Frederick’s return to the Auld plantation was an event among the slaves. Little boys regarded him with round eyes; the old folks talked of his grandmother. There were those who claimed to have known his mother; others now recalled that they had fed from the same trough, under the watchful eye of “Aunt Katy.” He had returned during “the Christmas” so they could wine and dine him. He saw the looks on their faces, felt the warm glow. For the first time he saw a girl smiling at him. Life was good. Early on the morning of January 1 he set out from St. Michaels for the Freeland plantation. He had been given a fresh allotment of clothes--a pair of trousers, a thin coarse jacket, and even a pair of heavy shoes. Captain Auld did not intend his slave to show up before “quality” in a state which would reflect shame on his owner. Though not rich, the Freelands were one of the first families of Maryland. Life would be easier for him now, Frederick knew. But, as he walked along the road that morning, he was not hastening toward the greener grass and spreading shade trees on Mr. Freeland’s place. He was whistling, but not because he would sleep on a cot instead of on the floor, nor because his food would be better and ampler. He might even wear a shirt. But that wasn’t it. Two strong, brown legs were carrying his body to the Freeland plantation, but Frederick was speeding far ahead. He carried his shoes in his hand. Might need those good, strong shoes! They’d take him over sharp rocks and stubby, thorn-covered fields and through swamplands. _Rub them with pepper and they leave no scent!_ He kicked the sand up with his bare feet. It felt good. He stamped down hard, leaving his footprints in the damp earth. He met an old man driving a mule. “Whar yo’ goin’, boy?” the old man asked. “I’m on my way!” It was a song. The old man peered at him closely. He was nearly blind and knew his time was almost over. But he wanted to see the face of this young one who spoke so. “Whatchu say, boy?” He spoke sharply. “My master’s sending me over to Mr. Freeland’s place,” Frederick explained. “Oh!” the old man said, and waited. Frederick lowered his voice, though there was no one else in sight. “It is close by the bay.” The old man’s breath made a whistling sound as it escaped from the dried reeds of his throat. “God bless yo’, boy!” Then he passed on by, driving his mule. * * * * * Several hours later Amelia passed the same old man. She had offered to drive into town and pick up some things for the house. When Covey had snarled that all the boys were busy, she said cheerfully she could drive herself. “I did all of Tom’s buying,” she reminded him. Covey frowned. He didn’t like opinionated women. Amelia urged Lucy to go along; the drive would do her good. But poor Lucy only shrank further into herself and shook her head.