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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Strength of Gideon and Other Stories, by
+Paul Laurence Dunbar, Illustrated by E. W. Kemble
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Strength of Gideon and Other Stories
+       Strength of Gideon; Mammy Peggy's Pride; Viney's Free Papers; The Fruitful Sleeping of The Rev. Elisha Edwards; The Ingrate; The Case of 'Ca'line'; The Finish of Patsy Barnes; One Man's Fortunes; Jim's Probation; Uncle Simon's Sundays Out; Mr. Cornelius Johnson, Office-Seeker; An Old-Time Christmas; A Mess of Pottage; The Trustfulness of Polly; The Tragedy at Three Forks; The Finding of Zach; Johnsonham, Junior; The Faith Cure Man; A Council of State; Silas Jackson
+
+
+Author: Paul Laurence Dunbar
+
+Release Date: May 23, 2005  [eBook #15886]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STRENGTH OF GIDEON AND OTHER
+STORIES***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Pilar Somoza, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustrations.
+      See 15886-h.htm or 15886-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/8/8/15886/15886-h/15886-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/8/8/15886/15886-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+THE STRENGTH OF GIDEON AND OTHER STORIES
+
+by
+
+PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
+
+1900
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO MY GOOD FRIEND AND TEACHER
+CAPTAIN CHARLES B. STIVERS
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+    STRENGTH OF GIDEON
+
+    MAMMY PEGGY'S PRIDE
+
+    VINEY'S FREE PAPERS
+
+    THE FRUITFUL SLEEPING OF THE REV. ELISHA EDWARDS
+
+    THE INGRATE
+
+    THE CASE OF 'CA'LINE'
+
+    THE FINISH OF PATSY BARNES
+
+    ONE MAN'S FORTUNES
+
+    JIM'S PROBATION
+
+    UNCLE SIMON'S SUNDAYS OUT
+
+    MR. CORNELIUS JOHNSON, OFFICE-SEEKER
+
+    AN OLD-TIME CHRISTMAS
+
+    A MESS OF POTTAGE
+
+    THE TRUSTFULNESS OF POLLY
+
+    THE TRAGEDY AT THREE FORKS
+
+    THE FINDING OF ZACH
+
+    JOHNSONHAM, JUNIOR
+
+    THE FAITH CURE MAN
+
+    A COUNCIL OF STATE
+
+    SILAS JACKSON
+
+
+
+
+THE STRENGTH OF GIDEON
+
+
+Old Mam' Henry, and her word may be taken, said that it was "De
+powerfulles' sehmont she ever had hyeahd in all huh bo'n days." That
+was saying a good deal, for the old woman had lived many years on the
+Stone place and had heard many sermons from preachers, white and
+black. She was a judge, too.
+
+It really must have been a powerful sermon that Brother Lucius
+preached, for Aunt Doshy Scott had fallen in a trance in the middle of
+the aisle, while "Merlatter Mag," who was famed all over the place for
+having white folk's religion and never "waking up," had broken through
+her reserve and shouted all over the camp ground.
+
+Several times Cassie had shown signs of giving way, but because
+she was frail some of the solicitous sisters held her with
+self-congratulatory care, relieving each other now and then, that each
+might have a turn in the rejoicings. But as the preacher waded out
+deeper and deeper into the spiritual stream, Cassie's efforts to make
+her feelings known became more and more decided. He told them how the
+spears of the Midianites had "clashed upon de shiels of de Gideonites,
+an' aftah while, wid de powah of de Lawd behin' him, de man Gideon
+triumphed mightily," and swaying then and wailing in the dark woods,
+with grim branches waving in the breath of their own excitement, they
+could hear above the tumult the clamor of the fight, the clashing of
+the spears, and the ringing of the shields. They could see the
+conqueror coming home in triumph. Then when he cried, "A-who, I say,
+a-who is in Gideon's ahmy to-day?" and the wailing chorus took up the
+note, "A-who!" it was too much even for frail Cassie, and, deserted by
+the solicitous sisters, in the words of Mam' Henry, "she broke
+a-loose, and faihly tuk de place."
+
+Gideon had certainly triumphed, and when a little boy baby came to
+Cassie two or three days later, she named him Gideon in honor of the
+great Hebrew warrior whose story had so wrought upon her. All the
+plantation knew the spiritual significance of the name, and from the
+day of his birth the child was as one set apart to a holy mission on
+earth.
+
+Say what you will of the influences which the circumstances
+surrounding birth have upon a child, upon this one at least the effect
+was unmistakable. Even as a baby he seemed to realize the weight of
+responsibility which had been laid upon his little black shoulders,
+and there was a complacent dignity in the very way in which he drew
+upon the sweets of his dirty sugar-teat when the maternal breast was
+far off bending over the sheaves of the field.
