“Them folks--you mean they _fight_ to be free?” Freddy asked. The four boys were comfortably sprawled out on the cellar door, well out of earshot of grownups, but the question made them look over their shoulders in alarm. “Hush your big mouth!” “Slaves fight?” Freddy persisted. “Wasn’t no slaves!” “Course not, them was Yankees!” “I hate Yankees.” “Everybody hates Yankees!” The crisis had passed. Freddy thoughtfully turned the page and they started on the next speech. Then suddenly Tommy was growing up. It was decided to send him away to school. And so, after seven years, his dark caretaker, no longer a small, wide-eyed Pickaninny, was sent back to the Eastern Shore plantation. “Old Marse” had died. In the division of property--live stock, farm implements and slaves--Frederick had fallen to Colonel Lloyd’s ward, Lucille, who had married Captain Thomas Auld. So the half-grown boy went to a new master, whose place was near the oyster beds of St. Michaels. The inhabitants of that hamlet, lean and colorless as their mangy hounds, stared at him as he passed through. They stared at his coat and eyed the shoes on his feet--good shoes they were, with soles. They could not know that inside his bundle was an old copy of _The Columbian Orator_. The book had brought him into Covey’s hands. At the memory came a sudden stab of pain, blotting out everything in a wave of nausea. The trees assumed diabolical forms--hands stretching out to seize him. Words flaming in the shadows--leaping at him--burning him. What did he have to do with books? He was a slave--a _slave for life_. His new master’s shock and horror had been genuine. Nothing had prepared him for such a hideous disclosure. Fred, arriving at the plantation, had been quiet and obedient. Captain Auld appraised this piece of his wife’s inheritance with satisfaction. The boy appeared to be strong and bright--a real value. But before he had a chance to show what he could do, “the Christmas” was upon them and all regular work on the plantation was suspended. Throughout the South it was customary for everybody to knock off from work in the period between Christmas Day and New Year’s. On the big plantations there were boxing, wrestling, foot-racing, a lot of dancing and drinking of whiskey. Masters considered it a good thing for the slaves to “let go” this one time of the year--an exhausting “safety valve.” All kinds of wild carousing were condoned. Liquor was brought in by the barrel and freely distributed. Not to be drunk during the Christmas was disgraceful and was regarded by the masters with something like suspicion. Captain Auld’s place was too poor for much feasting; but complete license was given, and into half-starved bodies were poured jugs of rum and corn whiskey. Men and women careened around and sang hoarsely, couples rolled in the ditch, and little boys staggered as they danced, while the overseers shouted with laughter. Everybody had a “good time.”