At last Esther pressed his hand, and, in a choking voice, exclaimed, "Charlie, my dear boy, I'd give my life if it would change your complexion--if it would make you white! Poor fellow! your battle of life will be a hard one to fight!" "I know it, Ess; but I shouldn't care to be white if I knew I would not have a dear old Ess like you for a sister," he answered, pressing her hand affectionately.

"I don't intend to be conquered," he continued; "I'll fight it out to the last--this won't discourage me.

I'll keep on trying," said he, determinedly--"if one won't, perhaps another will." For two or three days Charlie could hear of nothing that would be at all suitable for him.

At last, one morning he saw an advertisement for a youth to learn the engraver's business--one who had some knowledge of drawing preferred; to apply at Thomas Blatchford's, bank-note engraver.

"Thomas Blatchford," repeated Mr.Walters, as Charlie read it over--"why that is _the_ Mr.Blatchford, the Abolitionist.