ef de niggers' roun' yer wouldn' all like ter be free, en I tole 'im I
don't speck dey would, kaze all de free niggers w'at I ever seed is de
mos' no-'countes' niggers in de lan'."

Mr. Walthall dismissed the negro somewhat curtly. He had prepared to
retire for the night, but apparently thought better of it, for he
resumed his coat and vest, and went out into the cool moonlight. He
walked around the public square, and finally perched himself on the
stile that led over the court-house enclosure. He sat there a long time.
Little Compton passed by, escorting Miss Lizzie Fairleigh, the
schoolmistress, home from some social gathering; and finally the lights
in the village went out one by one--all save the one that shone in the
window of the room occupied by Mr. Davies. Watching this window somewhat
closely, Mr. Jack Walthall observed that there was movement in the room.
Shadows played on the white window-curtains--human shadows passing to
and fro. The curtains, quivering in the night wind, distorted these
shadows, and made confusion of them; but the wind died away for a
moment, and, outlined on the curtains, the patient watcher saw a
silhouette of Jake, his body-servant. Mr. Walthall beheld the spectacle
with amazement. It never occurred to him that the picture he saw was
part--the beginning indeed--of a tremendous panorama which would shortly
engage the attention of the civilized world, but he gazed at it with a
feeling of vague uneasiness.

The next morning Little Compton was somewhat surprised at the absence of
the young men who were in the habit of gathering in front of his store.
Even Mr. Jack Walthall, who could be depended on to tilt his chair
against the China tree and sit there for an hour or more after
breakfast, failed to put in an appearance. After putting his store to
rights, and posting up some accounts left over from the day before,
Little Compton came out on the sidewalk, and walked up and down in front
of the door. He was in excellent humor, and as he walked he hummed a
tune. He did not lack for companionship, for his cat, Tommy Tinktums, an
extraordinarily large one, followed him back and forth, rubbing against
him and running between his legs; but somehow he felt lonely. The town
was very quiet. It was quiet at all times, but on this particular
morning it seemed to Little Compton that there was less stir than usual.
There was no sign of life anywhere around the public square save at
Perdue's Corner. Sha