He began to dress in wild haste. John tried in vain to assure him that he would be safe on Sunday and Monday, or even later, but was in fact not sure, and the man was wailing like a child in distress, thinking over his easy, upright life and his little treasure, which seemed to him lost. He asked no questions; all other emotion was lost in one over-mastering terror.
John said at last, "If I write a cheque for you, can you sign your name to it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I will write a cheque for all of it and I'll get it out for you."
A candle was lighted and the cheque written. "Now write your name here, Josiah—so—that's right." He obeyed like a child, and John who had often collected cheques for his aunt of late, knew well enough how to word it to be paid to bearer. He put it in his pocket.
"But how will I ever get it?" said Josiah, "and where must I go? I'll get away Monday afternoon."
John was troubled, and then said, "I'll tell you. Go to the old cabin in the wood. That will be safe. I will bring you your money Monday afternoon."
The black reflected in silence and then said, "That will do—no man will take me alive, I know—my God, I know! Who set them on me? Who told? It was that drunken rascal, Peter. He told me he'd tell if I didn't get him whisky. How did he know—Oh, Lord! He set 'em on me—I'd like to kill him."
John was alarmed at the fierceness of the threat. "Oh! but you won't—promise me. I've helped you, Josiah."
"I promise, Master John. I'm a Christian man, thank the Lord. I'd like to, but I won't—I won't."