+
+He was a child early destined to sacrifice and self-effacement, and as
+he grew older and other youngsters came to fill Cassie's cabin, he
+took up his lot with the meekness of an infantile Moses. Like a Moses
+he was, too, leading his little flock to the promised land, when he
+grew to the age at which, barefooted and one-shifted, he led or
+carried his little brothers and sisters about the quarters. But the
+"promised land" never took him into the direction of the stables,
+where the other pickaninnies worried the horses, or into the region of
+the hen-coops, where egg-sucking was a common crime.
+
+No boy ever rolled or tumbled in the dirt with a heartier glee than
+did Gideon, but no warrior, not even his illustrious prototype
+himself, ever kept sterner discipline in his ranks when his followers
+seemed prone to overstep the bounds of right. At a very early age his
+shrill voice could be heard calling in admonitory tones, caught from
+his mother's very lips, "You 'Nelius, don' you let me ketch you
+th'owin' at ol' mis' guinea-hens no mo'; you hyeah me?" or "Hi'am, you
+come offen de top er dat shed 'fo' you fall an' brek yo' naik all to
+pieces."
+
+It was a common sight in the evening to see him sitting upon the low
+rail fence which ran before the quarters, his shift blowing in the
+wind, and his black legs lean and bony against the whitewashed rails,
+as he swayed to and fro, rocking and singing one of his numerous
+brothers to sleep, and always his song was of war and victory, albeit
+crooned in a low, soothing voice. Sometimes it was "Turn Back
+Pharaoh's Army," at others "Jinin' Gideon's Band." The latter was a
+favorite, for he seemed to have a proprietary interest in it,
+although, despite the martial inspiration of his name, "Gideon's band"
+to him meant an aggregation of people with horns and fiddles.
+
+Steve, who was Cassie's man, declared that he had never seen such a
+child, and, being quite as religious as Cassie herself, early began to
+talk Scripture and religion to the boy. He was aided in this when his
+master, Dudley Stone, a man of the faith, began a little Sunday class
+for the religiously inclined of the quarters, where the old familiar
+stories were told in simple language to the slaves and explained. At
+these meetings Gideon became a shining light. No one listened more
+eagerly to the teacher's words, or more readily answered his questions
+at review. No one was wider-mouthed or whiter-eyed. His admonitions to
+his family now took on a different complexion, and he could be heard
+calling across a lot to a mischievous sister, "Bettah tek keer daih,
+Lucy Jane, Gawd's a-watchin' you; bettah tek keer."
+
+The appointed man is always marked, and so Gideon was by always
+receiving his full name. No one ever shortened his scriptural
+appellation into Gid. He was always Gideon from the time he bore the
+name out of the heat of camp-meeting fervor until his master
+discovered his worthiness and filled Cassie's breast with pride by
+taking him into the house to learn "mannahs and 'po'tment."
+
+As a house servant he was beyond reproach, and next to his religion
+his Mas' Dudley and Miss Ellen claimed his devotion and fidelity. The
+young mistress and young master learned to depend fearlessly upon his
+faithfulness.
+
+It was good to hear old Dudley Stone going through the house in a mock
+fury, crying, "Well, I never saw such a house; it seems as if there
+isn't a soul in it that can do without Gideon. Here I've got him up
+here to wait on me, and it's Gideon here and Gideon there, and every
+time I turn around some of you have sneaked him off. Gideon, come
+here!" And the black boy smiled and came.
+
+But all his days were not days devoted to men's service, for there
+came a time when love claimed him for her own, when the clouds took on
+a new color, when the sough of the wind was music in his ears, and he
+saw heaven in Martha's eyes. It all came about in this way.
+
+Gideon was young when he got religion and joined the church, and he
+grew up strong in the faith. Almost by the time he had become a
+valuable house servant he had grown to be an invaluable servant of the
+Lord. He had a good, clear voice that could lead a hymn out of all the
+labyrinthian wanderings of an ignorant congregation, even when he had
+to improvise both words and music; and he was a mighty man of prayer.
+It was thus he met Martha. Martha was brown and buxom and comely, and
+her rich contralto voice was loud and high on the sisters' side in
+meeting time. It was the voices that did it at first. There was no
+hymn or "spiritual" that Gideon could start to which Martha could not
+sing an easy blending second, and never did she open a tune that
+Gideon did not swing into it with a wonderfully sweet, flowing,
+natural bass. Often he did not know the piece, but that did not
+matter, he sang anyway. Perhaps when they were out he would go to her
+and ask, "Sis' Martha, what was that hymn you stahrted to-day?" and
+she would probably answer, "Oh, dat was jes' one o' my mammy's ol'
+songs."
