“His name?” asked the chairman. “He is known as Frederick.” So Frederick was admitted to membership. At his first meeting he sat silent, listening. He felt very humble when these men and women rose to their feet and read or spoke. His head whirled. It seemed that he could not bear any more when a young woman, whom he had noticed sitting very quietly in a corner, rose. She held a paper in her hand, and when she spoke her voice was low and musical. At first he heard only that music. He shook himself and tried to attend to what she was saying. “This third edition of the _Appeal_ has been wholly reset and contains many corrections and important additions. David Walker is dead, but let us remember that his words are addressed to us, to every one of us. Remember the preamble to his four articles, his own words ‘To the Colored Citizens of the World, but in particular, and very expressly, to those of the United States of America.’ The hour is too late for you to hear the entire text of his final message. But in this time of great stress and discouragement I should like to call your attention to this one paragraph.” And then, standing close to the smoking oil lamp, she read from the paper in her hand: “For although the destruction of the oppressors God may not effect by the oppressed, yet the Lord our God will bring other destruction upon them, for not infrequently will He cause them to rise up one against the other, to be split, divided, and to oppress each other. And sometimes to open hostilities with sword in hand.” She sat down then amid complete and thoughtful silence. The meeting broke up. They dispersed quickly, not loitering on the street, not walking together. But first Frederick buttonholed his friend from Fells Point. “What’s her name?” he whispered. His friend knew whom he meant. “Anna Murray.” The bonds of slavery bit deeper than before. The calm, sweet face of Anna Murray shimmered in his dreams. He had to be free! He was living and working among free men, in all respects equal to them in performance. Why then should he be a slave? He was earning a dollar and a half a day. He contracted for it, worked for it, collected it. It was paid to him. Turning this money over to Mr. Auld each Saturday became increasingly painful. He could see no reason why, at the end of each week, he should pour the rewards of his toil into the purse of a master. It is quite possible that Mr. Auld sensed some of this rebellion, though not its intensity. Each time he carefully counted the money and each time he looked searchingly at the young man and asked, “Is that all?” It would not do to let the boy consider himself too profitable. On the other hand, when the sum was extra large he usually gave him back a sixpence or shilling along with a kindly pat. This dole did not have the intended effect. The slave took it as an admission of his right to the whole sum. In giving him a few cents the master was easing his conscience.