Order was restored. Bill hung up his coat, and sat down. Joe nestled in the old woman's lap. And now the storm was heard beating against the house.
"Say!" spoke up Fessenden's, "can I stop here over night?"
"You don't suppose," said Mr. Williams, "we'd turn you out in such weather as this, do you?"
"Wal!" said Fessenden's, "nobody else would keep me."
"Don't you be troubled! While we 've a ruf over our heads, no stranger don't git turned away from it that wants shelter, and will put up with our 'commodations. We can keep you to-night, and probably to-morrow night, if you like to stay; but after that I can't promise. Mebby we sha'n't have a ruf for our own heads then. But we'll trust the Lord," said Mr. Williams, with a deep, serious smile,—while Mrs. Williams sighed.
"How is it about that matter?" Gentleman Bill inquired.
"The house is to be tore down Monday, I suppose," replied his father, mildly.
"My gracious!" exclaimed Bill; "Mr. Frisbie a'n't really going to carry that threat into execution?"
"That's what he says, William. He has got a prejudice ag'inst color, you know. Since he lost the election, through the opposition of the abolitionists, as he thinks, he's been very much excited on the subject," added Mr. Williams, in his subdued way.
"Excited!" echoed his wife, bitterly.