“Did you give the agreement to the nigger?”
“Yes. After they were gone quite out of hearing I went back to the cave and gave it to him and told him to go on to Gilbertson’s and wait there for the legal papers.”
“Good! That was the best arrangement to make! If Delavan sends them as he promised I’ll take them out to-morrow, when I go to Mallard’s.”
“And then he’ll be quite free, and out of all danger?”
“Theoretically, yes, as long as he doesn’t lose his emancipation papers. But if he is wise he will get out of this free country of ours”—a cynical bitterness sounded in his voice—“and go on to Canada, where there’ll be no danger of his being kidnaped and taken back into slavery.”
Rhoda mused for a moment “Father!” she exclaimed suddenly, and in both voice and manner he was aware of some new feeling and access of energy that seemed full of significance. “What do you think? Is this awful thing always going to divide the North from the South? Are we always going to hate each other like this? Is there any help for it?”
“I don’t know, Rhoda. Sometimes, when I see how the North is forever knuckling under to the South, giving up political supremacy and getting more and more craven every year, I pretty nearly lose all hope. I’m convinced that there’s only one way out of it—we’ve got to fight. And when we do fight the North will win, because we’ve got more men and more money. The sooner it comes the better, and I’m glad to see every new insult the South piles on us, for if we’ve got any spirit at all up here we’ve got to resent it some day.”
Rhoda looked at him with intent eyes. His tall, angular figure was full of energy, his eyes sparkled and in his face shone the liveliest conviction.
“War, father! That would be so horrible!”
“Yes, of course it would. But it would end the business. And slavery is one long, unending horror.”