CHAPTER IX
While the two maids from Westways waited on the family at breakfast, theguest was pleased to express himself favourably in regard to the coffeeand the corn bread. John being left alone in care of the guest after themeal proposed a visit to the stables. Mr. Grey preferred for a time thefire, and later would like to walk to the village. Somewhat relieved,John found for him the Baltimore paper, which Mrs. Penhallow read daily.Mr. Grey would not smoke, but before John went away remarked, "Iperceive, my boy, no spittoon." He was chewing tobacco vigorously andusing the fireplace for his frequent expectoration. John, a littleembarrassed, thought of his Aunt Ann. The habit of chewing was strange tothe boy's home experience. Certainly, Billy chewed, and others in thetown, nor was it at that time uncommon at the North. He confided hisdifficulty to the groom, his boxing-master, who having in his room theneeded utensil placed it beside the hall-fire, to Mr. Grey'ssatisfaction--a square tray of wood filled with sawdust.
"Not ornamental, but useful, John, in fact essential," said Mr. Grey, asJohn excused himself with the statement that he had to go to school. Whenhe returned through the woods, about noon, to his relief he saw far downthe avenue Mr. Grey and the gold-headed, tasselled cane he carried.
A little later Mr. Grey in the sun of a cool day early in October waswalking along the village street in keen search of news of politics. Hetalked first to Pole, the butcher, who hearing that he was a cousin ofMrs. Penhallow assured him that the town would go solid for Buchanan.Then he met Billy, who was going a-fishing, having refused a wood-cuttingjob the rector offered.
"A nice fishing-rod that," said Grey.
Billy who was bird-witted and short of memory replied, "Mrs. Penhallowshe gave me a dollar to pay pole-tax if I vote for--I guess it wasBuchanan. I bought a nice fishing-pole."
Grey was much amused and agreeably instructed in regard to Mrs. Ann'ssentiments, as he realized the simple fellow's mental condition. "Afishing-pole-tax--well--well--" and would tell John of his joke. "Anybarber in this town?" he asked.
"Yes, there's Josiah," and Billy was no longer to be detained.
Mr. Grey mailed a letter, but the post-mistress would not talk politicsand was busy. At last, wandering eastward, he came upon the onlyunoccupied person in Westways. Peter Lamb, slowly recovering strength,was seated on his mother's doorstep. His search for money had beendefeated by the widow's caution, and the whisky craving was being feltanew.
"Good morning," said Grey. "You seem to be the only man here with nothingto do."
"Yes, sir. I've been sick, and am not quite fit to work. Sickness is hardon a working man, sir."
Grey, a kindly person, put his hand in his pocket, "Quite right, it ishard. How are the people here going to vote? I hope the good old ticket."
"Oh! Buchanan and Breckenridge, sir, except one or two and the darkeybarber. He's a runaway--I guess. Been here these three or four years.Squire likes him because he's clever about breaking colts."
"Indeed!"
"He's a lazy nigger, sir; ought to be sent back where he belongs."
"What is his name? I suppose he can shave me."
"Calls himself Josiah," said Peter. "Mighty poor barber--cut my face lasttime he shaved me. You see, he's lost two fingers--makes him awkwarder."
"What! what!" said Grey, of a sudden reflecting, "two fingers--"
"Know him?" said Lamb quickly.
"I--no--Do you suppose I know every runaway nigger?"
"Oh, of course not. Might I ask your name, sir?"
"I am a cousin of Mrs. Penhallow. My name is Grey." Peter became cautiousand silent. "Here is a little help, my man, until you get work. Stick tothe good old Party." He left two dollars in Lamb's eager hands.
Surprised at this unusual bounty, Peter said, "Thank you, sir. God blessyou. It'll be a great help." It meant for the hapless drinker whisky, andhe was quick to note the way in which Grey became interested in the manwho had lost fingers.
Grey lingered. "I must risk your barber's awkwardness," he said.
"Oh, he can shave pretty well when he's sober. He's our only darkey, sir.You can't miss him. I might show you his shop." This Grey declined.
"I suppose, sir," said Peter, curious, "all darkies look so much alikethat it is hard to tell them apart."
"Oh, not for us--not for us."
