afe place. No one had told me fully about Cousin George Grey and why
Josiah was scared and ran away, but now I got it all out of him--and how
you warned him--and I do think it was splendid of a boy like you. He was
dreadfully afraid of being taken back to be a slave. It seems he saved
his money, and after working here bought out the shop when his master
fell ill. I did not like it, but to quiet him I really had to say that I
would not tell Aunt Ann, or he would have to run away again. I am sure
aunt would not do anything to trouble him, but it was quite impossible to
make him believe me, and he got me at last to promise him. I suppose
there is really no harm in it, but I never did keep anything from Aunt
Ann. I got the hair-wash and went away with his secret. Now, isn't that a
story!

"I forgot one thing. As the Southern gentlemen come to be shaved and ask
where he was born, they hear--think of it--that 'Mr. Johnson' was born in
Connecticut! His grandfather had been a slave. I shall see him again.

"This is the longest letter I ever wrote, and you are to feel duly
complimented, Mr. Penhallow.

"Good-bye. Love from Aunt Ann.

"Yours truly,

"LEILA GREY.

"P.S. I am sure that I may trust you not to speak of Josiah."

Mr. John Penhallow, as they said at Westways, "going on seventeen,"
gathered much of interest in reading and re-reading this letter from Miss
Grey. To own a secret with Leila was pleasant. To hear of Josiah as "Mr.
Johnson" amused him. That he was prosperous he liked, and that he was
fearful with or without reason seemed strange. It was and had been hard
for the young freeman to realize the ever-present state of mind of a man
in terror of arrest without any crime on his conscience. There was
perhaps a slight hint of doubt in Leila's request that he would be
careful not to mention what she had said of Josiah, "as if I am really a
boy and Leila older than I," murmured John. He knew, as he once more read
her words, that he ought to tell his uncle, who could best decide what to
do about Josiah and his terror of being reclaimed by his old owner.

During the early hours of a summer night Mark Rivers sat on the porch in
a rocking-chair, which he declared gave him all the exercise he required.
It was the only rocking-chair at Grey Pine, and nothing so disturbed the
Squire as Mark Rivers rocking on that unpleasant piece of furniture and
smoking as if it were a locomotive. It was an indulgence of Ann
Penhallow