[p. 99] him, which, however, struck the door jamb instead of his head and left a deep, indented mark. The mobs were many, but their angry rumble generally passed by.
In 1856 this memorable house was left for the country, where James and Lucretia Mott bought a small farm on the ‘Old North Road,’ the old turnpike between New York and Philadelphia, calling the place ‘Roadside,’ and here they spent their remaining years.
It is difficult to give a connected account of her life during the next ten years, sometimes in the peaceful country retreat, sometimes in the whirl of city events; at one time apparently engrossed in domestic affairs, and then absorbed in the day and night sessions of a fugitive slave's trial, and again in the happy circle of a family gathering.
Mrs. Mott retained her city interests, going into town almost daily, her husband generally driving her in their comfortable old-fashioned carriage. It was in these drives that she accomplished her ‘little knitting’—free cotton, still—of bed spreads and bureau covers, so many that one was presented to each of her daughters and granddaughters.
Their carriage was always loaded with products of farm or orchard, chickens, fruit, or vegetables, to be divided among the children's homes in town, or taken to the ‘House of Industry’ or the ‘Colored Home’—something nice for somebody. Later, when these long drives were superseded by the convenient steam railway, Mrs. Mott still persisted, carrying a basket of fresh eggs or ripe pears, refusing offers of assistance. Sometimes these good fresh eggs were carried in her own handbag, in dangerous proximity to its other contents. Mrs. Mott was curiously averse either to exact or receive attentions. When travelling she preferred to be alone, if her husband could not accompany her. With him she made journeys into Illinois, Ohio, Virginia, Massachusetts and Nantucket, speaking at innumerable meetings, often in spite of some dyspeptic trouble, meeting with persecution in some parts and enthusiastic welcome in others.
