expression of his countenance, as he turned away, bidding her a sad
"good-morning."

"O," thought Emma, as she looked after him, "is there none to help?
Poor Mr. Graffam might become a good and useful man: his family might
live out among people, and be happy. I pity them from my very heart;"
and thinking over the matter, Emma walked out into the road, wandering
down the hill, across the bridge, beneath which the bright waters
glided very soberly that morning. Here she paused awhile, looking over
the wooden railing at the reflection of her own thin figure and pale
face. "O Emma," she said, "what thou doest, do quickly; for there is
neither work, knowledge, nor device in the grave, to which thou art
hastening."

Slowly, and somewhat wearily, she ascended the opposite bank, and then
away in his field, working busily, she saw friend Sliver. She knew him
by the broad-brimmed hat, which now and then bobbed up above the wall
as the old man picked up the stones, and then resumed his hoe.

Intent upon his work, he hoed long with his eyes upon the ground: but
at last he paused, and holding the hoe in one hand, drew a checkered
handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the perspiration from his face;
in doing this, he glanced toward the road, and saw Emma leaning over
the wall, apparently inspecting his work.

"Good-morning, Mr. Sliver," said Emma.

[Illustration: EMMA AND THE QUAKER.]

"Ah, how does thee do?" replied the good man, with evident pleasure. "I