were amazed to hear, that, the more the Quakers were scourged, and
imprisoned, and banished, the more did the sect increase, both by the
influx of strangers, and by converts from among the Puritans. But
Grandfather told them, that God had put something into the soul of man,
which always turned the cruelties of the persecutor to nought.

He went on to relate, that, in 1659, two Quakers, named William Robinson
and Marmaduke Stephenson, were hanged at Boston. A woman had been
sentenced to die with them, but was reprieved, on condition of her leaving
the colony. Her name was Mary Dyer. In the year 1660 she returned to
Boston, although she knew death awaited her there; and, if Grandfather had
been correctly informed, an incident had then taken place, which connects
her with our story. This Mary Dyer had entered the mint-master’s dwelling,
clothed in sackcloth and ashes, and seated herself in our great chair,
with a sort of dignity and state. Then she proceeded to deliver what she
called a message from Heaven; but in the midst of it, they dragged her to
prison.

"And was she executed?" asked Laurence.

"She was," said Grandfather.

"Grandfather," cried Charley, clenching his fist, "I would have fought for
that poor Quaker woman!"

"Ah! but if a sword had been drawn for her," said Laurence, "it would have
taken away all the beauty of her death."

It seemed as if hardly any of the preceding stories had thrown such an
interest around Grandfather’s chair, as did the fact, that the poor,