You help me now and I'll keep
quiet--you'd better."
A fierce desire rose in the mind of Josiah to kill the rascal, and then,
by long habit prudent, he said, "I'll have to think about it." But what
could this man know?
"Best to think damn quick, or you'll have your old master down on you. I
give you till to-morrow morning early. Do you hear? It's just a nip of
whisky I want."
"Yes, I hear--got to think about it." He went out into the night, a soul
in fear. No one knew his former master's name. Then his very good
intelligence resumed control. No one really knew--only John--and he very
little. He put it aside, confident in the young fellow's discretion. Of
course, the town suspected that he was a fugitive slave, but nobody cared
or seemed to care. And yet, at times in his altogether prosperous happy
years of freedom, when he read of the fugitive-slave act, and he read
much, he had disturbing hours. He stood still a moment and crossed the
road. The Episcopal church, which he punctually attended, was on
Penhallow's land, and near by was the rectory where Mark lived with an
old woman cook and some help from Mrs. Lamb. The night was warm, the
windows were open, and the clergyman was seen writing. Josiah at the
window spoke.
"Excuse me, sir, could I talk to you? I am in a heap of trouble.
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