she knew where I could get employ? She said she did not; but advised me to
go to W.W., a Quaker, who lived about three miles from her, whom I would
find to take an interest in me. She gave me directions which way to take;
I thanked her, and bade her good morning, and was very careful to follow
her directions.

In about half an hour I stood trembling at the door of W.W. After
knocking, the door opened upon a comfortably spread table; the sight of
which seemed at once to increase my hunger sevenfold. Not daring to enter,
I said I had been sent to him in search of employ. "Well," said he, "Come
in and take thy breakfast, and get warm, and we will talk about it; thee
must be cold without any coat." "_Come in and take thy breakfast, and get
warm!_" These words spoken by a stranger, but with such an air of simple
sincerity and fatherly kindness, made an overwhelming impression upon my
mind. They made me feel, spite of all my fear and timidity, that I had, in
the providence of God, found a friend and a home. He at once gained my
confidence; and I felt that I might confide to him a fact which I had, as
yet, confided to no one.

From that day to this, whenever I discover the least disposition in my
heart to disregard the wretched condition of any poor or distressed
persons with whom I meet, I call to mind these words--"_Come in and take
thy breakfast, and get warm_." They invariably remind me of what I was at
that time; my condition was as wretched as that of any human being can
possibly be, with the exception of the loss of health or reason. I had but
four pieces of clothing about my person, having left all the rest in the
hands of my captors. I was a starving fugitive, without home or friends--a
reward offered for my person in the public papers--pursued by cruel
manhunters, and no claim upon him to whose door I went. Had he turned me
away, I must have perished. Nay, he took me in, and gave me of his food,