Frederick hesitated. It was hardly likely that his master had told his prospective employer about the year at Covey’s. Had he heard from some other source? That would be a bad start. He temporized. “I walked over from St. Michaels just now, sir.” “Must have got an early start. We haven’t had breakfast here yet.” The master slid easily to the ground, tossing the reins in the boy’s direction. “Come along!” He had not the faintest idea what this was all about. But things had a way of clearing up in time. He started walking up the driveway toward the house. Frederick followed with the horse. “Did you bring a note?” Freeland asked the question over his shoulder. “No, sir. Captain Auld just told me to get along.” _Who the devil is Captain Auld? Oh_, he remembered, _St. Michaels--yes_. Had said he could send him some help this spring, a good strong hand. Now what would poor trash like Auld be doing with a slave like this? He spoke his thoughts aloud, impatiently. “You’re not a field hand! What do you know about tobacco?” Frederick’s heart missed a beat. He didn’t want him; didn’t like his looks! He saw the big gates of Freelands--this lovely place--swinging shut behind him. He swallowed. “I--I can do a good day’s work. I mighty strong.” Freeland flipped a leaf from a bush with his riding crop before he spoke. “You weren’t raised up at St. Michaels, and you’re no field hand. Don’t lie to me, boy!” He turned and looked Frederick full in the face. The boy stopped but did not flinch. Nor did he drop his eyes in confusion. After all, the explanation was simple. “When I was little, Old Marse sent me to Baltimore to look after his grandson, Tommy. I was raised up there.” “I see. Who’s your folks?” The answer came promptly. “Colonel Lloyd’s my folks, sir.” “Oh!” So that was it! Colonel Edward Lloyd--one of the really great places in Talbot County--secluded, far from all thoroughfares of travel and commerce, sufficient unto itself. Colonel Lloyd had transported his products to Baltimore in his own vessels. Every man and boy on board, except the captain, had been owned by him as his property. The plantation had its own blacksmiths, wheelwrights, shoemakers, weavers and coopers--all slaves--all “Colonel Lloyd’s folks.” Freeland’s mother had known dashing Sally Lloyd, the Colonel’s eldest daughter. They had sailed together in the sloop called the _Sally Lloyd_. Yes, the old master was dead now. Naturally many of the slaves had been sold. He was in luck. They had reached the house. Freeland mounted the veranda steps. He did not look around. His words were almost gruff. “Go on round back. Sandy’ll take care of you.” He disappeared, leaving Frederick’s “Yessir” hanging in the air. Frederick patted the mare’s neck and whispered in her ear, “It’s all right, old girl. Let’s go find Sandy!” * * * * *