"Poor woman," said Mrs. Bird, "it is much further off than you think; but we will try to think what can be done for you. Here Dinah," said she to one of the servants, "make her up a bed in your own room close by the kitchen, and I'll think what to do for her in the morning. Meanwhile, never fear poor woman, put your trust in God, He will protect you."
Mrs. Bird and her husband re-entered the parlour. She sat down in her little rocking chair before the fire, swinging it thoughtfully to and fro. Mr. Bird strode up and down the room, grumbling to himself. At length, striding up to his wife, he said:—
"I say, wife, she'll have to get away from here this very night. That trader fellow will be down after her early to-morrow morning."
"To-night," said Mrs. Bird, "how is it possible—and where to?"
"Well, I know pretty well where to," said Mr. Bird, beginning to put on his boots. "I know a place where she would be safe enough, but the plague of the thing is, nobody could drive a carriage there to-night but me. The creek has to be crossed twice, and the second crossing is quite dangerous, unless one know it as I do. But never mind. I'll take her over myself. There is no help for it. I could not bear to see the poor woman caught."
"Thank you, thank you, dear John," said the wife, laying her white hand on his—"Could I ever have loved you had I not known you better than you do yourself?"
Off Mr. Bird set to see about the carriage, but at the door he stopped for a moment, and then coming back, he said, with a quivering voice,—
"Mary, I don't know how you'd feel about it, but there's the drawer full of things—of—of—poor little Henry's." So saying, he turned quickly on his heel, and shut the door after him.
His wife opened the little bedroom door adjoining her room, and taking the candle, set it down on the top of a bureau there; then from a small recess she took a key, and put it thoughtfully in the lock of a drawer, and made a sudden pause, while two boys, who, boy-like, had followed close on her heels, stood looking, with silent, significant glances, at their mother. And oh! mother that reads this, has there never been in your house a drawer, or a closet, the opening of which has been to you like the opening again of a little grave? Ah! happy mother that you are, if it has not been so!
Mrs. Bird slowly opened the drawer. There were little coats of many a form and pattern, piles of aprons, and rows of small stockings; and even a pair of little shoes, worn and rubbed at the toes, were peeping from the folds of a paper. There was a toy horse and waggon, a top, a ball—memorials gathered with many a tear and many a heartbreak! She sat down by the drawer, and leaning her head on her hands over it, wept till the tears fell through her fingers into the drawer; then suddenly raising her head, she began, with nervous haste, selecting the plainest and most substantial articles, and gathering them into a bundle.