Then Peter was still more sure that the gentleman with the gold-headedcane was from the South. As Grey lingered thoughtful, Lamb wasmaliciously inspired by the size of Grey's donation and the prospect itoffered. He studied the face of the Southern gentleman and ventured tosay, "Excuse me, sir, but if you want to get that man back--"
"I want him! Good gracious! I did not own him. My inquiries were, I mightsay, casual, purely casual."
Lamb, thanks to the Penhallows, had had some education at the school forthe mill children, but what was meant by "purely casual" he did not know.If it implied lack of interest, that was not the case, or why thequestions and this gift, large for Westways. But if the gentleman did notown Josiah's years of lost labour, some one else did, and who was it?
As Grey turned away, he said, "I may see you again. I am with my cousinat Grey Pine. By the bye, how will the county vote?"
Peter assured him that the Democratic Party would carry the county. "I amglad," said Grey, "that the people, the real backbone of the country,desire to do justice to the South." He felt himself on the way to anotherexposition of constitutional rights, but realising that it was unwisechecked the outflow of eloquence. He could not, however, refrain fromadding, "Your people then are a law-abiding community."
"Yes, sir," said the lover of law, "we are just that, and good soundDemocrats."
Grey, curious and mildly interested, determined to be reassured in regardto this black barber's former status. He walked slowly by Josiah's shopfollowed at a distance by Peter. The barber was shaving Mr. Pole, andintent on his task. Grey caught sight of the black's face. One look wasenough--it was familiar--unmistakable. In place of going in to be shavedhe turned away and quickened his steps. Peter grinned and went home. "Thedarn nigger horse-thief," murmured Grey. "I'll write to Woodburn." Thenhe concluded that first it would be well without committing himself toknow more surely how far this Democratic community would go in support ofthe fugitive-slave law. He applauded his cautiousness.
A moment later Pole, well shaven, overtook him. Grey stopped him, chattedas they went on, and at last asked if there was in Westways a goodDemocratic lawyer. Pole was confident that Mr. Swallow would be all thathe could desire, and pointed out his house.
Meanwhile Peter Lamb began to suspect that there was mischief brewing forthe man who had brought down on him the anger of Mark Rivers, and likeenough worse things as soon as Penhallow came home.
As Pole turned into his shop-door, Mr. Grey went westward in deepthought. He was sure of the barber's identity. If Josiah had been his ownproperty, he would with no hesitation have taken the steps needful toreclaim the fugitive, but it was Mr. Woodburn who had lost Josiah's yearsof service and it was desirable not hastily to commit his friend. He knewwith what trouble the fugitive-slave law had been obeyed or not obeyed atthe North. He was not aware that men who cared little about slavery wereindignant at a law which set aside every safeguard with which the growthof civilization had surrounded the trial of even the worst criminal. Ashe considered the situation, he walked more and more slowly until hepaused in front of Swallow's house. Every one had assured him that sinceGeneral Jackson's time the town and county had changelessly voted thegood old Democratic ticket. Here at least the rights of property would berespected, and there would be no lawless city mobs to make therestoration of a slave difficult. The brick house and ill-kept gardenbefore which he paused looked unattractive. Beside the house a one-storeywooden office bore the name "Henry W. Swallow, Attorney-at-law." Therewas neither bell nor knocker. Mr. Grey rapped on the office door with hiscane, and after waiting a moment without hearing any one, he entered afront room and looked about him.
Swallow was a pers
onage whose like was found too often in the smallPennsylvania villages. The only child of a close-fisted, saving farmer,he found himself on his father's death more than sufficiently well-off togo to college and later to study law. He was careful and penurious, butfailing of success in Philadelphia returned to Westways when about thirtyyears old, bought a piece of land in the town, built a house, married apretty, commonplace young woman, and began to look for business. Therewas little to be had. The Squire drew his own leases and sold lands tofarmers unaided. Then Swallow began to take interest in politics and tolend money to the small farmers, taking mortgages at carefully guarded,usurious interest. Merciless foreclosures resulted, and as by degrees hisoperations enlarged, he grew richer and became feared and important in acounty community where money was scarce. Some of his victims went indespair to the much loved Squire for help, and got, over and over,relief, which disappointed Swallow who disliked him as he did no otherman in the county. The Squire returned his enmity with contemptuousbitterness and entire distrust of the man and all his ways.
