“Looky, Fred! What all’s wrong wid dat book?” Gratitude, like a cool breeze, steadied Frederick. He wet his lips. “I don’t know, Hen. It’s all different. These funny words--Everything’s mixed up.” “Lemme see!” Henry took the book and turned several pages. He liked the feel of the smooth paper. “Humph!” Handy spit again. “Huccome they’s mixed?” John’s suspicions sounded in his voice. The recklessness of desperation goaded Frederick. “Henry, could you get another book? I--I never said I could read _all_ the books. Could you try another one? Could you, Henry?” Henry sighed. He tucked the rejected book under his arm. “Reckon.” His brief reply brought Hand’s withering scorn. “Yo’ gonna lose yo’ hide! Hyear me!” With this warning Handy walked away. His disappointment was bitter. The next day stretched out unbearably. Frederick forced himself through the motions of his work while his mind went round and round in agonizing circles. Then suddenly it was time to stop, time for the evening meal, time to return to the yard. He knew Henry would be waiting with another book. His moist hands clung to his hoe, his feet seemed rooted in the cool, upturned earth. Then his legs were carrying him back. He saw them standing behind the barn--John and Henry and, slightly removed, leaning against a tree, Handy. He went on whittling when Frederick came up. Handy’s demeanor was that of a wholly disinterested bystander. But Henry said, “I got hit--anodder one.” His tone was cautious. Frederick took the book with hands that trembled. Handy’s knife paused. Then Frederick gave a whoop, and Handy, dropping his stick, came running. “The Last of the Mo-hi-cans!” read Frederick triumphantly. He didn’t know what “Mohicans” meant, but what was one small word? He turned the pages and shouted for joy. Words, words, words--beautiful, familiar faces smiled up at him! He hugged the book. He danced a jig, and they joined him, making such a disturbance that Sandy came out of the barn to see what was going on. Sandy was their friend, so they told him--all talking together. They hid the book and went to eat, swallowing their food in great gulps. Afterward they went down to the creek, and Frederick read to them until darkness blotted out the magic of the pages. They talked, then, turning over the words, examining them. This was the beginning. As summer came on and the long evenings stretched themselves over hours of leisure, the good news got around; and additional trusted neophytes were permitted to join them at the creek. Learning to read was now the objective. More books disappeared from the house. After Frederick slipped up in the attic and found several old school books, real progress began. Then trouble arose.