Poor Jacob! None doubted but the hour of retribution for him was at
hand. That he might have timely warning, if possible, a lad was sent
out on a fleet horse, who managed to go by Captain Allen's chaise on
the road. Pale with affright, the unhappy fugitive hid himself under
a hay rick, and remained there for an hour. But the Captain passed
through without pause or inquiry, and in due course of time returned
to his home, having committed no act in the least degree notable.
And so, as if nothing unusual had happened, he was seen, day after
day, going about as of old, with not a sign of change in his
deportment that any one could read. In a week, Jacob Perkins
returned to his home, fully assured that no harm was likely to visit
him.
No event touching Captain Allen or his family, worthy of record,
transpired for several years. The only servants in the house were
negro slaves, brought from a distance, and kept as much as possible
away from others of their class in town. Among these, the boy, John,
grew up. When he was ten years old, Jacob Perkins, though in some
fear, performed the sacred duty promised to his mother on that
memorable morning, when he looked upon her pale, statuesque
countenance for the last time.
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