"O," thought Emma, as she looked after him, "is there none to help? Poor Mr. Graffam might become a good and useful man: his family might live out among people, and be happy. I pity them from my very heart;" and thinking over the matter, Emma walked out into the road, wandering down the hill, across the bridge, beneath which the bright waters glided very soberly that morning. Here she paused awhile, looking over the wooden railing at the reflection of her own thin figure and pale face. "O Emma," she said, "what thou doest, do quickly; for there is neither work, knowledge, nor device in the grave, to which thou art hastening." Slowly, and somewhat wearily, she ascended the opposite bank, and then away in his field, working busily, she saw friend Sliver. She knew him by the broad-brimmed hat, which now and then bobbed up above the wall as the old man picked up the stones, and then resumed his hoe. Intent upon his work, he hoed long with his eyes upon the ground: but at last he paused, and holding the hoe in one hand, drew a checkered handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the perspiration from his face; in doing this, he glanced toward the road, and saw Emma leaning over the wall, apparently inspecting his work. "Good-morning, Mr. Sliver," said Emma. [Illustration: EMMA AND THE QUAKER.] "Ah, how does thee do?" replied the good man, with evident pleasure. "I was not looking for thee in the potato field." "I suppose not," replied Emma, smiling. "I am like Ruth, the Moabitess, who went to glean in the fields of Boaz: only she wanted grain, and I want counsel." Friend Sliver laid down his hoe, and coming up to the wall, asked, "What is it, child?" "You know Mr. Graffam, sir?" "Thee means Peter, who lives upon the plains?" "Yes, sir." "O yes, I have known him some years; given to drink, Emma." "I know it," replied Emma; "but need he be lost, sir? He has a wife and four pretty children; can't he be saved?" "I see but one way," replied the old gentleman; "and that is to get him employment away from the mills. Motley keeps spirit for his hands. I have tried to help Peter by employing him myself, but he is very sullen when not in drink." "I will tell you the reason of that," said Emma; "the poor man has naturally great self-esteem, and people irritate and crush him by showing him no respect." "People can't show what they have not," replied friend Sliver, with a slight twinkle in his bright gray eye. "Can thee respect a drunkard, Emma?" "I can respect a _soul_, sir," replied Emma, warmly,--"a soul made in the image of God, though it were sunk in the very depths of pollution and wretchedness; and so can the 'Great and Holy One,' Mr. Sliver, or he never would have sent his Son to redeem the world." The sly twinkle vanished from the good Quaker's eye, and he looked seriously, earnestly, into the face of that dear girl. "Emma," said he, "what would thee do for Peter and his family? Can I aid thee in any way?"