“About us?” Frederick asked the question, his heart heavy. This was bad, coming from Sandy. And Sandy spoke, his voice low and troubled. “I dream I roused from sleep by strange noises, noises of a swarm of angry birds that passed--a roar like a coming gale over the tops of the trees. I look up. I see you, Frederick, in the claws of a great bird. And there was lots of birds, all colors and all sizes. They pecked at you. Passing over me, the birds flew southwest. I watched until they was clean out of sight.” He was silent. Frederick drew a long breath. “And they took me with them?” “Yes.” Frederick did not meet his eyes. He stiffened his back. “It was just a dream, Sandy. Look, we’re worried and jumpy. That’s all. Hen, that’s right--don’t you think? What’s a little dream?” Henry spoke with unaccustomed firmness. “Ain’t no little ole dream gonna stop _me_!” Frederick gripped his arm, thankful for Henry’s strength and determination. He keenly felt the responsibility of the undertaking. If they failed it would be his fault. He wished Sandy had not told him the dream. The day dawned. Frederick went out to the field earlier than usual. He had to be busy. At breakfast Henry broke one of the precious cups. He was roundly berated by Old Missus. Her son said nothing. Henry had been more clumsy than usual lately. The morning dragged. Frederick had been spreading manure for what seemed to him an eternity when--for no apparent reason at all--he experienced a sudden blinding presentiment. “We’ve failed!” It was as if a hundred eyes were watching him--as if all his intentions were plainly written in the sky. A few minutes after this, the long, low, distant notes of the horn summoned the workers from the field to the noon-day meal. Frederick wanted nothing to eat. He looked around probing the landscape for some reason for the awful certainty in his mind. He shook himself. He pressed the back of his hand hard against his mouth. As he crossed the field he saw William Freeland come out of the house and go toward the barn. He came nearer, and the long graveled driveway was in full view. And so he saw the four men on horseback turn into the drive and approach the house. Then he saw two blacks whom he could not identify walking behind. One of them seemed to be tied! _Something has happened! We’ve been betrayed!_ _No need to run now._ He came on, cutting across the front yard; he climbed over the low hedge and was stooping to pass under the rotting rose trellis as one horseman, far in the lead and riding very rapidly, reached the house. It was the tobacco planter, Mr. William Hamilton. The horseman pulled his horse to an abrupt stop and hailed Frederick. “Hey, boy! Where’s your master?” Even in this bitter moment of defeat some perverse imp inside Frederick forced him to reply, speaking very politely, “Mr. Freeland, sir, just went to the barn.”