“Truly I have thought of that,” said the Goodman, “but they are a treacherous lot and passing lazy.  There was a parcel of Pequot women and girls brought up from beyond Plymouth way last year after the uprising.  The settlers had killed off all the men and sold the boys in the Bermudas.  I might have bought one of the women but I need a man, or at least a boy that will grow into one.  The Pequots are about all gone now, but the Narragansetts are none too friendly.  They helped fight the Pequots because they hate them worse than they hate the English, but they are only biding their time, and some day it ’s likely we shall have trouble with them.  Nay, I could never trust an Indian slave.  Roger Williams saith they are wolves with men’s brains, and he speaks the truth.”

“Well, then,” said the Captain, “why don’t ye get a black?  They are more docile than Indians, and the woods about are not full of their friends.”

“Aye,” agreed the Goodman, “the plan is a good one and well thought out, but they are hard to come by.  There are only a few, even in Boston.”

“There will soon be more, I ’m thinking,” said the Captain.  “A ship was built in Marblehead last year on purpose for the trade.  Captain Pierce is a friend of mine, and he ’s due at Providence any time now with a cargo of blacks from Guinea.  Ye could sail down the bay with me, and there ’s a trail across the neck of the Cape to Providence, where the Desire will come to port.  I expect to spend the Sabbath here, but I lift anchor on Monday.  Ye can tell Captain Pierce ye ’re a friend of mine, and ’t will do ye no harm.”

[Illustration]

“Oh, Father,” breathed Dan, “may I go, too?”

The Captain chuckled.  “Art struck with the sea fever, son?” he said, looking down into the boy’s eager face.  “Well, there ’s room aboard.  I might take ye along if so be thy parents are willing and thou art minded to see a bit of the world.”

Up to this time Goodwife Pepperell had said no word, but now she spoke.  “Are there not dangers enough on land without courting the dangers of the sea?” she asked.

Her husband looked at her with gentle disapproval.  “Hold thy peace,” he said.  “What hath a pioneer lad to do with fear?  Moreover, if he goes I shall be with him.”

Nancy leaned forward and gazed imploringly at the Captain.  “Dost thou not need some one to cook on thy boat?” she gasped.  “I know well how to make johnny-cake and I—­” then, seeing her father’s stern look and her mother’s distress, she wilted like a flower on its stem and was silent.  The Captain smiled at her.

“Ye ’re a fine cook, I make no doubt,” he said genially, “but ye would n’t go and leave Mother here all alone, now, I ’ll be bound!”

“Nay,” said Nancy faintly, looking at her mother.

Then the Goodwife spoke.  “It pains me,” she said, “to think of children torn from their parents and sold into slavery, even though they be but Indians or blacks.  I doubt not they have souls like ourselves.”