As the library door closed, Leila dropped on a cushion at her aunt’s feet, and with her head in Ann’s lap expressed her contentment by a few moments of silence.  Then sitting up, she said, “I am so happy I should like to purr.  I was naughty at dinner, but it was just because I wanted to make Uncle Jim laugh.  He looks—­Don’t you think he looks worried, aunt?  Is it the mills and—­the men out of work?  Dear Aunt Ann, how can one keep on not talking about politics and things that are next to one’s religion—­and concerning our country—­my country?”

Ann made no direct reply, but went back to what was nearer than any creed of politics.  “Yes, dear.  When one big thing worries James, then everything worries him.  The state of the money market makes all business difficult, and he feels uncomfortable because the mill company is in want of work, and because their debts are overdue and not likely to be paid in full or at all.”

“I wish I could do something to help Uncle Jim.”

“You can ride with him and I cannot.  You can talk to him without limitations; I cannot.  He is reasonable about this grave question of slavery.  He does not think it right; I do—­oh, good for master and best for the black.  When, soon after our marriage, we spoke of it, he was positive and told me to read what Washington had said about slavery.  We were both young and said angry things which left a pang of remembrance.  After that we were careful.  But now this terrible question comes up in the village and in every paper.  It will get worse, and I see no end to it.”

Leila was silent, remembering too her aunt’s share in Josiah’s escape.  The advice implied in her aunt’s frank talk she saw was to be accepted.  “I will remember, Aunt Ann.”  At least she was free to talk to her uncle.

“Has any one heard of Josiah?” asked Leila.

“No, I was sorry for him.  He had so many good traits.  I think he would have been more happy if he had remained with his master.”

Leila had her doubts, but was self-advised to say no more than, “I often think of him.  Now I shall go to bed.”

“Yes, you must be tired.”

“I am never tired, but to be free to sit up late or go to bed and read what I want to—­and to ride!  Good-night.  I can write to John—­now there’s another bit of freedom.  Oh, dear, how delightful it all is!” She went upstairs thinking how hard it would be to keep off of the forbidden ground, and after all was her aunt entirely wise?  Well, there was Uncle Jim and John.

While this talk went on the rector alone with his host said, “You are evidently to have a fresh and very positive factor in your household life—­”

“Hush,” said the Squire.  “Talk low—­Ann Penhallow has incredible hearing.”

“True—­quite true—­I forgot.  How amazingly the child has changed.  She will be a useful ferment, I fancy.  How strange it is always—­this abrupt leap of the girl into the heritage of womanhood.  The boy matures slowly, by imperceptible gradations.  Now Leila seems to me years older than John, and the change is really somewhat startling; but then I have seen very little of young women.  There is the girl, the maid, the woman.”