Mr. Grey saw in the further room the back of a thin figure in a whitejacket seated at a desk. The man thus occupied on hearing his entrancesaid, without looking back, "Sit down, and in a moment I'll attend toyou."
Grey replied, "In a moment you won't see me;" and, his voice rising, "Iam accustomed to be treated with civility."
Swallow rose at once, and seeing a well-dressed stranger said, "Excuseme, I was drawing a mortgage for a farmer I expected. Take a seat. I amat your service."
Somewhat mollified, Grey sat down. As he took his seat he was not at allsure of what he was really willing to say or do. He was not an indecisiveperson at home, but here in a Northern State, on what might be hostileground, he was in doubt concerning that which he felt he honourably owedas a duty to his neighbour. The word had for him limiting definitions,as indeed it has for most of us. Resolving to be cautious, he said withdeliberate emphasis, "I should like what I have to say to be considered,sir, as George Washington used to remark, as 'under the rose'--a strictlyprofessional confidence."
"Of course," said Swallow.
"My name is George Grey. I am at Grey Pine on a visit to my cousin, Mrs.Penhallow."
"A most admirable lady," said the lawyer; "absent just now, I hear." Hetoo determined on caution.
"I have been wandering about your quiet little town this morning and madesome odd acquaintances. One Billy, he called himself, most amusing--mostamusing. It seems that my cousin gave him money to pay his poll-tax. Thepoor simple fellow bought a fishing-pole and line. He was, I fancy, tovote for Buchanan. My cousin, I infer, must be like all our people asound Democrat."
"I have heard as much," returned Swallow. "I am doing what I can for theparty, but the people here are sadly misled and our own party is slowlylosing ground."
"Indeed! I talked a little with a poor fellow named Lamb, out-of-work andsick. He assured me that the town was solid for Buchanan, and also thecounty."
Swallow laughed heartily. "What! Peter Lamb. He is our prize drunkard,sir, and would have been in jail long ago but for Penhallow. They arefoster-brothers."
"Indeed!" Mr. Grey felt that his knowledge of character had been sadlyat fault and that he had been wise in not having said more to the manout-of-work.
"Do you think, Mr. Swallow, that if a master reclaimed a slave in thiscounty that there would be any trouble in carrying out the law?"
"No, sir," said Swallow. "The county authorities are all Democrats andwould obey the law. Suppose, sir, that you were frankly to put before methe whole case, relying on my secrecy. Where is the man?"
"Let me then tell you my story. As a sound Democrat it will at least haveyour sympathy."
"Certainly, I am all attention."
"About the tenth of June over four years ago I rode with my friendWoodburn into our county-town. At the bank we left our horses with hisgroom Caesar, an excellent servant, much trusted; used to ride quarterraces for my father when a boy. When we came out, Woodburn's horse washitched to a post and mine was gone, and that infernal nigger on him. Hewas traced to the border, but my mare had no match in the county."
"So he stole the horse; that makes it an easy case."
"No, sir. To be precise, he left the horse at a tavern in this State,with my name and address. Some Quakers helped him on his way."
"And he is in this county?" asked Swallow.
"Yes, sir. His name here is Josiah--seems to be known by that namealone."
"Josiah!" gasped Swallow. "A special favourite of Penhallow. A case to begravely considered--most gravely. The Squire--"
"But surely he will obey the law."
"Yes--probably--but who can say? He was at one time a Democrat, but nowis, I hear, likely to vote for Fremont."
"That seems incredible."
"And yet true. I should like, sir, to think the matter over for a day ortwo. Did the man see you--I mean, recognize you?"
"No, but as I went by his shop, I at once recognized him; and he has losttwo fingers. Oh! I know the fellow. I can swear to him, and it is easy tobring his master Woodburn here."
"I see. Well, let me think it over for a day or two."
"Very good," returned Grey, "and pray consider yourself as in my debt foryour services."
"All right, Mr. Grey."
