Freeland studied the brown face. This young darky was unusual; such speech was seldom heard on the Eastern Shore. He asked another question.
“Where are you from, boy?”
Frederick hesitated. It was hardly likely that his master had told his prospective employer about the year at Covey’s. Had he heard from some other source? That would be a bad start. He temporized.
“I walked over from St. Michaels just now, sir.”
“Must have got an early start. We haven’t had breakfast here yet.”
The master slid easily to the ground, tossing the reins in the boy’s direction. “Come along!”
He had not the faintest idea what this was all about. But things had a way of clearing up in time. He started walking up the driveway toward the house. Frederick followed with the horse.
“Did you bring a note?” Freeland asked the question over his shoulder.
“No, sir. Captain Auld just told me to get along.”
Who the devil is Captain Auld? Oh, he remembered, St. Michaels—yes. Had said he could send him some help this spring, a good strong hand. Now what would poor trash like Auld be doing with a slave like this? He spoke his thoughts aloud, impatiently.