"Don't cry, Charlie," she added; "the old white wretches, they
shouldn't get a tear out of me for fifty trades!" But Charlie could not be
comforted; he buried his head in his mother's lap, and wept over his
disappointment until he made himself sick.
That day, after Mr. Burrell had finished his dinner, he remarked to his
wife, "I saw something this morning, my dear, that made a deep impression
on me. I haven't been able to get it out of my head for any length of time
since; it touched me deeply, I assure you."
"Why, what could it have been? Pray tell me what it was."
Thereupon, he gave his wife a graphic account of the events that had
transpired at Blatchford's in the morning; and in conclusion, said, "Now,
you know, my dear, that no one would call _me_ an _Abolitionist_; and I
suppose I have some little prejudice, as well as others, against coloured
people; but I had no idea that sensible men would have carried it to that
extent, to set themselves up, as they did, in opposition to a little boy
anxious to earn his bread by learning a useful trade."
Mrs. Burrell was a young woman of about twenty-two, with a round
good-natured face and plump comfortable-looking figure; she had a heart
overflowing with kindness, and was naturally much affected by what he
related.
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