"Friend Daniel, do you know that it is partly your own fault that this deplorable state of things exists?"
"How's it my fault, I'd like to know?" whimpered Daniel.
"Come, I'll help thee home, and tell thee what I mean, by the way," said Penn, using the idiom of his sect, into which familiar manner of speech he naturally fell when talking confidentially with any one.
"I am stiff as any old spavined hoss!" whined the poor fellow, straightening his legs, and attempting to walk.
Penn helped him home as he promised, and comforted him, and said to him many things, which he little supposed were destined to be brought against him so soon, and by this very Daniel Pepperill.
This was the way of it. When it was known that Penn had befriended the friend of the blacks, Silas Ropes paid Dan a second visit, and by threats of vengeance, on the one hand, and promises of forgiveness and treatment "like a gentleman," on the other, extorted from him a confession of all Penn had said and done.
"Now, Dan," said Mr. Ropes, patronizingly, "I'll tell ye what you do. You jine with us, and show yourself a man of sperrit, a payin' off this yer abolitionist for his outrageous interference in our affairs."
"Sile," interrupted Dan, earnestly, "what 'ge mean I'm to do? Turn agin' him?"
"Exactly," replied Mr. Ropes.
"Sile," said Dan, excitedly, "I be durned if I do!"