+
+"Well, it sholy was mighty pretty. Indeed it was."
+
+"Oh, thanky, Brothah Gidjon, thanky."
+
+Then a little later they began to walk back to the master's house
+together, for Martha, too, was one of the favored ones, and served,
+not in the field, but in the big house.
+
+The old women looked on and conversed in whispers about the pair, for
+they were wise, and what their old eyes saw, they saw.
+
+"Oomph," said Mam' Henry, for she commented on everything, "dem too is
+jes' natchelly singin' demse'ves togeddah."
+
+"Dey's lak de mo'nin' stahs," interjected Aunt Sophy.
+
+"How 'bout dat?" sniffed the older woman, for she objected to any
+one's alluding to subjects she did not understand.
+
+"Why, Mam' Henry, ain' you nevah hyeahd tell o' de mo'nin' stahs whut
+sung deyse'ves togeddah?"
+
+"No, I ain't, an' I been livin' a mighty sight longah'n you, too. I
+knows all 'bout when de stahs fell, but dey ain' nevah done no singin'
+dat I knows 'bout."
+
+"Do heish, Mam' Henry, you sho' su'prises me. W'y, dat ain'
+happenin's, dat's Scripter."
+
+"Look hyeah, gal, don't you tell me dat's Scripter, an' me been
+a-settin' undah de Scripter fu' nigh onto sixty yeah."
+
+"Well, Mam' Henry, I may 'a' been mistook, but sho' I took hit fu'
+Scripter. Mebbe de preachah I hyeahd was jes' inlinin'."
+
+"Well, wheddah hit's Scripter er not, dey's one t'ing su'tain, I tell
+you,--dem two is singin' deyse'ves togeddah."
+
+"Hit's a fac', an' I believe it."
+
+"An' it's a mighty good thing, too. Brothah Gidjon is de nicest house
+dahky dat I ever hyeahd tell on. Dey jes' de same diffunce 'twixt him
+an' de othah house-boys as dey is 'tween real quality an'
+strainers--he got mannahs, but he ain't got aihs."
+
+"Heish, ain't you right!"
+
+"An' while de res' of dem ain' thinkin' 'bout nothin' but dancin' an'
+ca'in' on, he makin' his peace, callin', an' 'lection sho'."
+
+"I tell you, Mam' Henry, dey ain' nothin' like a spichul named chile."
+
+"Humph! g'long, gal; 'tain't in de name; de biggest devil I evah
+knowed was named Moses Aaron. 'Tain't in de name, hit's all in de man
+hisse'f."
+
+But notwithstanding what the gossips said of him, Gideon went on his
+way, and knew not that the one great power of earth had taken hold of
+him until they gave the great party down in the quarters, and he saw
+Martha in all her glory. Then love spoke to him with no uncertain
+sound.
+
+It was a dancing-party, and because neither he nor Martha dared
+countenance dancing, they had strolled away together under the pines
+that lined the white road, whiter now in the soft moonlight. He had
+never known the pine-cones smell so sweet before in all his life. She
+had never known just how the moonlight flecked the road before. This
+was lovers' lane to them. He didn't understand why his heart kept
+throbbing so furiously, for they were walking slowly, and when a
+shadow thrown across the road from a by-standing bush frightened her
+into pressing close up to him, he could not have told why his arm
+stole round her waist and drew her slim form up to him, or why his
+lips found hers, as eye looked into eye. For their simple hearts
+love's mystery was too deep, as it is for wiser ones.
+
+Some few stammering words came to his lips, and she answered the best
+she could. Then why did the moonlight flood them so, and why were the
+heavens so full of stars? Out yonder in the black hedge a mocking-bird
+was singing, and he was translating--oh, so poorly--the song of their
+hearts. They forgot the dance, they forgot all but their love.
+
+"An' you won't ma'y nobody else but me, Martha?"
+
+"You know I won't, Gidjon."
+
+"But I mus' wait de yeah out?"
+
+"Yes, an' den don't you think Mas' Stone'll let us have a little cabin
+of ouah own jest outside de quahtahs?"
+
+"Won't it be blessid? Won't it be blessid?" he cried, and then the
+kindly moon went under a cloud for a moment and came out smiling, for
+he had peeped through and had seen what passed. Then they walked back
+hand in hand to the dance along the transfigured road, and they found
+that the first part of the festivities were over, and all the people
+had sat down to supper. Every one laughed when they went in. Martha
+held back and perspired with embarrassment. But even though he saw
+some of the older heads whispering in a corner, Gideon was not
+ashamed. A new light was in his eyes, and a new boldness had come to
+him. He led Martha up to the grinning group, and said in his best
+singing voice, "Whut you laughin' at? Yes, I's popped de question, an'
+she says 'Yes,' an' long 'bout a yeah f'om now you kin all 'spec' a'
+invitation." This was a formal announcement. A shout arose from the
+happy-go-lucky people, who sorrowed alike in each other's sorrows, and
+joyed in each other's joys. They sat down at a table, and their
+health was drunk in cups of cider and persimmon beer.
