He unlocked the bag, dropped his letters into it, and took up the voucher slip bearing the number of letters enclosed; this would be signed at the post office and brought back with the incoming mail. "That letter of Mr. Willoughby’s had better go in too," he said. "Give it to me." The man took it from the folds of his loincloth, and Reinecke appeared to drop it into the bag. In reality he put it into his pocket. Having altered the figures on the slip, he relocked the bag and dismissed the man. Twelve hours later the postman returned and delivered his bag as usual into his master’s hand. Next day, in going about the plantation, Tom, as was natural enough, sought the negro, to ask him whether he had duly posted the letter entrusted to him in so unusual a manner. But he could not find the man, and on asking where he was, learnt that he had been sent on an errand to Bismarckburg. It was nearly a fortnight before he returned to the plantation, and by that time Tom was no longer in a position to make any inquiry of him. CHAPTER IV--TRAPPED "You talked of slavery," said Reinecke one day. "Our niggers were no better than slaves! Have you seen anything to confirm that rather scandalous suggestion?" His tone was lightly sarcastic. "If you mean any signs of positive ill-treatment, none," said Tom. (He was not aware that Reinecke had given the overseers strict orders not to use their whips while the Englishman was on the spot). "But I had always understood that the negro is naturally a cheerful person----" "Well!" interrupted Reinecke. "Don’t they laugh enough? Don’t they make noise enough?" "The youngsters do make a great row," Tom confessed smiling; "of course children always are noisy and happy; they don’t understand. But the older men seem rather apathetic. Apart from actual ill-treatment, of which I do you the justice to say there’s no sign, the mere loss of liberty must be horribly depressing. You admit that they can’t leave if they want to." "Not at all. Some have at times cut a way through the hedge. They’ve repented of it." He smiled grimly. "But now, what would be a convincing proof to you that things here are after all not so bad?--that the life has some attractions, even for the freedom-loving negro?" "The return of one who had escaped, I suppose." "That’s a proof I can hardly give you, because the few who have escaped--or run away, as I should put it--have either been caught and brought back or have no doubt come to grief in the forest. But I can give you an instance of a nigger coming here of his own accord, and being apparently quite content to remain." "Indeed!" "Yes; and, strangely enough, he arrived on the same day as you. You won’t suggest that _you_ are the attraction?" Tom resented this unmannerly remark, still more the tone in which it was uttered, but he said nothing.