Again the mother's voice dropped low:
"Because God wouldn't let her--that's the only reason. If Lord Clive had
ever landed on our shores, Washington might now be sleeping in a
traitor's grave."
The voice again became soft and dreamy--almost inaudible.
"And he didn't come?" the Boy whispered.
"No. On the day he was to sail he put the papers in his pocket, went
into his room, locked the door and blew his own brains out. This is
God's country, my son. He gave us freedom. He has great plans for us."
The fire flickered low and the Boy's eyes glowed with a strange
intensity.
VIII
A barbecue, with political speaking, was held at the village ten miles
away. The family started at sunrise. The day was an event in the lives
of every man, woman and child within a radius of twenty miles. Many came
as far as thirty miles and walked the whole distance. Before nine
o'clock a crowd of two thousand had gathered.
The dark, lithe young mother who led her boy by the hand down the
crowded aisle of the improvised brush arbor that day performed a deed
which was destined to change the history of the world.
The speaker who held the crowd spellbound for two hours was Henry Clay.
The Boy not only heard an eloquent orator. His spirit entered for all
time into fellowship with a great human soul.
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