+
+Over in the corner Mam' Henry mumbled over her pipe, "Wha'd I tell
+you? wha'd I tell you?" and Aunt Sophy replied, "Hit's de pa'able of
+de mo'nin' stahs."
+
+"Don't talk to me 'bout no mo'nin' stahs," the mammy snorted; "Gawd
+jes' fitted dey voices togeddah, an' den j'ined dey hea'ts. De mo'nin'
+stahs ain't got nothin' to do wid it."
+
+"Mam' Henry," said Aunt Sophy, impressively, "you's a' oldah ooman den
+I is, an' I ain' sputin' hit; but I say dey done 'filled Scripter
+'bout de mo'nin' stahs; dey's done sung deyse'ves togeddah."
+
+The old woman sniffed.
+
+The next Sunday at meeting some one got the start of Gideon, and began
+a new hymn. It ran:
+
+    "At de ma'ige of de Lamb, oh Lawd,
+          God done gin His 'sent.
+    Dey dressed de Lamb all up in white,
+          God done gin His 'sent.
+    Oh, wasn't dat a happy day,
+    Oh, wasn't dat a happy day, Good Lawd,
+    Oh, wasn't dat a happy day,
+          De ma'ige of de Lamb!"
+
+The wailing minor of the beginning broke into a joyous chorus at the
+end, and Gideon wept and laughed in turn, for it was his wedding-song.
+
+The young man had a confidential chat with his master the next
+morning, and the happy secret was revealed.
+
+"What, you scamp!" said Dudley Stone. "Why, you've got even more sense
+than I gave you credit for; you've picked out the finest girl on the
+plantation, and the one best suited to you. You couldn't have done
+better if the match had been made for you. I reckon this must be one
+of the marriages that are made in heaven. Marry her, yes, and with a
+preacher. I don't see why you want to wait a year."
+
+Gideon told him his hopes of a near cabin.
+
+"Better still," his master went on; "with you two joined and up near
+the big house, I'll feel as safe for the folks as if an army was
+camped around, and, Gideon, my boy,"--he put his arms on the black
+man's shoulders,--"if I should slip away some day--"
+
+The slave looked up, startled.
+
+"I mean if I should die--I'm not going to run off, don't be alarmed--I
+want you to help your young Mas' Dud look after his mother and Miss
+Ellen; you hear? Now that's the one promise I ask of you,--come what
+may, look after the women folks." And the man promised and went away
+smiling.
+
+His year of engagement, the happiest time of a young man's life, began
+on golden wings. There came rumors of war, and the wings of the
+glad-hued year drooped sadly. Sadly they drooped, and seemed to fold,
+when one day, between the rumors and predictions of strife, Dudley
+Stone, the old master, slipped quietly away out into the unknown.
+
+There were wife, daughter, son, and faithful slaves about his bed, and
+they wept for him sincere tears, for he had been a good husband and
+father and a kind master. But he smiled, and, conscious to the last,
+whispered to them a cheery good-bye. Then, turning to Gideon, who
+stood there bowed with grief, he raised one weak finger, and his lips
+made the word, "Remember!"
+
+They laid him where they had laid one generation after another of the
+Stones and it seemed as if a pall of sorrow had fallen upon the whole
+place. Then, still grieving, they turned their long-distracted
+attention to the things that had been going on around, and lo! the
+ominous mutterings were loud, and the cloud of war was black above
+them.
+
+It was on an April morning when the storm broke, and the plantation,
+master and man, stood dumb with consternation, for they had hoped,
+they had believed, it would pass. And now there was the buzz of men
+who talked in secret corners. There were hurried saddlings and
+feverish rides to town. Somewhere in the quarters was whispered the
+forbidden word "freedom," and it was taken up and dropped breathlessly
+from the ends of a hundred tongues. Some of the older ones scouted it,
+but from some who held young children to their breasts there were
+deep-souled prayers in the dead of night. Over the meetings in the
+woods or in the log church a strange reserve brooded, and even the
+prayers took on a guarded tone. Even from the fulness of their hearts,
+which longed for liberty, no open word that could offend the mistress
+or the young master went up to the Almighty. He might know their
+hearts, but no tongue in meeting gave vent to what was in them, and
+even Gideon sang no more of the gospel army. He was sad because of
+this new trouble coming hard upon the heels of the old, and Martha
+was grieved because he was.
