No good comes of it. I can't see it as you do,
Mr. Rivers."
"And yet, I am right," said Rivers gravely. "God knows. It is in His
hands."
"What Aunt Ann thinks right," said Leila, "can't be so unpardonably
wicked." She spoke softly. "Oh, John, look at that squirrel. She is
carrying a young one on her back--how pretty! She has to do it. What a
lovely instinct. It must be heavy."
"I suppose," said Rivers, "we all have loads we must carry, are born to
carry--"
"Like the South, sir," said John. "We can help neither the squirrel nor
the South. You think we can throw stones at the chipmunk and make her
drop it--and--"
"Bad logic, John," returned Rivers. "But soon there will be stones
thrown."
"And who will cast the first stone?" rejoined Leila, rising.
"It is an ancient crime," said Rivers. "It was once ours, and it will
be ours to end it. Now I leave you to finish your walk; I am tired." As
they moved away, he looked after them. "Beauty, intelligence, perfect
health--oh, my God!"
In August with ever resisted temptation John Penhallow went back to West
Point to take up his work again.
The autumn came, and in October, at night, the Squire read with dismay
and anger of the tragic attempt of John Brown at Harper's Ferry. "My poor
Ann," he exclaimed.
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