“Hot water! Plenty of hot water!” Nathan rolled up his sleeves, and while they followed his movements like two children he plucked the fowl and handed it to Anna.
“We’ll have meat all winter!” Frederick laughed, his eyes on Anna’s shining face.
The little house was fairly bursting with happiness that fall. They were going to have a child—a child born on free soil.
“He’ll be a free man!” Frederick made the words a hymn of praise.
And Anna smiled.
In April William Lloyd Garrison came to New Bedford.
“You must go, Frederick,” Anna said, “since I can’t. Look at me!”
“Not without you.” The young husband shook his head, but Anna laughed and rushed supper. Frederick was one of the first to arrive at the hall.
He saw only one face that night, he heard only one voice—a face which he described as “heavenly,” a voice which he said “was never loud or noisy, but calm and serene as a summer sky, and as pure.”
Garrison was a young man then, with a singularly pleasing face and an earnest manner.