+
+Finally the trips into town budded into something, and on a memorable
+evening when the sun looked peacefully through the pines, young Dudley
+Stone rode into the yard dressed in a suit of gray, and on his
+shoulders were the straps of office. The servants gathered around him
+with a sort of awe and followed him until he alighted at the porch.
+Only Mam' Henry, who had been nurse to both him and his sister, dared
+follow him in. It was a sad scene within, but such a one as any
+Southern home where there were sons might have shown that awful year.
+The mother tried to be brave, but her old hands shook, and her tears
+fell upon her son's brown head, tears of grief at parting, but through
+which shone the fire of a noble pride. The young Ellen hung about his
+neck with sobs and caresses.
+
+"Would you have me stay?" he asked her.
+
+"No! no! I know where your place is, but oh, my brother!"
+
+"Ellen," said the mother in a trembling voice, "you are the sister of
+a soldier now."
+
+The girl dried her tears and drew herself up. "We won't burden your
+heart, Dudley, with our tears, but we will weight you down with our
+love and prayers."
+
+It was not so easy with Mam' Henry. Without protest, she took him to
+her bosom and rocked to and fro, wailing "My baby! my baby!" and the
+tears that fell from the young man's eyes upon her grey old head cost
+his manhood nothing.
+
+Gideon was behind the door when his master called him. His sleeve was
+traveling down from his eyes as he emerged.
+
+"Gideon," said his master, pointing to his uniform, "you know what
+this means?"
+
+"Yes, suh."
+
+"I wish I could take you along with me. But--"
+
+"Mas' Dud," Gideon threw out his arms in supplication.
+
+"You remember father's charge to you, take care of the women-folks."
+He took the servant's hand, and, black man and white, they looked into
+each other's eyes, and the compact was made. Then Gideon gulped and
+said "Yes, suh" again.
+
+Another boy held the master's horse and rode away behind him when he
+vaulted into the saddle, and the man of battle-song and warrior name
+went back to mind the women-folks.
+
+Then began the disintegration of the plantation's population. First
+Yellow Bob slipped away, and no one pursued him. A few blamed him, but
+they soon followed as the year rolled away. More were missing every
+time a Union camp lay near, and great tales were told of the chances
+for young negroes who would go as body-servants to the Yankee
+officers. Gideon heard all and was silent.
+
+Then as the time of his marriage drew near he felt a greater strength,
+for there was one who would be with him to help him keep his promise
+and his faith.
+
+The spirit of freedom had grown strong in Martha as the days passed,
+and when her lover went to see her she had strange things to say. Was
+he going to stay? Was he going to be a slave when freedom and a
+livelihood lay right within his grasp? Would he keep her a slave? Yes,
+he would do it all--all.
+
+She asked him to wait.
+
+Another year began, and one day they brought Dudley Stone home to lay
+beside his father. Then most of the remaining negroes went. There was
+no master now. The two bereaved women wept, and Gideon forgot that he
+wore the garb of manhood and wept with them.
+
+Martha came to him.
+
+"Gidjon," she said, "I's waited a long while now. Mos' eve'ybody else
+is gone. Ain't you goin'?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But, Gidjon, I wants to be free. I know how good dey've been to us;
+but, oh, I wants to own myse'f. They're talkin' 'bout settin' us free
+every hour."
+
+"I can wait."
+
+"They's a camp right near here."
+
+"I promised."
+
+"The of'cers wants body-servants, Gidjon--"
+
+"Go, Martha, if you want to, but I stay."
+
+She went away from him, but she or some one else got word to young
+Captain Jack Griswold of the near camp that there was an excellent
+servant on the plantation who only needed a little persuading, and he
+came up to see him.
+
+"Look here," he said, "I want a body-servant. I'll give you ten
+dollars a month."
+
+"I've got to stay here."
+
+"But, you fool, what have you to gain by staying here?"
+
+"I'm goin' to stay."
+
+"Why, you'll be free in a little while, anyway."
+
+"All right."
+
+"Of all fools," said the Captain. "I'll give you fifteen dollars."
+
+"I do' want it."
+
+"Well, your girl's going, anyway. I don't blame her for leaving such a
+fool as you are."
+
+Gideon turned and looked at him.
+
+"The camp is going to be moved up on this plantation, and there will
+be a requisition for this house for officers' quarters, so I'll see
+you again," and Captain Griswold went his way.
+
+Martha going! Martha going! Gideon could not believe it. He would not.
+He saw her, and she confirmed it. She was going as an aid to the
+nurses. He gasped, and went back to mind the women-folks.
+
+They did move the camp up nearer, and Captain Griswold came to see
+Gideon again, but he could get no word from him, save "I'm goin' to
+stay," and he went away in disgust, entirely unable to understand such
+obstinacy, as he called it.
