“Lend me your hammer and a chisel, if you please, Mr. Dugdale,” said the officer.
“Please read that paper over again, will thee?” asked the Quaker.
The officer once more read the warrant.
“I see nothing there which says I must furnish thee with tools to open my door. If thee wants a hammer, thee must go elsewhere for it; I tell thee plainly, thee can’t have mine.”
The implements for opening the door are at length obtained, and, after another half hour, the slave-catchers are in the barn. Three hours is a long time for a slave to be in the hands of Quakers. The hay is turned over, and the barn is visited in every part; but still the runaway is not found. Uncle Joseph has a glow upon his countenance; Ephraim shakes his head knowingly; little Elijah is a perfect know-nothing, and if you look toward the house you will see Aunt Ruth’s smiling face ready to announce that breakfast is ready.
“The nigger is not in this barn,” said the officer.
“I know he is not,” quietly remarked the Quaker.
“What were you nailing up your door for, then, as if you were afraid we would enter?” inquired one of the kidnappers.
“I can do what I please with my own door, can’t I?” said the Friend.
The secret was out; the fugitive had gone in at the front door, and out at the back; and the reading of the warrant, nailing up of the door, and other preliminaries of the Quaker, was to give the fugitive time and opportunity to escape.