“Come, Ruth, sit down to supper,” said Rachel.
“I couldn’t, any way. I left John with the baby, and some biscuits in the oven; and I can’t stay a moment, else John will burn up all the biscuits, and give the baby all the sugar in the bowl. That’s the way he does,” said the little Quakeress, laughing. “So, good-by, Eliza; good-by, George; the Lord grant thee a safe journey;” and, with a few tripping steps, Ruth was out of the apartment.
A little while after supper, a large covered-wagon drew up before the door; the night was clear starlight; and Phineas jumped briskly down from his seat to arrange his passengers. George walked out of the door, with his child on one arm and his wife on the other. His step was firm, his face settled and resolute. Rachel and Simeon came out after them.
“You get out, a moment,” said Phineas to those inside, “and let me fix the back of the wagon, there, for the women-folks and the boy.”
“Here are the two buffaloes,” said Rachel. “Make the seats as comfortable as may be; it’s hard riding all night.”
Jim came out first, and carefully assisted out his old mother, who clung to his arm, and looked anxiously about, as if she expected the pursuer every moment.
“Jim, are your pistols all in order?” said George, in a low, firm voice.
“Yes, indeed,” said Jim.
“And you’ve no doubt what you shall do, if they come?”
“I rather think I haven’t,” said Jim, throwing open his broad chest, and taking a deep breath. “Do you think I’ll let them get mother again?”