With this Mr. Grey went away a thoughtful man. He attracted someattention as he moved along the fronts of the houses. Strangers wererare. Being careful not to go near Josiah's little shop, he crossed theroad and climbing the fence went through the wood, reflecting that untilthis matter was settled he would feel that his movements must beunpleasantly governed by the need to avoid Josiah. He felt this to behumiliating. Other considerations presented themselves in turn. Thisungrateful black had run away with his, George Grey's, horse--a personalwrong. His duty to Woodburn was plain. Then, if this black fellow was asSwallow said, a favourite of Captain Penhallow, to plan his capture whilehimself a guest in Penhallow's house was rather an awkward business.However, he felt that he must inform his friend Woodburn, after which hewould turn him over to Swallow and not appear in the business at all. Itdid not, however, present itself to the Maryland gentleman as a nicesituation. If his cousin Ann were, as he easily learned, a strongDemocrat, it might be well to sound her on the general situation. She hadlived half her life among slaves and those who owned them. She would knowhow far Penhallow was to be considered as a law-abiding citizen, orwhether he might be offended, for after all, as George Grey knew, his ownshare in the matter would be certain to become known. "A damnedunpleasant affair," he said aloud as he walked up the avenue, "but we asSouthern gentlemen have got to stand by one another. I must let Woodburnknow, and decide for himself."
Neither was the lawyer Swallow altogether easy about the matter on whichhe had desired time for thought. It would be the first case in the countyunder the fugitive-slave act. If the man were reclaimed, he, Swallow,would be heard of all through the State; but would that help him beforethe people in a canvass for the House? He could not answer, for the oldpolitical parties were going to pieces and new ones were forming.Moreover, Josiah was much liked and much respected. Then, too, there wasthe fee. He walked about the room singularly disturbed. Some prenatalfate had decreed that he should be old-aged at forty. He had begun to beaware that his legs were aging faster than his mind. Except the pleasureof accumulating money, which brought no enjoyment, he had thus far nogames in life which interested him; but now the shifting politics of thetime had tempted him, and possibly this case might be used to hisadvantage. The black eyebrows under fast whitening hair grew together ina frown, while below slowly gathered the long smile of satisfaction. "HowPenhallow will hate it." This thought was for him what the stolen marewas for George Grey. He must look up the law.
Meanwhile George Grey, under the necessity of avoiding the village for atime, was rather bored. He had criticized the stables and the horses, andhad been told that the Squire relied with good reason on the judgment ofJosiah in regard to the promise o
f good qualities in colts. Then, used toeasy roadsters, he had been put on the Squire's rough trotter and led bythe tireless lad had come back weary from long rides across rough countryfields and over fences. The clergyman would talk no more politics, Johnpleaded lessons, and it was on the whole dull, so that Mr. Grey waspleased to hear of the early return of his cousin. A letter to Johndesired him to meet his aunt on the 8th, and accordingly he drove to thestation at Westways Crossing, picking up Billy on the way. Mrs. Ann gotout of the car followed by the conductor and brakeman carrying boxes andbundles, which Billy, greatly excited, stowed away under the seats of theJersey wagon. Mrs. Penhallow distributed smiles and thanks to the men whomade haste to assist, being one of the women who have no need to ask helpfrom any man in sight.
"Now, Billy," she said, "be careful with those horses. When you attend,you drive very well."
She settled herself on the back seat with John, delighted to be againwhere her tireless sense of duty kept her busy--quite too busy at times,thought some of the village dames. "Your Uncle James will soon be athome. Is his pet scamp any better?"
John did not know, but Josiah's rheumatism was quite well.
"Sister-in-law has a baby. Six trout I ketched; they're at the house foryou--weighs seven pounds," said Billy without turning round.
"Trout or baby?" said Ann, laughing.
"Baby, ma'am."
"Thanks, but don't talk any more."
"Yes, ma'am."
"How is Leila?" asked John. "Does she like it at school?"
"No, not at all; but she will."
"I don't, Aunt Ann."
"I suppose not."
"Am I to be allowed to write to her?"
"I think not. There is some rule that letters, but--" and she laughedmerrily. The rector, who worshipped her, said once that her laugh waslike the spring song of birds. "But sometimes I may be naughty enough tolet you slip a few lines into my letters."
"That is more than I hoped for. I am--I was so glad to get you back, AuntAnn, that I forgot to tell you, Mr. George Grey has come."
