“Rally round the flag, boys, rally once again,”
sang the three hoarse voices, straining against the wind.
Dan struggled to his feet, and the scene shifted.
He was back in his childhood, and the Major had just brought in a slave he had purchased from Rainy-day Jones—“the plague spot in the county,” as the angry old gentleman declared.
Dan sat on the pile of kindling wood upon the kitchen hearth and stared at the poor black creature shivering in the warmth, his face distorted with the toothache, and a dirty rag about his jaw. He heard Aunt Rhody snorting indignantly as she basted the turkeys, and he watched his grandmother bustling back and forth with whiskey and hot plasters.
“Who made slavery, sir?” asked the boy suddenly, his hands in his breeches pockets and his head bent sideways.
The Major started.
“God, sir,” he promptly replied.
“Then I think it very strange of God,” said the boy, “and when I grow up, I shall set them all free, grandpa—I shall set them free even if I have to fight to do it, sir.”
“What! like poor free Levi?” stormed the Major.