"First I'd like to go to the stable and see my horse. I gave him a hard
ride last night to put distance between me and the Union pickets."

"Certainly." Mr. Beecham called another colored boy, who guided Tom to the
stable. There he found his horse munching hay, wearily but contentedly. The
stableman approached, armed with grooming implements.

"That's good," said Tom. "Give him a good grooming, and a blanket. Then, in
a half-hour, give him a feed of oats."

"Yassir."

He slipped a dollar into the negro's hand, and left him beaming.

Mr. Beecham escorted him to a room upstairs, where, with the aid of another
negro servant, they found clothes to replace the wet things he was wearing.
They left him to wash and dress.

"We will have breakfast just as soon as you are ready," said Mr. Beecham as
he closed the door.

Tom wondered if all these negroes were slaves. He had seen an occasional
negro in the North, but of course they were freed. He had expected to find
them different; less cheerful, perhaps, and carrying an air of oppression.
And it disturbed him slightly not to find them so.

Mr. Beecham had provided him with a suit of his own clothes. They were
about the same size, but a suit cut for a man of more than fifty looks
strange on a boy of eighteen. Tom glanced at himself in the mirror and
laughed. However, it was part of the adventure he had been tossed into.