"How delightful! He has been promising a visit for years. How pleasedJames will be! I wonder how the old bachelor ever made up his mind. Ihope you made it pleasant, John."
"I tried to, aunt." Whether James Penhallow would like it was for Johndoubtful, but he said nothing further.
"The cities are wild about politics, and there is no end of trouble inPhiladelphia over the case of a fugitive slave. I was glad to get away toGrey Pine."
John had never heard her mention this tender subject and was notsurprised when she added quickly, "But I never talk politics, John, andyou are too young to know anything about them." This was by no meanstrue, as she well knew. "How are my chickens?" She asked endlessquestions of small moment.
"Got a new fishing-rod," said Billy, but to John's amusement did notpursue the story concerning which George Grey had gleefully enlightenedhim.
"Well, at last, Cousin George," she cried, as the cousin gave her hishand on the porch. "Glad to see you--most glad. Come in when you havefinished your cigar."
She followed John into the hall. "Ah! the dear home." Then her eyes fellon the much used spittoon by the fireside. "Good gracious, John, a--aspittoon!"
"Yes, aunt. Mr. Grey chews."
"Indeed!" She looked at the box and went upstairs. For years to come andin the most incongruous surroundings John Penhallow now and then laughedas he saw again the look with which Mrs. Ann regarded the article soessential to Mr. Grey's comfort. She disliked all forms of tobacco use,and the law of the pipe had long ago been settled at Grey Pine as Mrs.Penhallow decreed, because that was always what James Penhallow decidedto think desirable.
"But this! this!" murmured the little lady, as she came down thestaircase ready for dinner. She rang for the maid. "Take that thing awayand wash it well, and put in fresh sawdust twice a day."
"I hope John has been a good host," she said, as Grey entered the hall.
"Couldn't be better, and I have had some delightful rides. I found themills interesting--in fact, most instructive." He spoke in shortchildlike sentences unless excited by politics.
Mrs. Ann noted without surprise the free use of whisky, and later theappreciative frequency of resort to Penhallow's Madeira. A glass of wineat lunch and after dinner were her husband's sole indulgence. The largerpotations of her cousin in no way affected him. He talked as usual toMark Rivers and John about horses, crops and the weather, while Mrs. Annlistened to the flow of disconnected trifles in some wonder as to howJames Penhallow would endure it. Grey for the time kept off the dangerline of politics, having had of late such variously contributed knowledgeas made him careful.
When to Mrs. Ann's relief dinner was over, the rector said his sermon forto-morrow must excuse him and went home. John decided that his role ofhost was over and retired to his algebra and to questions more easy tosolve than of how to entertain Mr. George Grey. It was not difficult, asMrs. Penhallow saw, to make Grey feel at home; all he required waswhisky, cigars, and some mild appearance of interest in his talk. She hadlong anticipated his visit with pleasure, thinking that James Penhallowwould be pleased and the better for some rational male society. Rivershad now deserted her, and she really would not sit with her kinsman'scigar a whole evening in the library. She said, "The night is warm forOctober, come out onto the porch, George."
"With all the pleasure in the world," said Grey, as he followed her.
By habit and training hospitable and now resigned to her fate, Mrs. Annsaid, "Light your cigar, George; I do not mind it out-of-doors."
"I am greatly indebted--I was given to understand that it wasdisagreeable to you--like--politics--ah! Cousin Ann."
"We are not much given to talking politics," she said rather sharply.
"Not talk politics!" exclaimed Grey. "What else is there to talk aboutnowadays? But why not, Cousin Ann?"
"Well, merely because while I am Southern--and a Democrat, James has seenfit to abandon our party and become a Republican."
"Incomprehensible!" said Grey. "Ours is the party of gentlemen--of oldtraditions. I cannot understand it."
"Nor I," said she, "but now at least," and she laughed--"there will beone Republican gentleman. However, George, as we are both much inearnest, we keep politics out of the house."
"It must be rather awkward, Ann."
"What must be rather awkward?"
Did he really mean to discuss, to criticize her relations to JamesPenhallow? The darkness was for a time the grateful screen.