+
+    [Illustration: "'IT'S FREEDOM, GIDEON.'"]
+
+But the slave had his moments alone, when the agony tore at his breast
+and rended him. Should he stay? The others were going. He would soon
+be free. Every one had said so, even his mistress one day. Then Martha
+was going. "Martha! Martha!" his heart called.
+
+The day came when the soldiers were to leave, and he went out sadly to
+watch them go. All the plantation, that had been white with tents, was
+dark again, and everywhere were moving, blue-coated figures.
+
+Once more his tempter came to him. "I'll make it twenty dollars," he
+said, but Gideon shook his head. Then they started. The drums tapped.
+Away they went, the flag kissing the breeze. Martha stole up to say
+good-bye to him. Her eyes were overflowing, and she clung to him.
+
+"Come, Gidjon," she plead, "fu' my sake. Oh, my God, won't you come
+with us--it's freedom." He kissed her, but shook his head.
+
+"Hunt me up when you do come," she said, crying bitterly, "fu' I do
+love you, Gidjon, but I must go. Out yonder is freedom," and she was
+gone with them.
+
+He drew out a pace after the troops, and then, turning, looked back
+at the house. He went a step farther, and then a woman's gentle voice
+called him, "Gideon!" He stopped. He crushed his cap in his hands, and
+the tears came into his eyes. Then he answered, "Yes, Mis' Ellen, I's
+a-comin'."
+
+He stood and watched the dusty column until the last blue leg swung
+out of sight and over the grey hills the last drum-tap died away, and
+then turned and retraced his steps toward the house.
+
+Gideon had triumphed mightily.
+
+
+
+
+MAMMY PEGGY'S PRIDE
+
+
+In the failing light of the midsummer evening, two women sat upon the
+broad veranda that ran round three sides of the old Virginia mansion.
+One was young and slender with the slightness of delicate girlhood.
+The other was old, black and ample,--a typical mammy of the old south.
+The girl was talking in low, subdued tones touched with a note of
+sadness that was strange in one of her apparent youth, but which
+seemed as if somehow in consonance with her sombre garments.
+
+"No, no, Peggy," she was saying, "we have done the best we could, as
+well as even papa could have expected of us if he had been here. It
+was of no use to keep struggling and straining along, trying to keep
+the old place from going, out of a sentiment, which, however honest it
+might have been, was neither common sense nor practical. Poor people,
+and we are poor, in spite of the little we got for the place, cannot
+afford to have feelings. Of course I hate to see strangers take
+possession of the homestead, and--and--papa's and mamma's and brother
+Phil's graves are out there on the hillside. It is hard,--hard, but
+what was I to do? I couldn't plant and hoe and plow, and you couldn't,
+so I am beaten, beaten." The girl threw out her hands with a
+despairing gesture and burst into tears.
+
+Mammy Peggy took the brown head in her lap and let her big hands
+wander softly over the girl's pale face. "Sh,--sh," she said as if she
+were soothing a baby, "don't go on lak dat. W'y whut's de mattah wid
+you, Miss Mime? 'Pears lak you done los' all yo' spe'it. Whut you
+reckon yo' pappy 'u'd t'ink ef he could see you ca'in' on dis away?
+Didn' he put his han' on yo' haid an' call you his own brave little
+gal, jes' befo', jes' befo'--he went?"
+
+The girl raised her head for a moment and looked at the old woman.
+
+"Oh, mammy, mammy," she cried, "I have tried so hard to be brave--to
+be really my father's daughter, but I can't, I can't. Everything I
+turn my hand to fails. I've tried sewing, but here every one sews for
+herself now. I've even tried writing," and here a crimson glow burned
+in her cheeks, "but oh, the awful regularity with which everything
+came back to me. Why, I even put you in a story, Mammy Peggy, you
+dear old, good, unselfish thing, and the hard-hearted editor had the
+temerity to decline you with thanks."
+
+"I wouldn't'a' nevah lef' you nohow, honey."
+
+Mima laughed through her tears. The strength of her first grief had
+passed, and she was viewing her situation with a whimsical enjoyment
+of its humorous points.
+
+"I don't know," she went on, "it seems to me that it's only in stories
+themselves that destitute young Southern girls get on and make fame
+and fortune with their pens. I'm sure I couldn't."
+
+"Of course you couldn't. Whut else do you 'spect? Whut you know 'bout
+mekin' a fortune? Ain't you a Ha'ison? De Ha'isons nevah was no buyin'
+an' sellin', mekin' an' tradin' fambly. Dey was gent'men an' ladies
+f'om de ve'y fus' beginnin'."
