A family of six left their old Kentucky home in search of freedom. A young wife who was sold had made her escape three years previously. I noticed a stranger passing through my gate, and as he was a mulatto, I went out to see where he had gone. I found him sitting in the porch, waiting to see some one of whom to inquire whether he was at the right place. He handed a paper directed to me by an under-ground railroad ticket agent, who informed me there were six fugitives in his company. "Then there are six of you?" I asked; "and where are the balance?" "My two brothers are back a-ways," he replied, "'cause we's feared it wasn't the right place." Being assured all was right, he went back for them. They had left their mother, with her two little grandchildren, in Carthaginia, until the boys could find a safe home for them, but they knew not whether they should go on to Canada or find the object of their search short of that place. They heard in Carthaginia that Michigan was the last place she had been heard from, and that was a short time after passing through that town. They were directed to me as being most likely to know the whereabouts of the young wife. They had been in my home a number of hours before the elder brother dared make the inquiry. I noticed the frequent heavy sigh and sad countenance, and I thought he was probably very anxious over the safety of his mother, and I assured him that she was in good hands, for I knew them to be true friends. While he assented, yet all my words of encouragement did not seem to cheer him, while the two younger brothers were happy. I went through my usual course of giving them new names. As they left that entirely with me, I gave as the family name Koss, and their given names Benjamin, Richard, and Daniel. But I came to the conclusion that the older brother was troubled over some friends he had left behind. At length, in a half hesitating and trembling manner, he ventured to ask if I knew any thing of a colored girl by the name of Mary Todd. "Certainly I do," said I; "and did you know her?" "Yes, ma'am," was his reply. "Do you know whether her husband was sold? She worried a great deal about him." "No, they talked of selling him lately." Then, after a pause, "She isn't married again, is she?" "Why, no, she is a very steady, nice young woman. Every one in the neighborhood where she lives takes a great interest in her. Perhaps you are acquainted with her husband; why don't he come? He promised to follow her as soon as he could." While his countenance lit up with joy, I had no suspicion of who he was until he said, "I am the man. I am her husband." "Why didn't you tell me that before?" "I was 'fraid of bad news if I got any." "Afraid she was married?" "Well, it's been mighty nigh three years, an' I couldn't go for a long time off the plantation, after she left."