“What’s happened, indeed!” Charlotte tossed her head. “Does there have to be a wedding, or a funeral, or a steamboat accident before I deserve a compliment?”
“No, indeed! You always deserve more compliments than I have sense enough to think of. But you look excited, as if something unusual had happened.”
Charlotte turned toward him, her heart swelling with excitement over the momentous secret she had discovered. At this final moment it was chiefly the childish need of sharing her knowledge that urged her to speech. “Say, Billy, can you keep a secret?”
“As well as you can, I reckon.”
“I’ve just got to tell somebody, or I’ll fly into a thousand pieces!”
“Don’t do that!” he begged in mock alarm. “Out with it, and save the pieces!”
“Well, then, there’s a nigger in our woodpile!”
A flash crossed his face. “What do you mean?” he ejaculated, stopping short.
“Just what I say. He’s hid among the wood in our woodshed. There’s a little house there.”
“Well—” he hesitated over his answer as they walked on. “I reckon it’s all right,” he hazarded. But he was thinking rapidly. Here, in all likelihood, was the proof for which the pro-slavery sympathizers had long been watching. Dr. Ware’s outspoken sentiments and his activity in the anti-slavery movement had caused them to suspect he was connected with Underground operations.