Seemed like everybody wanted to learn “tha readin’.” That, argued the select few, would not do. This certainly was not a matter for “fiel’ han’s.” Field hands, however, were stubborn in their persistence. The fact that the teacher was a field hand seemed to have erased their accustomed servility. One of them even brought in Mr. Hall’s Jake, an uncouth fellow from the neighboring plantation. They vouched for Jake’s trustworthiness, and he proved an apt pupil. Then Jake brought a friend! Sandy counseled caution. Frederick, happy in what he was doing, was hardly aware of the mutterings. So they wrestled with their first problem in democracy. Then, one Sunday afternoon, they were nearly caught. It was a scorcher, late in July. The noon meal was over, and they were sitting in the shade of a big oak tree at the edge of the south meadow, ten or twelve of them under the big tree. Jake appeared, coming over the ridge that marked the boundary of Freelands. He saw them and waved, then started walking down. “Glad I ain’t walkin’ in no hot sun.” John had just learned a new word, and he felt good. Suddenly Jake was seen to straighten up, wave both arms frantically and start running in the opposite direction. Books were whisked out of sight, papers disappeared as if by magic. When Master William and his guest came trotting around the dump of trees, all they saw was a bunch of lazy niggers stretched out in the shade. “Watch out, there!” Freeland’s mare shied away. With a sleepy grunt, Henry rolled over. The guest was from Baltimore. He had been speaking vehemently for such a hot day. “Look at that!” he burst out. “Show me a bunch of sleek, fat niggers sleeping through the day in Boston.” The master of Freelands laughed indulgently. His guest continued. “Those damned Abolitionists ought to come down here. Freein’ niggers! The thieving fools!” He jerked his horse’s head savagely. William Freeland spoke in his usual, pleasant, unheated voice. “I’d kill the first Abolitionist who set foot on my land, same as I would a mad dog.” They rode on out of hearing. No one moved for a long minute. Then Henry sat up abruptly. “Where is mah book?” He jerked it from under the belly of a sweating stable boy. Black Crunch, long, lean and hard like a hound, moved more slowly. He was thinking. “Fred,” he asked, leaning forward, “does yo’ know whar is dat dar Boston place?” * * * * * After this, the “Sunday School” grew in numbers. There was no more talk of restricting “members.” The name was Frederick’s idea, and everybody followed the lead with complete understanding. It was well known that masters seldom raised any objection to slaves leaving the plantation for Sunday services, even when they went some distance away. So now it was possible to talk freely about the Sunday School over on Mr. Freeland’s place! Somebody hailed William Freeland one day as he rode along.