“Yes, that's a good idea,” Helen responded, eagerly. “The servants are all at the cottage; we'll make them stay there and have Uncle Lewis and Mam' Linda here.”
“Suppose I run down and give the message,” proposed Keith, and he was off with the speed of a ball-player on a home-run.
“Do you think there is any real danger to Mam' Linda's health in letting her know it suddenly?” Carson asked, thoughtfully.
“We must try to reveal it gradually,” Helen said, after reflecting for a moment. “There's no telling. They say great joy often kills as quickly as great sorrow. Oh, Carson, isn't it glorious to be able to do this? Don't you feel happy in the consciousness that it was your great, sympathetic heart that inspired this miracle, your wonderful brain and energy and courage that actually put it through?”
“Not through yet,” he laughed, depreciatingly, as his blood flowed hotly into his cheeks. “It would be just my luck right now to have this thing turn smack dab against us. We are not out of the woods yet, Helen, by long odds. The rage of that mob is only sleeping, and I have enemies, political and otherwise, who would stir it to white heat at a moment's notice if they once got an inkling of the truth.” He snapped his fingers. “I wouldn't give that for Pete's life if they discover our trick. Pole Baker had just come in town when Keith and I left. He said the Hillbend people were earnestly denying all knowledge of any lynching or of the whereabouts of Pete's body, and that some people were already asking queer questions. So, you see, if on top of that growing suspicion, old Lewis and Linda begin to dance a hoe-down of joy instead of weeping and wailing—well, you see, that's the way it stands.”
“Oh, then, perhaps we'd better not tell them, after all,” Helen said, crestfallen. “They are suffering awfully, but they would rather bear it for awhile than to be the cause of Pete's death.”
“No,” Carson smiled; “from the way you wrote, I know you have had about as much as you can stand, and we simply must try to make them comprehend the full gravity of the matter.”
At this juncture Keith came up panting from his run and joined them. “Great Heavens!” he cried, lifting his hands, the palms outward. “I never saw such a sight. I can stand some things, but I'm not equal to torture of that kind.”
“Are they coming?” Carson asked.
“Yes, there's Lewis now. Of course, I couldn't give them a hint of the truth down there in that swarm of negroes, and so my message that you wanted to see them here only seemed to key them up higher.”