the man explained. "I don't never want to trouble the ladies, but you see a dozen people hereabout seen the nigger go into your yard, and nary one seen him come out, though there was twicet as many people to the front of the house as to the back. Likewise we've had a watch on the nigger's house, and you've been seen twicet since yesterday going back and forth betwixt this house and his'n. And the upshot is, we've decided he's hid somewheres on these premises. We've got a search warrant and four men are watching the outside doors, and we're bound to get him, if he's here, but it'll save you and us a lot of muss and trouble, if you'll give him up, pleasant and easy, to begin with."

"If I did know where the man was, I would not tell you." (I could feel my mother's eyes pinning the man to the wall like a beetle.) "But I do not. He is nowhere on the premises to my knowledge. In fact my little boy told me he ran through our yard and out of the front gate. As to the man's poor wife, Ruby, I certainly have tried to comfort her and shall continue to do so. Now if you have a search warrant you can proceed to your business."

"I'll talk with the little boy first,' said the man, "youngsters often see things that older folks don't. Where is he?"

"He has just gone for an errand," answered my mother, her voice. trembling with indignation, "but I know he knows nothing of the poor man's whereabouts. The child never kept anything from me in his life."

And there I stood behind the angle of the open folding doors, trembling with the certainty that it was but a matter of minutes before

the slave catcher must enter. He was already moving-I grew rigidbut no, it was toward the front door, which he opened to admit another man. It was a noisy door to open and, while it scrawked on its hinges, I opened the door into the diningroom, unheard, and sped through it and the kitchen into the yard, followed by Ann's vituperations, for she knew I was forbidden to go that way.

Our town was built without alleys, and back yards backed on to back yards with no gates between, but the side fences were low, and jumping these and running across three back yards, I was soon on the street far from the house. I made my errand cover the time, as near as I could guess at it, that the men would take to search the premises, and returned as I had gone, over the fences, sick with anxiety as to poor Jake's fate, but resolved to say or do nothing which might betray him, if his hiding place had not yet been discovered. I had bought a new bucket and a loaf of bread-my money would go no further. Putting these in the cellar-way, I hurried with the eggs to the kitchen door.

Ann was swelling with rage, (not at me for a wonder this time), and was talking to herself.

"The nashty bastes! Is it nagers they're afther huntin' in me kitchen? I'll tach thim manners wid me broom shtick, if iver they cooms nager huntin' around me agin." Then she saw me, and came to the door for the eggs.

"Thim eggs is moighty shmall fer their size," she said acidly.

"Did they find-" I began impulsively, then caught my breath and stammered, "I mean, did they dirty your kitchen?"

But Ann was already half way

across it with the eggs and had not heard me. I ran to the cellar.

"Are you there Jake?" I called in a stage whisper, as I pulled the door to, behind me.

"Yes, Mar's Clar'nce," he whispered, "I'se plum tuckered out, but I'se yere. De Philistines deys ben atter me, but de good Lawd hab delibbered me outen dere han's."

"I can't stay," I said, "but here is some bread," and I sent it skating across the top of the wood toward him. I feared my mother would note my long absence but I must take my chance while I had it. I snatched my bucket and ran to the pump. O, had it ever made so much noise before? I felt at each stroke as if some one would surely run out and ask what I was doing and why I was doing it; but no one did, and in another instant the water was safe in the ash pit and I was hurrying to my mother.

She met me flushed but smiling, and evidently not intending to let me know what had been going on. I looked at the clock and was grateful to see that it was nearly six.

"I'll split my kindlings now," I said, and so made my escape to the cellar again.

"I wuz pow'ful thusty," said Jake, as he took the bucket, (which I had managed to get to him over the wood pile) from his lips. It held two quarts, but he had already half emptied it.

"Hit do seem moughty unprovidin' to drink so much ter wunst," he said, "but I'se 'lowin fer ter come outen yere ter-night, so's I ain't so savin' un it."

"But Jake," I exclaimed, (I was was wedged beside him as I had been before,) "you just can't go to Canada to-night. Those men'll catch you as sure as you live!

You've got to stand it, and stay here till we know they've gone away. I didn't have money enough to buy anything but the bread, but my pockets are chuck full of cherries, and they'll taste good. Could you lie down and sleep in here last night without most choking?"

"Bress you honey! I didn't stay yere atter I year yo' ma lockin' up de house. I crope up en' lay un de top er de wood de hull night, bein' moughty keerful do ter git down agin, 'fo' Ann came roun' in de mornin'. But we's wastin' time en' de supper bell gwine ring any minute. Now, yo' see, honey, dis yere house done ben suched, en' yo' ma done ben axed all she gwine be axed, so's I ain't skeert no mo'er her knowin' dat I'se yere, en' atter yer supper yo' kin tell her; but be moughty keerful der don nobody else year, en' doan fergit ter say dat atter de house is done locked, en' de lights is out, I'se gwine crope up en' 'vise 'long wid her.

