They streamed out of the Town Hall into the market square just as the rain lifted, hiking their dresses and pantcuffs above the swirls of wet, fallen leaves choking the carriage way. Exultant and exalted from a good evening's work, the crowd broke into small groups, shaking hands, laughing, making one final point before dispersing into the Toronto night. The magnetic centre of the crowd, as he had been all night, was the sobersuited Reverend Charles Eaton, whose fiery words still reverberated in the night air, words that had, to the surprise of all, at the end of the evening, raised funds enough for the homesteads and the schools and the purchase-into-freedom price of ten slaves on the Virginia market -- "Let us remember that it was here, here in this place, that the line was first tentatively drawn against this stain, that the British Empire first declared, thus far shall you go and no farther; that we are waded into bloodguilt to the armpits, rising to the chin, and the taste of drowning begins to splash against our lips: and it must cease, here and now!! And yet it did not cease. To our shame. And how many more years, how many more souls pitched overboard into the waters of Atlantic oblivion, how many more links forged and hammered on how many more chains, how much more sin requiring expiation was laid upon us, before we said it is enough, it is finished!!!"(Applause breaks out spontaneously). "And yet it is not finished. It rises like the plague cloud, the sound of wailing and weeping, below us in the Egyptian tyranny, across the Red Sea!!" (He gestures down the hall vaguely toward Lake Ontario) "It is the glory and burden of Her Majesty's Britannic Empire that we, who were so steeped in that vile trade, should be at the forefront of this crusade, a crusade as I said, of expiation." (Pause). "And shall it be, that these (and he points to the row of sober black witnesses who have spoken of their travails earlier in the town meeting) good people, who have toiled in the heated desert under the tyrannous lash of Pharoah's overseers, and in their darkness heard rumours of Israel, and have risked all in flight, risked the chariots and the myriad armies, struggled and hidden and breasted the waves of waters, wandering in wildernesses of despair and misdirection, and shall it be that they shall at last have come into the promised land, into this Canaan flowing with milk and honey, and shall we say unto them, welcome, and then turn again to other work and leave them to destitution? ("Cries of 'no'!!)No. For some, the task is to return, to smuggle, to free, to guide. For others"(he almost points to himself, but thinks better of it)"to exhort and comfort. For others, to support, as you can, those who have been drawn to our beacon lamp. I ask you -- no they ask you --" (and here, in a spontaneous moment the row of black figures rise up and turn to the gathering)" -- do not extinguish through carelessness or indolence or hardheartedness this light that beckons like the Pole Star above. Let it shine out, not just as a beacon, but as a light in the window, in a hundred, a thousand, homestead windows: shining of decent hearths, of homes, schools, churches, people at peace at the end of their weary sojourn, home at last in the Promised Land!!!!!" (Tumultuous applause. Handkerchiefs. Pledges from the floor.)

There was a cold wind that whistled even inside the closed carriage, and the Reverend thoughtfully tucked the blanket around his sister's lap. He was in his element, subdued but thrilled by his triumph, only marred by the slightly mocking look on his younger brother's face opposite, a look he was only too familier with.

"Brother Charles," said the mocking figure,"You certainly jawboned that set of asses tonight. I was myself tempted. I had my hand right upon my chequebook at the exact instant when you stopped, thank goodness."

Rev. Charles refused to let his good mood dissipate. "Well, Tom, it might have been a fine thing if you had been tempted and fallen on this occasion. It might at least have provided some evidence that you intend to commit yourself to something in this life." Since Tom had returned from England, having been cashiered from the Army, thereby adding another blot to an already battered record of wastrel conduct, this had become a recurring theme.

"It would have not been a fine thing for you, Charles, since my chequebook is directly wired to your generosity."

The Reverend began to lean forward in his seat.

At this point, their sister interposed her furled umbrella. "Are we not to have at least one carriage ride in peace in this lifetime?"

The Reverend Charles said: "My dear Imogen, I give him up to you, as ever."

Imogen smiled, and acknowledged with a nod that they disagreed fundamentally on whether Tom was to be counted among the sheep or the goats. For his part, Tom laughed, and said: "If anyone could talk me into good, Charles, it would be you. But it can't be done."

They settled back in their seats. Tom tossed the last of his cigar out of the carriage window, letting in more of the October air to the discomfort of the Rev. Charles, who was more than used to being discomfitted by his brother.

A few minutes passed. The three figures rocked in silence. They moved out of the built up city towards the grangelands, into the darkness, and the sky cleared completely. Tom looked out and up, and the stars of the Big Dipper caught his eye. There suddenly came into his mind an evening he had spent strolling Mayfair with a delightful octoroon of his acquaintance, and in discussing this and that, and various delights in New Orleans which he promised himself that he would one day visit, they had begun on the topic of the Northern Star, and Drinking Gourds, and Gourds, and gourdshaped objects in general, and one thing had led to another ---

And at that moment, the carriage stopped, and they were home.

The Reverend helped his sister down, and turned to go into the Grange. Tom did not get down. Charles and his sister turned back, quizzically. Tom stuck his head out of the window. "Actually, Charles, you did make a convert tonight. I'm thinkin' of heading South, have a little fun and help a few of your slaving people of Moses. All this talk is very well, but I suspect that an Army man might be of some practical assistance."

Imogen cried out: "Tom, you can't be serious!"

"No," said Tom, "I can't. But there it is."

The Reverend Charles stepped forward: "Brother --"

"Don't start one of your sermons on me, Charles. I'll write. Might as well use your own generosity to one of your own purposes, eh? Kiss me quick, Imogen, before I change my mind. Your hand, Charles." Having fulfilled both those tasks with his stunned relations, Tom yelled a few words of direction at the coachman, threw the window back up, and the carriage rattled off into the night.