"I have told Bob. But you musn't talk about it even to him. There, now, go on to bed."
"And will you go to bed too?" I asked.
"What's that to you, nighthawk? Go to bed, and if I catch you up again to-night, I'll whip you."
CHAPTER III.
Early at morning, Bob and I were summoned by Old Master to go squirrel hunting, to walk round the trees, and turn the squirrel into range of his long rifle and the deadly squint of his sharp old eye. It was spring-time and the squirrels were nipping the hickory buds; it was sunrise and the bold cock-partridge, his feathers ruffled, strutted up and down the top rail of the fence. We had not proceeded far before we came upon a neighbor, 'Squire Boyle, sitting upon a log, picking at the lock of his gun. He hailed Old Master and bade him wait a moment. And both men, seated upon the log, fell into an argument that lasted till the sun was high. We heard the blowing of the breakfast horn, we saw the smoke rise in the fields, where the women were burning the old corn-stalks; we saw the men breaking up the tobacco land, but Old Master and the squire sat there and talked, and sometimes I was afraid that they were going to fight, so fierce were their gestures and so loud did they lift their voices. Bob and I were impatient, and occasionally Bob would say, "Come on, pa." But the old man heeded him not, until finally he turned about with anger in his eyes, and cried out as if in pain: "If you don't quit nagging at me, I will box your jaws. Go on to the house, both of you. 'Zounds, I can't budge but these boys are dogging my foot-steps. Go on to the house and if I catch you following me again, I'll whip you both."
We fell back a short distance and hid behind a clump of briars and sat there watching, fearful that the two men were going to fight. But their guns were thrown aside and they were walking up and down the length of the log. "I tell you," Old Master cried, "that this step will kill him. The people of this State will not put up with it. It is well enough to talk about justice and human sympathy, but if Henry Clay openly advocates the freeing of the slaves it will kill him. I don't understand how he can be so untrue to the principles of his community, but, 'Squire—" Here he halted in his walk and shook his fist fiercely—"but, 'Squire, I can understand you, sir. You are not a Southern man and you have never owned a slave. Ah, but you are an American. Yes, I grant you that, but the real defender of this country is the Southern man, sir. What's that you say? Would I break up the Union rather than lose the slaves? No, sir, I would not; and there will never be such an issue." Here he looked about and caught sight of us lurking behind the briars.& "Boys!" he cried, taking up his gun and pulling out the hickory ram-rod, "if you don't march off home, this minute, I'll wear you both out." And as we had tasted that hickory and knew its flavor, we scampered away.
"Do you know what they were talking about?" Bob asked, when we had reached a safe distance.
"Something about making the black people free," I answered.