II.

"O whacky! but weren't you scared, Jake, when those men came into the cellar?" I asked, as I sat beside him in the kitchen four hours later, while he ate the supper which my mother had insisted should precede his talk with her.

"Yes, Mars' Clar'nce, I suttinly wuz mos' onrighteously skeert. Mos' specially w'en one un um begun fer ter pull down de wood pile. But des den de odder give me 'surance. 'Dey ain't no nigger in dat wood pile,' he sorter singed, en' dey bof laff ter split. 'Dey ain't no nigger dar,' sezee, 'caze he cain' pile de wood back on hisself, en' der cain' no one else pile it dat-a-way, good en' eben, 'thouten bein' cotched at it, wid de cellar bein' used all de time-en' er one thing I'se suttin'

sezee, 'ef dat nigger's hid in dis yer house de folks don' know it! Dat lady war mad, but she warn't lyin'! Dats wat he sez Mars' Clar'nce, en' I wuz mos' mazin' glad yo' ain't tole yo' ma."

"But Jake," I asked, "how did you ever come to think of that place to hide away?"

"You wunnerin' how I come ter make straight fer dat wood pile, honey? I tell yo' Mars' Clar'nce hits proned inter niggers wen dey sees a good hidin' place not ter disremember it offen der mines! Wen I tuck'n pile dat wood fer yo' pa, en' he done tole me ter pile it dat-a-way offen de wall, long er hits bein' green, I 'lowed to mysef dat it wuz de bessest place roun' fer hidin'. Five years ago, wen I wuz runnin' 'way fum ole Mars' Henry-hidin' in de swamp en' ridin' unner freight kyars en' sleepin' in plow furrers, I 'lowed ef ebber I got to de Norf, I wouldn't ast no mo'. I 'lowd I'd feel safe yere-but Laws, Mars' Clar'nce, ef onct de feelin' er summon's huntin' yo' gits clar inter yer bones, yo' caint nebber git shet un it! Fer two years atter I come to dis yer town I ain't got no peace. Hit seem like I'se spectin' summun gwine jump down fum somewhars atop er me ev'y breathin' minit! En' I dassent go ter Canada fer I 'lowed dey'd hab my 'scription on all de boats."

"But why didn't you go after two years?" I asked. "It must have been safe then."

"I reckon I doan't 'zactly know." Jake scratched his head thoughtfully. "Fus' 'twas marryin' Ruby. Den one ting en' nudder, en' den de baby, 'twell byme bye I reckon I'se so use ter feelin' skeert dat I warn't skeert no mo'. But ef de good Law'd'll kyar me dar now, I

ain't takin' no mo' chances."

"If you're through eating, Jake,” said my mother, speaking softly at the door, "you can come into the dining-room. Our minister, Mr. Dayton, is here, and we have made. a plan which I will explain to you. Can you write?"

"Not like Ruby kin," answered Jake, taking the seat at the table which my mother offered, "but right smart fer a nigger dat's jes startin' in. Hit pears like yo' caint cotch onter nuffin atter you'se growed up, but Ruby she's wukked pow'ful to larn me, en' I kin write some."

"Then take this paper and pencil," said my mother, "and tell Ruby, in the fewest words you can tell it in, that you are well and send your love and will try to send money for her to join you in Canada. Write, and I'll explain afterwards," she added as he hesitated.

Hurry as Jake would, this literary effort consumed half an hour and was finished while Mr. Dayton stood waiting, hat in hand.

"Now address this envelope to her," he said, placing one already stamped in front of Jake. This took ten minutes more and Mr. Dayton, pouncing upon it before Jake's slow hand had raised from the last stroke, thrust it into a larger envelope, already addressed and, with an "I'll get it there in time" spoken back over his shoulder, left the room, and we heard the front door close behind him.

"Now, Jake," said my mother, "listen carefully. Mr. Dayton has not taken that letter to Ruby, but to the conductor of the midnight train, who will take it to Detroit and mail it in the morning to a friend of mine in Toronto who will take it out of the big envelope and mail it back to Ruby, and it will

get to her with the Canada post mark, you see, by day after to-morrow! It is a deception," she continued as if to herself, "but this fugitive slave catcher, in trying to take a man from his family has forfeited his right to the truth." Then to Jake again, "After Ruby gets the letter, it won't be an hour before every one will be telling every one else that 'Black Jake' has outwitted the slave hunters and is safe in Canada. The slave hunters themselves will hear of it and assure themselves of the truth of the rumor by calling on Ruby to see the letter, which she will only be too glad to show them, and they will go back to where they came from. You, Jake, can sleep on a cot in the attic locked store room where no one but myself ever goes, till we are sure they are out of the way and then you can safely make the journey to Canada.”

