"Slaves were once held in the North," his guest reminded him, drawing herself up. "If the African had been able to live in this terrible climate, New England would not so soon have seen the iniquity of slavery. The South, on wider grounds, was coming to the same conclusion. The war only precipitated with bloodshed and disaster that which, if left to right itself, would have been done without such awful squandering of blood and gold." Mr. Tallmadge shook his head. "I cannot agree with you, madam. Violent uprooting is the only way to clear the ground of certain noxious growths." "Ah, you think you've cleared the ground--by inflicting the duties of citizenship all in an instant upon a barbarian horde? You are more of an optimist even than your friends." "What friends are you quoting?" "Your Harriet Beecher Stowe, for instance. Even in the full tide of her romantic enthusiasm she can find no better use for the idealized ex-slave than to ship him to Liberia. This, too, after educating him--sending him for four years to a French university." She smiled. "But since you and I may not meet again, all I wish to point out before I go is that you need not count me as an advocate of slavery." She rose. "Before you go?" he began, hesitating. "I am needed at home," she said. "I shall not remain in Boston longer than is necessary to secure your agreement to Ethan's coming to us for a visit." "I have already said, madam--" "I should not feel the object of my journey attained unless the date were fixed." They stood looking at each other. It will never be known how much Mr. Tallmadge's readiness to restore Mrs. Gano to the bosom of her family influenced his views at this juncture. He turned away and considered, with one foot on the fender and chin-whisker in hand. "This next summer," he said, "I have promised to take Ethan to my brother's place in the White Mountains." "Then the summer after this." "Yes; the summer after he could come, if he were well." "If he were ill, I would come to see him." "Ah--yes." "When does his vacation begin?" "About the middle of June." "If he is well, you will send him to us the third week?" "Yes." They shook hands solemnly. CHAPTER IV It was when Ethan was seven years old that he was permitted to go to New Plymouth to spend his summer holidays. He was brought by his uncle Elijah Tallmadge, who, on his way to Cincinnati, satisfied his sense of duty, if not his civility, by dropping the little boy on the platform of the New Plymouth station, and watching from the window of the receding train how a tall, grave girl in an old-fashioned bonnet, and with a turbaned negress in her wake, went up to the little traveller and greeted him. "Are you Ethan Gano?" said the lady, gently. "Yes," answered the child. She kissed him. "I am your aunt Valeria," she said, and took his trunk check out of his hand and gave it to the negro hackman, who departed to claim the child's belongings.