said--"Father?"

"Well, my son."

"I should like to go with thee to the tan-yard this afternoon."

Here Jael, who had been busy pulling back the table, replacing the
long row of chairs, and re-sanding the broad centre Sahara of the
room to its dreary, pristine aridness, stopped, fairly aghast with
amazement.

"Abel--Abel Fletcher! the lad's just out of his bed; he is no more
fit to--"

"Pshaw, woman!" was the sharp answer. "So, Phineas, thee art really
strong enough to go out?"

"If thou wilt take me, father."

He looked pleased, as he always did when I used the Friends' mode of
phraseology--for I had not been brought up in the Society; this
having been the last request of my mother, rigidly observed by her
husband. The more so, people said, as while she lived they had not
been quite happy together. But whatever he was to her, in their
brief union, he was a good father to me, and for his sake I have
always loved and honoured the Society of Friends.

"Phineas," said he (after having stopped a volley of poor Jael's
indignations, beseechings, threats, and prognostications, by a
resolute "Get the lad ready to go")--"Phineas, my son, I rejoice to