“You said you had a letter from Mr. Wilson, father. Was it about that you wanted to see me?” “Yes. Here it is. He writes from Vicksburg: “‘DEAR FRIEND WARE: On this same date I am forwarding to you six copies of “The Burning Question,” three bound in black and three in tan. If there have been any changes as to handlers and forwarders since I was in your neighborhood can you send some one to the south side of the river to watch out for them and see that they do not fall into too appreciative hands? They are billed to go in the usual way and ought to be on hand within a week after this letter reaches you.’” He put the letter away and looked at her anxiously. “Can we take care of them, Rhoda?” “Oh, we must, father! We must manage to do it in some way!” She bent forward, looking at him intently, and into her face crept the expression he was beginning to see there whenever they talked or planned or worked together upon this matter, a strained, eager look, with something in it of exaltation. “Walter Kimball and his brother Lewis would probably be able to go across and keep watch for them,” he began. “Yes,” she broke in, “and one of them could hurry back and let Horace know, as soon as they get there, and then go over again and help the other row them across, and Horace could rush up here and tell us, so that we could be ready for them. It will be difficult to hide so many,” she ended doubtfully. “The boys must arrange to get them here in the night and then we can manage it. I’ll get word to Chaddle Wallace to be in the neighborhood with his peddler’s wagon and he can take four of them in that. Perhaps one of the Kimball boys can drive two in our carriage.” “Or I can, if you want me to. I’ll see that Lizzie has plenty of things cooked ready for their supper. Oh, it will go off all right, father, and we won’t need to keep them here more than an hour!” “We’ll have to make some different arrangement now that winter will soon be here,” he said thoughtfully. “We’ll have to contrive some sort of hiding place in the house or the barn, so that we can keep them over night if necessary.” “I’ve been wondering, father, if a sort of little room couldn’t be hidden in the woodshed, with the wood piled around it close.” “Yes, that could be done,” he nodded slowly, “and it would be a pretty safe place. The slave chasers would hardly think of investigating an innocent-looking woodpile. That’s a good suggestion, Rhoda, and I’ll have it done, and the winter’s wood stacked all around it. Marshal Hanscomb has got a pretty keen nose and I think he’s suspicious about me anyway, just because of my sentiments. But I reckon that would be too much for Hanscomb!” He smiled at his daughter with quiet exultation in his manner and she smiled back at him proudly and said it surely would.