The evenings grew longer and more pleasant, and Frederick’s dreams for the future might have faded. But now he found himself talking more and more earnestly to his friends. Henry and John were remarkably bright and intelligent, when they wished to be. Neither could read.
“If I only had my Columbian Orator!”
He told them how he lost his precious book and how he had learned to read it. Perhaps such a book could be found.
“What’s in a book?” they asked.
Frederick told them everything he knew—about stories he and Tommy had read together, spelling books, newspapers he had filched in Baltimore, how men wrote down their deeds and thoughts, about things happening in other places, how once white men fought a war, and a speech one of the boys had learned from the Columbian Orator—a speech that said “Give me liberty or give me death!”
“All dat in a book?” But then they noticed Master William sitting with a book. Evening were long now and warmer. The master rode only in the mornings. They saw him on the veranda, for hours at a time, sitting with a book. One day Henry made up his mind.
“I’ll git me a book!”
It was easy. Just walk into the room which was usually empty and take a book! It was his job to dust them, anyhow, so no one noticed. Henry could hardly wait for evening when Frederick would come in from the fields. Henry and John and Handy—waiting with a book. They were excited.
Frederick’s heart leaped too when he saw the book. He took it eagerly and opened to the title page. He frowned. The words were very long and hard-looking. Pictures would have made it easier, but no matter. He turned to the first page. They held their breath. Frederick was going to read.
But Frederick did not read. Letters were on the page in front of him, but something terrible had happened to them. He strained his eyes searching—searching for one single word he recognized. Had he forgotten everything? That could not be. With his mind’s eye he could see pages and words very clearly. But none of the words he remembered were here. What kind of book was this? Slowly he spelt out the title, vainly endeavoring to put the letters together into something that would make sense.