Leila sitting with them on the porch looked round to hear her uncle’s comment.  He said, “It is too radical, Rivers.  It leaves no chance for compromise—­it is a declaration of war.”

“It is God’s truth,” said Rivers.

“The Democrats will rejoice,” said Penhallow.  “The Administration will be as I am against Douglas and against this man’s views.”

“I wish he were even more of an abolitionist, Squire.  The right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, ought to apply to all men, black and white.”

“Yes, but are there to be further applications.  Shall your free black vote?  Does he say that?”

“No, but I do.”

“Good gracious!” exclaimed the Squire.  “I move we adjourn.  Here comes Ann.”

Keen to have the last word, Rivers urged, “He is not against some fugitive-slave law—­not for abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia—­or the slave trade between the States.”

“But,” said Leila, “I read it all last night in my room.  He said it was the right and duty of Congress to prohibit slavery in all the territories.”

“The right,” said Penhallow, “Miss Politician?”

“And the duty,” returned Rivers.  They rose as Ann came up the steps.

Billy was carrying the baskets she had emptied in the village, and as usual with Ann when there had been much to do, she came home, Rivers said, refreshed by the exercise of her gentle despotisms as a man may be by use of competent muscles.  “You are all struck dumb,” she cried.  “I smell the sulphur of bad politics.”

“I’m for Buch and Breck,” said Billy.  “Misses she give me a dollar to vote for Buchanan, I know—­”

Leila delightedly encouraged him.  “Did you?”

“No, it was for poll-tax.  Take in those baskets at once,” said Ann.

“Yes, ma’am.  Bought a fishing-pole.”

The confusion of mind which had made this practical use of Ann’s mild political contribution was new to the Squire, and deliciously funny to Leila.  Penhallow laughed outright.  Rivers was silent watching Mrs. Ann.

To his surprise, she said, “You are bad—­all of you.  If the women could vote we would cease to have trouble.  It may please you all to know that since that idiot Pole has mortgaged his farm to Swallow and bought out the butcher at the mills, he has repented of his Democratic wickedness and says, ‘After all the Squire was right.’”

“And where, my dear, did you get all this gossip?” asked Penhallow.

“It is complicated; ask Pole.”

“I could guess,” laughed Leila.

“And I,” cried the Squire.

“You will all suffer,” cried Ann, “and don’t complain, James Penhallow, if tough beef is the final result of political complications.”  Whereupon she gathered her skirts and fled laughing.

“Pole will pay dearly,” said the Squire, who was secretly securing meat for the discharged mill-hands and understood what had influenced Pole.