Despite the rain which beat in their faces, Tom studied the country through
which they were passing, and asked the negro boy innumerable questions. But
he found his mind slipping back constantly to Marjorie. A Northern girl in
the South! Surrounded by "rebs" but still true to her country! And she
wished him luck!

"Whose place is that?" asked Tom, pointing to a small house which was
almost hidden from the road by trees.

An expression of dislike came over the negro's face. "Mistah Murdock's," he
answered.

"A farmer?"

"No, suh," replied the negro. The expression of dislike changed visibly to
repugnance and fear. He added: "He keeps dawgs!"

There was no need to ask more. The negro's tone was sufficient. Dogs! There
was only one reason why a man made a business of keeping dogs--to chase
escaping slaves. The thought was horrible to Tom, and he turned away.

They found the ferryman in his shanty, hugging a stove.

"No crossing today," he announced. "Look at that there river. No crossing
today. Besides that, it's forbidden by the law. No Sentry, no crossing."

That was good news! No Sentry! "Mr. Beecham thought that you would take me
across," said Tom. "Sam, give him Mr. Beecham's note."