+
+"Oh what a pity one cannot sell one's quality for daily bread, or
+trade off one's blue blood for black coffee."
+
+"Miss Mime, is you out o' yo' haid?" asked Mammy Peggy in disgust and
+horror.
+
+"No, I'm not, Mammy Peggy, but I do wish that I could traffic in some
+of my too numerous and too genteel ancestors instead of being
+compelled to dispose of my ancestral home and be turned out into the
+street like a pauper."
+
+"Heish, honey, heish, I can' stan' to hyeah you talk dat-away. I's
+so'y to see dee ol' place go, but you got to go out of it wid yo' haid
+up, jes' ez ef you was gwine away fo' a visit an' could come back w'en
+evah you wanted to."
+
+"I shall slink out of it like a cur. I can't meet the eyes of the new
+owner; I shall hate him."
+
+"W'y, Miss Mime, whaih's yo' pride? Whaih's yo' Ha'ison pride?"
+
+"Gone, gone with the deed of this house and its furniture. Gone with
+the money I paid for the new cottage and its cheap chairs."
+
+"Gone, hit ain' gone, fu' ef you won't let on to have it, I will. I'll
+show dat new man how yo' pa would 'a' did ef he'd 'a' been hyeah."
+
+"What, you, Mammy Peggy?"
+
+"Yes, me, I ain' a-gwine to let him t'ink dat de Ha'isons didn' have
+no quality."
+
+"Good, mammy, you make me remember who I am, and what my duty is. I
+shall see Mr. Northcope when he comes, and I'll try to make my
+Harrison pride sustain me when I give up to him everything I have
+held dear. Oh, mammy, mammy!"
+
+"Heish, chile, sh, sh, er go on, dat's right, yo' eyes is open now an'
+you kin cry a little weenty bit. It'll do you good. But when dat new
+man comes I want mammy's lamb to look at him an' hol' huh haid lak'
+huh ma used to hol' hern, an' I reckon Mistah No'thcope gwine to
+withah away."
+
+And so it happened that when Bartley Northcope came the next day to
+take possession of the old Virginia mansion he was welcomed at the
+door, and ushered into the broad parlor by Mammy Peggy, stiff and
+unbending in the faded finery of her family's better days.
+
+"Miss Mime'll be down in a minute," she told him, and as he sat in the
+great old room, and looked about him at the evidences of ancient
+affluence, his spirit was subdued by the silent tragedy which his
+possession of it evinced. But he could not but feel a thrill at the
+bit of comedy which is on the edge of every tragedy, as he thought of
+Mammy Peggy and her formal reception. "She let me into my own house,"
+he thought to himself, "with the air of granting me a favor." And then
+there was a step on the stair; the door opened, and Miss Mima stood
+before him, proud, cold, white, and beautiful.
+
+He found his feet, and went forward to meet her. "Mr. Northcope," she
+said, and offered her hand daintily, hesitatingly. He took it, and
+thought, even in that flash of a second, what a soft, tiny hand it
+was.
+
+"Yes," he said, "and I have been sitting here, overcome by the
+vastness of your fine old house."
+
+The "your" was delicate, she thought, but she only said, "Let me help
+you to recovery with some tea. Mammy will bring some," and then she
+blushed very red. "My old nurse is the only servant I have with me,
+and she is always mammy to me." She remembered, and throwing up her
+proud little head rang for the old woman.
+
+Directly, Mammy Peggy came marching in like a grenadier. She bore a
+tray with the tea things on it, and after she had set it down hovered
+in the room as if to chaperon her mistress. Bartley felt decidedly
+uncomfortable. Mima's manners were all that politeness could require,
+but he felt as if she resented his coming even to his own, and he knew
+that mammy looked upon him as an interloper.
+
+    [Illustration: "MAMMY PEGGY CAME MARCHING IN LIKE A GRENADIER."]
+
+Mima kept up well, only the paleness of her face showed what she felt
+at leaving her home. Her voice was calm and impassive, only once it
+trembled, when she wished that he would be as happy in the house as
+she had been.
+
+"I feel very much like an interloper," he said, "but I hope you won't
+feel yourself entirely shut out from your beautiful home. My father,
+who comes on in a few days is an invalid, and gets about very little,
+and I am frequently from home, so pray make use of the grounds when
+you please, and as much of the house as you find convenient."
+
+A cold "thank you" fell from Mima's lips, but then she went on,
+hesitatingly, "I should like to come sometimes to the hill, out there
+behind the orchard." Her voice choked, but she went bravely on, "Some
+of my dear ones are buried there."
+
+"Go there, and elsewhere, as much as you please. That spot shall be
+sacred from invasion."
+
+"You are very kind," she said and rose to go. Mammy carried away the
+tea things, and then came and waited silently by the door.
