It was and had been hard
for the young freeman to realize the ever-present state of mind of a man
in terror of arrest without any crime on his conscience. There was
perhaps a slight hint of doubt in Leila's request that he would be
careful not to mention what she had said of Josiah, "as if I am really a
boy and Leila older than I," murmured John. He knew, as he once more read
her words, that he ought to tell his uncle, who could best decide what to
do about Josiah and his terror of being reclaimed by his old owner.
During the early hours of a summer night Mark Rivers sat on the porch in
a rocking-chair, which he declared gave him all the exercise he required.
It was the only rocking-chair at Grey Pine, and nothing so disturbed the
Squire as Mark Rivers rocking on that unpleasant piece of furniture and
smoking as if it were a locomotive. It was an indulgence of Ann
Penhallow, who knew that there had been a half-dozen rockers in the
burned rectory.
John sat on the steps and listened to the shrill katydids or watched the
devious lanterns of the fireflies. A bat darted over the head of Rivers,
who ducked as it went by, watching its uncertain flight.
"I am terribly afraid of bats," said the rector. "Are you?"
"I--no. They're harmless."
"Yes, I know that, but I am without reason afraid of them.
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