Grey, a courteous man, felt the reproof in her question, and replied, "Ibeg pardon, my dear Ann, I have heard of the captain's unfortunate changeof opinion. I shall hope, however, to be able to convince him that toelect Fremont will be to break up the Union. I think I could put it soclearly that--"
Ann laughed low laughter as vastly amused she laid a hand on her cousin'sarm. "You don't know James Penhallow. He has been from his youth aDemocrat. There never was any question about how he would vote. But now,since 1850--" and she paused, "in fact, I do not care to discuss with youwhat I will not with James." Her great love, her birth, training,education and respect for the character of her husband, made thisdiscussion hateful. Her eyes filled, and, much troubled, she was glad ofthe mask of night.
"But answer me one question, Ann. Why did he change?"
"He was becoming dissatisfied and losing faith in his own party, but itwas at last my own dear South and its friends at the North who drove himout." Again she paused.
"What do you mean, Ann?" asked Grey, still persistent.
"It began long ago, George. He said to me one day, 'That fool Fillmorehas signed the Fugitive-Slave Act; it is hardly possible to obey it.'Then I said, 'Would you not, James?' I can never forget it. He said,'Yes, I obey the law, Ann, but this should be labelled 'an act toexasperate the North.' I am done with the Democrat and all his ways. Obeythe law! Yes, I was a soldier.' Then he said, 'Ann, we must never talkpolitics again.' We never do."
"And yet, Ann
," said Grey, "that act was needed."
"Perhaps," she returned, and then followed a long silence, as withthought of James Penhallow she sat smiling in the darkness and watchedthe rare wandering lanterns of the belated fireflies.
The man at her side was troubled into unnatural silence. He had hoped tofind an ally in his cousin's husband, and now what should he do? He hadconcluded that as an honest man he had done his duty when he had writtento Woodburn; but now as a man of honour what should he say to JamesPenhallow? To conceal from his host what he had done was the obviousbusiness-like course. This troubled a man who was usually able to see hisway straight on all matters of social conduct and was sensitive on pointsof honour. While Ann sat still and wondered that her guest was so longsilent, he was finding altogether unpleasant his conclusion that he mustbe frank with Penhallow. He felt sure, however, that Ann would naturallybe on his side. He introduced the matter lightly with, "I chanced to seein the village a black man who is said to be a vagabond scamp. He iscalled Josiah--a runaway slave, I fancy."
Ann sat up in her chair. "Who said he was a scamp?"
"Oh, a man named Lamb." Then he suddenly remembered Mr. Swallow'scharacterization, and added, "not a very trustworthy witness, I presume."
Ann laughed. "Peter Lamb! He is a drunken, loafing fellow, who to hisgood fortune chances to have been James's foster-brother. As concernsJosiah, he turned up here some years ago, got work in the stables, andwas set up by James as the village barber. No one knew whence he came. Idid, of course, suspect him to be a runaway. He is honest andindustrious. Last year I was ill when James was absent. We have onlymaids in the house, and when I was recovering Josiah carried me up anddownstairs until James returned. A year after he came, Leila had anaccident. Josiah stopped her horse and got badly hurt--" Then with quickinsight, she added, "What interest have you in our barber, George? Isit possible you know Josiah?"
Escape from truthful reply was impossible. "Yes, I do. He is the propertyof my friend and neighbour Woodburn. I knew him at once--the man had lostthree fingers--he did not see me."
"Well!" she said coldly, "what next, George Grey?"
"I must inform his master. As a Southern woman you, of course, see thatno other course is possible. It is unpleasant, but your sense of rightmust make you agree with me."
She returned, speaking slowly, "I do wish you would not do it, George."Then she said quickly, "Have you taken any steps in this matter?"
He was fairly cornered. "Yes, I wrote to Woodburn. He will be here in acouple of days. I am sure he will lose no time--and will take legalmeasures at once to reclaim his property."
"I suppose it is all right," she said despairingly, "but I am more thansorry--what James will say I do not know. I hope he will not be called onto act--under the law he may."
"When does he return?" said Grey. "I shall, of course, be frank withhim."
"That will be advisable. He may be absent for a week longer, or so hewrites. I leave you to your cigar. I am tired, and to-morrow is Sunday.Shall you go to church?"
"Certainly, Ann. Good-night."
