CHAPTER XLIII

Results

The rest of our story is soon told. George Shelby, interested, as any

other young man might be, by the romance of the incident, no less than

by feelings of humanity, was at the pains to send to Cassy the bill of

sale of Eliza; whose date and name all corresponded with her own

knowledge of facts, and felt no doubt upon her mind as to the identity

of her child. It remained now only for her to trace out the path of the

fugitives.

Madame de Thoux and she, thus drawn together by the singular

coincidence of their fortunes, proceeded immediately to Canada, and

began a tour of inquiry among the stations, where the numerous

fugitives from slavery are located. At Amherstberg they found the

missionary with whom George and Eliza had taken shelter, on their first

arrival in Canada; and through him were enabled to trace the family to

Montreal.

George and Eliza had now been five years free. George had found

constant occupation in the shop of a worthy machinist, where he had

been earning a competent support for his family, which, in the mean

time, had been increased by the addition of another daughter.

Little Harry—a fine bright boy—had been put to a good school, and was

making rapid proficiency in knowledge.

The worthy pastor of the station, in Amherstberg, where George had

first landed, was so much interested in the statements of Madame de

Thoux and Cassy, that he yielded to the solicitations of the former, to

accompany them to Montreal, in their search,—she bearing all the

expense of the expedition.

The scene now changes to a small, neat tenement, in the outskirts of

Montreal; the time, evening. A cheerful fire blazes on the hearth; a

tea-table, covered with a snowy cloth, stands prepared for the evening

meal. In one corner of the room was a table covered with a green cloth,

where was an open writing-desk, pens, paper, and over it a shelf of

well-selected books.

This was George’s study. The same zeal for self-improvement, which led

him to steal the much coveted arts of reading and writing, amid all the

toil and discouragements of his early life, still led him to devote all

his leisure time to self-cultivation.

At this present time, he is seated at the table, making notes from a

volume of the family library he has been reading.

“Come, George,” says Eliza, “you’ve been gone all day. Do put down that

book, and let’s talk, while I’m getting tea,—do.”

And little Eliza seconds the effort, by toddling up to her father, and

trying to pull the book out of his hand, and install herself on his

knee as a substitute.

“O, you little witch!” says George, yielding, as, in such

circumstances, man always must.

“That’s right,” says Eliza, as she begins to cut a loaf of bread. A

little older she looks; her form a little fuller; her air more matronly

than of yore; but evidently contented and happy as woman need be.

“Harry, my boy, how did you come on in that sum, today?” says George,

as he laid his hand on his son’s head.

Harry has lost his long curls; but he can never lose those eyes and

eyelashes, and that fine, bold brow, that flushes with triumph, as he

answers, “I did it, every bit of it, _myself_, father; and _nobody_

helped me!”

“That’s right,” says his father; “depend on yourself, my son. You have

a better chance than ever your poor father had.”

At this moment, there is a rap at the door; and Eliza goes and opens

it. The delighted—“Why! this you?”—calls up her husband; and the good

pastor of Amherstberg is welcomed. There are two more women with him,

and Eliza asks them to sit down.

Now, if the truth must be told, the honest pastor had arranged a little

programme, according to which this affair was to develop itself; and,

on the way up, all had very cautiously and prudently exhorted each

other not to let things out, except according to previous arrangement.

What was the good man’s consternation, therefore, just as he had

motioned to the ladies to be seated, and was taking out his

pocket-handkerchief to wipe his mouth, so as to proceed to his

introductory speech in good order, when Madame de Thoux upset the whole

plan, by throwing her arms around George’s neck, and letting all out at

once, by saying, “O, George! don’t you know me? I’m your sister Emily.”

Cassy had seated herself more composedly, and would have carried on her