“E-man-ci-pa-tion,” Frederick stumbled over the long word. “What does it mean, Anna?” “Freedom, Frederick--or rather _setting_ the people free. Listen to this!” The two dark heads bent near the oil lamp. “‘The Constitution of the United States knows nothing of white or black men; makes no distinction with regard to the color or condition of free inhabitants.’” Frederick learned to love the paper and its editor. Now he and Nathan Johnson could really talk together. Nathan found an apt pupil, and Ma Johnson took Anna under her wing. As the days grew cooler folks began talking about Thanksgiving. “What is it?” Anna asked, wrinkling her brow. Then Ma Johnson told her about the Pilgrims, of their first, hard winter, of how now each year after harvest time the people of New England set aside a special feasting day in their memory, a day when they gave thanks for all the good things of the earth. “What a beautiful idea!” Anna turned it over in her mind. “A day of thanksgiving!” “Those poor young ones never tasted turkey.” Ma conveyed this tragic information to Nathan. They decided to take a turkey to them. “And I’ll show her how to cook it.” Ma was very fond of Anna. They carried the fresh-killed bird, resplendent in all its feathers, to the little house. Frederick and Anna gazed upon it with awe. “Hot water! Plenty of hot water!” Nathan rolled up his sleeves, and while they followed his movements like two children he plucked the fowl and handed it to Anna. “We’ll have meat all winter!” Frederick laughed, his eyes on Anna’s shining face. The little house was fairly bursting with happiness that fall. They were going to have a child--a child born on free soil. “He’ll be a free man!” Frederick made the words a hymn of praise. And Anna smiled. In April William Lloyd Garrison came to New Bedford. “You must go, Frederick,” Anna said, “since I can’t. Look at me!” “Not without you.” The young husband shook his head, but Anna laughed and rushed supper. Frederick was one of the first to arrive at the hall. He saw only one face that night, he heard only one voice--a face which he described as “heavenly,” a voice which he said “was never loud or noisy, but calm and serene as a summer sky, and as pure.” Garrison was a young man then, with a singularly pleasing face and an earnest manner.