putting her two hands gently upon her shoulders, “Oh, you poor thing! You poor thing!”
The room occupied by Jim and Lizzie, the two colored servants, was next to the office, at the northeast corner of the house. Darting out on the veranda again, Rhoda ran to their window and rapped gently four times. In a few moments Jim opened the door.
“Tell Lizzie to get up,” she whispered. “A poor woman with two children is here. I’ve got them in the office now, but you’d better let me bring them into your room as quickly as possible. They must have some supper and a little rest, and then we’ll decide what’s best to do.”
Lizzie’s face appeared above Jim’s shoulder. “All right, Miss Rhoda,” she was saying in subdued but hearty accents, “you all kin come right in—in two minutes.”
The runaways were soon eating a supper of cold meat and bread and milk, which Lizzie hurried into the room. Rhoda nodded and smiled at her and her husband.
“Now,” she said coaxingly, “you and Jim will let them have your bed a little while, won’t you? Jim can go in the office and lie down on the lounge. They must have some rest, for they ought to go on to-night. It wouldn’t be safe to try to keep them here to-morrow, for Charlotte would be sure to discover the children. Father is not likely to get back before morning—so I’ll drive them on to Gilbertson’s. No, it’s all right”—as Jim made a movement of protest. “Dolly is in the stable—you can hitch her to the two-seated carriage. I’m not the least bit afraid, and it will be much safer for me than you. Charlotte will be home soon. We’d better not do anything more until after she gets in and goes to sleep. But we ought to start in about three hours. Have the carriage ready, Jim, and I’ll be down. Now, you poor thing, you and these babies must lie down and get some sleep.”
When they were ready to start, Rhoda put the child, still asleep, into a nest of rugs on the carriage floor. The woman, with the baby hugged to her breast, she took on the front seat. “If we should happen to meet any one,” she said, “they’d take less notice if we were sitting together sociably like this. If you see father when he comes home, Jim, tell him where I’ve gone. And, Lizzie, you’ll be sure to look out for mother as soon as she wakens in the morning, won’t you? If she asks for me tell her I’ve gone on an errand for father.”
The street, going on northward, passed a few more houses and then became a country road. The Ware house stood on the top of a long, gentle rise from the river. From the summit the road dipped down into a shallow valley, then mounted another longer and steeper ascent, whence it passed into a region partly wooded and partly filled with farms.