“This man will see me through,” she said, putting her hand on the arm of a big ruffian in a red shirt. Roused by this unexpected appeal to his chivalry he made way for her through the crowd and escorted her safely to the house where she was staying. The next day in a restaurant near the hall, she recognized him and sitting down at his table began talking with him. When he left he asked: “Who is that lady?” “Lucretia Mott.” Dumfounded for a moment he shook his head and then said, “Well, she’s a good sensible woman!” In her own home Lucretia Mott sheltered fugitive slaves, till it became widely known as a place of refuge. Many a poor negro she helped on his way to Canada, by the Underground Railroad. In the entrance hall of the Mott house there stood two roomy armchairs which the family called “the beggars’ chairs,” for there applicants, rich and poor, known and unknown, black and white, waited to see Mrs. Mott. Almost incredible was the opposition she met. Even the gentle Quakers reproached her for “lugging in” slavery at their meetings. Many of them wished she would resign. A minority wanted to disown her. They refused the use of their meeting-houses for abolition lectures. When she was speaking away from Philadelphia they allowed her to stay at country taverns, instead of inviting her to their homes--a great breach of hospitality. They discussed taking away her “approved minister’s minute,” which introduced her to Quaker communities. But in justice to herself, and because she loved the society and its traditions and desired to remain a Friend, she was so careful that they could bring no case against her. Never did she compromise her principles. Never did she ask for police protection, though the mob clamored and howled around the building. And never did she meet bodily harm. She lived the Quaker doctrine of non-resistance, and did not believe in repelling violence with violence. Holding that slavery was wrong, the Motts decided to use nothing made with slave labor. That meant giving up sugar and candy and cotton cloth. Most of all, it meant giving up the cotton goods commission business in which for the first time James Mott was finding it possible to make a comfortable living. Yet unflinchingly they sacrificed material prosperity for the spiritual gain. Mrs. Mott opened a school and they managed to get along until a new business could be established. After the Civil War colored people were not allowed to ride in the Philadelphia street-cars except in certain ones reserved for them. One rainy day Lucretia Mott saw a negress, evidently in poor health, standing on the platform in a cold drizzle. She asked the conductor to let her enter the car, but he refused. Immediately Mrs. Mott went outside and stood by the woman. The famous Mrs. Mott, seventy years old, riding in the rain on the platform of his car? That would never do! The conductor begged her to come in. “Not without this woman--I can not!” was the reply.