"We trusted her and at dark we found ourselves in her son's home eating chicken-pie and drinking hot coffee, which we had not partaken of in ten days. Soon another sympathizer came in and the two men arranged to take us on our journey as far as they could before morning. "When we were small, father used to tell us children about the angels and I formed the idea that they were sweet, lovely and looked beautiful, but oh, Mr. Thompson, that dear old lady, I wish you could have seen her just as she looked to me that night, stepping around so softly to make us comfortable. Why, Thompson, she seemed so handsome, while looking through my tears I actually think she might have been an angel which God sent to comfort us. When we were ready to start, she put her arm around each of our necks and kissed us, saying, 'We will play that I am your mother, just for tonight.' "Acting on our host's guarantee, we rode boldly down through Chambersburg, where Cook had just been taken, but all was well. At break of day, when about forty-five miles away, we jumped out with our luggage, eight loaves of bread and part of a boiled ham, and fled into the woods. "Now we found ourselves among the Quakers, who fed and protected us, and in a few days we separated, I working my way to you, and here I am tonight. "Father taught his followers that the move on Harper's Ferry would precipitate conditions which would free the slaves. If, as we believe, God was leading him, it surely will, for dark as it appears to us today, it may be all right when viewed by the coming generations." Then in a voice, just like old John Brown himself, Owen softly sang a verse of the hymn, "God Moves in a Mysterious Way His Wonders to Perform." We rode a little way in silence and again he struck up: "Let us love one another as long as we stay Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way." [Illustration: NEAR JOHN BROWN'S ADIRONDACK HOME, 1911.] AFTER THE MIST HAD CLEARED AWAY Forty-six years have passed since the sixteen year old Vida played her part so well in the strange drama of freedom's birth, and now, in an automobile tour to the coast of Maine with my wife, Mary Prickett, and our sixteen year old Vida, who to me, is a veritable imprint of the afore-characterized Vida Thompson. I again travel the winding roads of the old Adirondack Mountains. We visit the John Brown farm, sit in his easy chair, and climb the great rock which silently stands sentinel where, in turn, the cold winter's blasts in their wild midnight ride howl weirdly, and the sweet spring mornings awaken the forest song birds who shy their nests among the wild flowers near the grace of the old Hero--John Brown.