At the door she turned back with a new and relieving thought. "SupposeI--or we--buy this man's freedom."
"If I owned him that would not be required after what you have told me,but Woodburn is an obstinate, rather stern man, and will refuse, I fear,to sell--"
"What will he do with Josiah if he is returned to him as the Act orders?"
"Oh! once a runaway--and the man is no good?--he would probably sell himto be sent South."
She rose and for a moment stood still in the darkness, and then crying,"The pity of it, my God, the pity of it!" went away without the usualcourtesy of good-night.
George Grey, when left to his own company, somewhat amazed, began to wishhe had never had a hand in this business. Ann Penhallow went up to herroom, although it was as yet early, leaving John in the library and Greywith a neglected cigar on the porch. In the bedroom over his shop the manmost concerned sat industriously reading the _Tribune_.
Ann sat down to think. The practical application of a creed to conduct isnot always easy. All her young life had been among kindly consideredslaves. Mr. Woodburn had a right to his property. The law provided forthe return of slaves if they ran away. She suddenly realized that thisman's future fate was in her power, and she both liked and respected him,and he had been hurt in their service. Oh! why was not James at home?Could she sit still and let things go their way while the mechanism ofthe law worked. Between head and heart there was much argument. Herimagination pictured Josiah's future. Had he deserved a fate so sad?She fell on her knees and prayed for help. At last she rose and went downto the library. John laid down his book and stood up. The young facegreeted her pleasantly, as she said, "Sit down, John, I want to talk toyou. Can you keep a secret?"
"Why--yes--Aunt Ann. What is it?"
"I mean, John, keep it so that no one will guess you have a secret."
"I think I can," he replied, much surprised and very curious.
"You are young, John, but in your uncle's absence there is no one else towhom I can turn for help. Now, listen. Has Mr. Grey gone to bed?"
"Yes, aunt."
She leaned toward him, speaking low, almost in a whisper, "I do not wantto explain, I only want to tell you something. Josiah is a runaway slave,John."
"Yes, aunt, he told me all about it."
"Did he, indeed!"
"Yes, we are great friends--I like him--and he trusted me. What'sthe matter now?" He was quick to understand that Josiah was in somedanger. Naturally enough he remembered the man's talk and his onefear--recapture.
"George Grey has recognised Josiah as a runaway slave of a Mr.Woodburn--" She was most unwilling to say plainly, "Go and warn him."
He started up. "And they mean to take him back?"
She was silent. The indecisions of the habitually decisive are hard todeal with. The lad was puzzled by her failure to say more.
"It is dreadful, Aunt Ann. I think I ought to go and tellJosiah--now--to-night."
She made no comment except to say, "Arrest is not possible on Sunday--andhe is safe until Monday or Tuesday."
John Penhallow looked at her for a moment surprised that she did not saygo, or else forbid him to go; it was unlike her. He had no desire to waitfor Sunday and was filled with anxiety. "I think I must go now--now," hesaid.
"Then I shall go to bed," she said, and kissing him went away slowly stepby step up the stairs.
Staircases are apt to suggest reflections, and there are various ways ofrendering the French phrase "_esprit de l'escalier_." Aware that want ofmoral courage had made her uncertain what to do, or like the Indian,having two hearts, Ann had been unable to accept bravely the counsel ofeither. The loyal decisiveness of a lad of only sixteen years had settledthe matter and relieved her of any need to personally warn Josiah. Someother influences aided to make her feel satisfied that there should be awarning. She was resentful because George Grey had put her in a positionwhere she had been embarrassed by intense sectional sense of duty and bykindly personal regard for a man who not being criminal was to bedeprived of all the safeguards against injustice provided by the commonlaw. There were other and minor causes which helped to content her withwhat she well knew she had done to disappoint Mr. Woodburn of his prey.George Grey was really a bore of capacity to wreck the social patience ofthe most courteous. The rector fled from him, John always had lessons andhow would James endure his vacuous talk. It all helped her to becomfortably angry, and there too was that horrible spittoon.
The young fellow who went with needless haste out of the house and downthe avenue about eleven o'clock had no indecisions. Josiah trusted him,and he felt the compliment this implied.
Westways: A Village Chronicle Page 9