"Not to-night," I said. "Yes, to-night," he answered. "Do as I tell you, and you have no rent to pay, and this piece of cambric is yours, and I am your friend; but refuse me, and out of the house you go this very night; I have warned you long enough to pay the rent." I told him that I could not do what was against my conscience for all the goods of this world, and that if he was so cruel as to turn me out of doors, God would protect me and my child. "But," said I, "are you not afraid to do such a wicked thing, it is so dark and stormy, and my poor baby"--and at the thought that it had no father to protect it, I burst into tears, and could not speak. He was silent, and seemed to feel some pity. Presently he said, "Well, you may stay till daylight, but then you must either hide these things for me, or you must march. And I suppose it will not worry your stomach to let these things stay here till then." So he put the goods on a chair, and laid my cloak and bonnet upon them. As soon as he was gone, and his door shut, I took the things and put them all just outside of the door. I was too much troubled and frightened to go to bed. At break of day he was in my room again. "Will you do as I desire," said he, "or will you clear out? I'll make you pay for putting these things on the dirty floor." He stopped a minute. "Come, now, hide these things, and we are friends, and no trouble about your rent, and all's right, you know." I thank heaven that I never hesitated; it did not seem a possible thing to me that I should assist this man in hiding his stolen goods. I am certain that I should have rather died. I cannot think now how it was that I felt so calm and so strong. I collected together a small bundle of clothes, and tried to wrap up my baby so that the cold air should not come to her; it seemed as if I could hear my conscience say, "Be not afraid;" I felt as if I was not alone. I left the house, determining to go from door to door till I found some one to take me in. I was refused admittance at two or three; and then I remembered a poor widow who had sent me broth when I was sick, and I went to her. It was hardly daylight when I knocked; there was a driving sleet, but my heart did not fail me, my God did not forsake me. It was some time before the good woman came down; I had taken my own cloak to cover my dear baby, and I was wet to the skin, and had such an ague fit from cold that I could hardly speak to beg shelter for heaven's sake. She took me in, she made a fire, and got me something hot to drink; she took my child, and dried and warmed it, and put her and me to bed.