Something in the pit of my stomach seemed to collapse. I tried to say something to the old boss, but the words wouldn’t come; they just rattled around in my throat. The old man bored into me with his eyes like a blacksnake charming a bird. Suddenly he uttered a short, sharp exclamation that sounded like “Chut.” I snatched my eyes away from his and closed them, prepared for the fatal blow that my guilty mind told me was about to fall on my head from behind. The blow did not fall, but I was almost dead anyway and swayed on my box till the China boys had to support me. I felt a fumbling at my ankles and opened my eyes to find the knotty-legged boy kneeling at my feet, untying his knots. When the rope was taken off me, I turned my head and saw the boy standing behind me, holding his cleaver at ready, prepared to strike me down only if I started anything rough. One of them handed me my hat. I put it on, and stood up slowly and with an effort. The old man waved his arm toward the back room.

“You go ou’,” he ordered sternly.

“My letter?” I asked meekly and respectfully.