Jake had listened, wide-eyed and open-mouthed-"Bress de good Lawd," he said turning from her to me, as one to whom in his excited state he could address himself more easily. "Bress de good Lawd! He hab showed me de way, but yo' ma, she am de angel pintin' it!"

I have lived on the Pacific Coast for thirty years but I have never lost track of Jake, and last year, going East by the "Canadian Pacific," I stopped off at the little town of

where he and old Ruby are still living. Their seven children were scattered long ago by marriage or death, and I found them quite by themselves, a dusky Darby and Joan.

"Hit do seem mos' strawdinnery," said old Jake speaking to himself, when, our greetings over and Ruby

gone to get the supper, we sat together in their little front room. "Hit do seem mos' strawdinnery dat dis gemman air li'l' Mars' Clar'nce!" Then addressing me, "Wy it seems like you'se mos' as ole as I is. 'Cose I oughter knowd you ain' gwine. stay dat way I lef yo', but 'clar to gracious, ef I ebber knowed in my bones dat yo' wus done growed up, 'twell dis yere blessed minit."

He sat gazing at the floor, the dissipation of a cherished vision evidently clashing with the pleasure of seeing me as I was in the flesh. Presently he arose, and crossing to the mantle piece took down some sort of nondescript dangling arrangement that hung over it.

"Dis yere's de way my li'l' Mars' Clar'nce'll allus look ter me," he said, holding out a small photograph of my ten year old self which my mother had given him when he started for Canada. It was framed and depended from one end of a heavy curved piece of iron wire, from the other end of which hung a small faded green silk bag, the wire itself being tied mid-way with a bright bit of new scarlet ribbon by which it had hung to the wall.

"Dats de spittin image ob de li'l' chap wat stud by me in de wilderness," he said gazing with a sense of injury in his eyes, at my gray bearded face, "en' dis," opening the little green bag, “is his har."

Could that sunny curl ever have danced on my bald head?

"But Jake," I said, "what is that they are tied to?"

"Dat?" repeated Jake, "wy, dat's de han'le er de ole itn bucket li'l' Mar's Clar'nce fotch de water in dat fus' night." He spoke in the third person, as seeming to begrudge my identity with that of the child of. years gone by. "I tuk it offen de

bucket, en' put it in my pocket fer a 'membrancer dat night wen I wuz awaitin' fer ter go up ter his ma; en' ebber since, Ruby en' me keeps a sorter passover feast ebbery year wen de time ob my delib'rance comes 'roun'. We puts dat han'le on de table wen we eats, en' wen we'se done, Ruby she ties a new ribbon onter it en' hangs it up agin. Them

was hard 'sperences fer li'l' Mars' Clar'nce, 'thouten his ma nor nobody, en' dat outdaceous Ann a harryin' en' a pesterin' of him-I heern her-por li'l' chap!" A film gathered on old Jake's spectacles, and as he sat looking at the floor with the bucket handle in his hand, I think he had quite forgotten that I was in the room.

T

HE literature of oriental rugs is very meagre. Though for years travellers and merchants have been busily collecting these beautiful pieces of handiwork at fairs and markets in almost every city and village in the orient, "from silken Samarkand to cedar'd Lebanon," and though no modern mansion is regarded as artistically complete unless its floors reflect back in glowing but subdued colors the glories of the paintings and tapestries upon its walls, yet the subject of rugs is one which has received very little attention from writers, except for a few savants who have not succeeded in inspiring the public with any great degree of their zeal. After reading a half dozen or so of books, mostly by German scholars, anyone who wishes more detailed knowledge must rely on his individual taste and powers of observation.

It is hard to understand just why this should be so, for nearly everyone admires good rugs and many people are intensely enthusiastic about them. But ask some specific questions of your friends who have

been known to spend whole days at rug auctions, and nine times out of ten they will refer you, not to a book on the subject, but to some local dealer who has awakened their interest by volunteering some tached bits of picturesque information.

We in America are practically but just beginning to appreciate rugs. Fifty or even twenty-five years ago, when old and valuable specimens were much more plentiful than now, and when every caravan load that came across the desert contained many fine pieces, the good and the bad were bought and used without distinction, and both were esteemed almost wholly from the standpoint of their utilitarian value. The daughter of a well-known author and editor who died some years ago, recently told me that her father and mother prided themselves on the fact that it had been their custom to make wedding presents of antique rugs when the latter cost less on this side of the water than Brussels carpeting. But for one instance of such discrimination there could probably be cited hundreds of cases