“Those damned Abolitionists ought to come down here. Freein’ niggers! The thieving fools!” He jerked his horse’s head savagely.
William Freeland spoke in his usual, pleasant, unheated voice.
“I’d kill the first Abolitionist who set foot on my land, same as I would a mad dog.”
They rode on out of hearing.
No one moved for a long minute. Then Henry sat up abruptly.
“Where is mah book?” He jerked it from under the belly of a sweating stable boy.
Black Crunch, long, lean and hard like a hound, moved more slowly. He was thinking.
“Fred,” he asked, leaning forward, “does yo’ know whar is dat dar Boston place?”
After this, the “Sunday School” grew in numbers. There was no more talk of restricting “members.” The name was Frederick’s idea, and everybody followed the lead with complete understanding. It was well known that masters seldom raised any objection to slaves leaving the plantation for Sunday services, even when they went some distance away. So now it was possible to talk freely about the Sunday School over on Mr. Freeland’s place!