few books that he had been able to secure and smuggle in. His
fellow-servants alternately laughed at him and wondered why he did not
take a wife. But Joshua went on his way. He had no time for marrying
or for love; other thoughts had taken possession of him. He was being
swayed by ambitions other than the mere fathering of slaves for his
master. To him his slavery was deep night. What wonder, then, that he
should dream, and that through the ivory gate should come to him the
forbidden vision of freedom? To own himself, to be master of his
hands, feet, of his whole body--something would clutch at his heart as
he thought of it; and the breath would come hard between his lips. But
he met his master with an impassive face, always silent, always
docile; and Mr. Leckler congratulated himself that so valuable and
intelligent a slave should be at the same time so tractable. Usually
intelligence in a slave meant discontent; but not so with Josh. Who
more content than he? He remarked to his wife: "You see, my dear, this
is what comes of treating even a nigger right."

Meanwhile the white hills of the North were beckoning to the chattel,
and the north winds were whispering to him to be a chattel no longer.
Often the eyes that looked away to where freedom lay were filled with
a wistful longing that was tragic in its intensity, for they saw the
hardships and the difficulties between the slave and his goal and,
worst of all, an iniquitous law,--liberty's compromise with bondage,
that rose like a stone wall between him and hope,--a law that degraded
every free-thinking man to the level of a slave-catcher. There it
loomed up before him, formidable, impregnable, insurmountable. He
measured it in all its terribleness, and paused. But on the other side
there was liberty; and one day when he was away at work, a voice came
out of the woods and whispered to him "Courage!"--and on that night
the shadows beckoned him as the white hills had done, and the forest