+
+"I hope you will believe me, Miss Harrison," said Bartley, as Mima
+was starting, "when I say that I do not come to your home as a vandal
+to destroy all that makes its recollection dear to you; for there are
+some associations about it that are almost as much to me as to you,
+since my eyes have been opened."
+
+"I do not understand you," she replied.
+
+"I can explain. For some years past my father's condition has kept me
+very closely bound to him, and both before and after the beginning of
+the war, we lived abroad. A few years ago, I came to know and love a
+man, who I am convinced now was your brother. Am I mistaken in
+thinking that you are a sister of Philip Harrison?"
+
+"No, no, he was my brother, my only brother."
+
+"I met him in Venice just before the war and we came to be dear
+friends. But in the events that followed so tumultuously, and from
+participation in which, I was cut off by my father's illness, I lost
+sight of him."
+
+"But I don't believe I remember hearing my brother speak of you, and
+he was not usually reticent."
+
+"You would not remember me as Bartley Northcope, unless you were
+familiar with the very undignified sobriquet with which your brother
+nicknamed me," said the young man smiling.
+
+"Nickname--what, you are not, you can't be 'Budge'?"
+
+"I am 'Budge' or 'old Budge' as Phil called me."
+
+Mima had her hand on the door-knob, but she turned with an impulsive
+motion and went back to him. "I am so glad to see you," she said,
+giving him her hand again, and "Mammy," she called, "Mr. Northcope is
+an old friend of brother Phil's!"
+
+The effect of this news on mammy was like that of the April sun on an
+icicle. She suddenly melted, and came overflowing back into the room,
+her smiles and grins and nods trickling everywhere under the genial
+warmth of this new friendliness. Before one who had been a friend of
+"Mas' Phil's," Mammy Peggy needed no pride.
+
+"La, chile," she exclaimed, settling and patting the cushions of the
+chair in which he had been sitting, "w'y didn' you say so befo'?"
+
+"I wasn't sure that I was standing in the house of my old friend. I
+only knew that he lived somewhere in Virginia."
+
+"He is among those out on the hill behind the orchard," said Mima,
+sadly. Mammy Peggy wiped her eyes, and went about trying to add some
+touches of comfort to the already perfect room.
+
+"You have no reason to sorrow, Miss Harrison," said Northcope gently,
+"for a brother who died bravely in battle for his principles. Had fate
+allowed me to be here I should have been upon the other side, but
+believe me, I both understand and appreciate your brother's heroism."
+
+The young girl's eyes glistened with tears, through which glowed her
+sisterly pride.
+
+"Won't you come out and look at his grave?"
+
+"It is the desire that was in my mind."
+
+Together they walked out, with mammy following, to the old burying
+plot. All her talk was of her brother's virtues, and he proved an
+appreciative listener. She pointed out favorite spots of her brother's
+childhood as they passed along, and indicated others which his boyish
+pranks had made memorable, though the eyes of the man were oftener on
+her face than on the landscape. But it was with real sympathy and
+reverence that he stood with bared head beside the grave of his
+friend, and the tears that she left fall unchecked in his presence
+were not all tears of grief.
+
+They did not go away from him that afternoon until Mammy Peggy,
+seconded by Mima, had won his consent to let the old servant come over
+and "do for him" until he found suitable servants.
+
+"To think of his having known Philip," said Mima with shining eyes as
+they entered the new cottage, and somehow it looked pleasanter,
+brighter and less mean to her than it had ever before.
+
+"Now s'posin' you'd 'a' run off widout seein' him, whaih would you
+been den? You wouldn' nevah knowed whut you knows."
+
+"You're right, Mammy Peggy, and I'm glad I stayed and faced him, for
+it doesn't seem now as if a stranger had the house, and it has given
+me a great pleasure. It seemed like having Phil back again to have him
+talked about so by one who lived so near to him."
+
+"I tell you, chile," mammy supplemented in an oracular tone, "de right
+kin' o' pride allus pays." Mima laughed heartily. The old woman
+looked at her bright face. Then she put her big hand on the girl's
+small one. It was trembling. She shook her head. Mima blushed.
+
+Bartley went out and sat on the veranda a long time after they were
+gone. He took in the great expanse of lawn about the house, and the
+dark background of the pines in the woods beyond. He thought of the
+conditions through which the place had become his, and the thought
+saddened him, even in the first glow of the joy of possession. Then
+his mind went on to the old friend who was sleeping his last sleep
+back there on the sun-bathed hill. His recollection went fondly over
+the days of their comradeship in Venice, and colored them anew with
+glory.
+
+"These Southerners," he mused aloud, "cannot understand that we
+sympathize with their misfortunes. But we do. They forget how our
+sympathies have been trained. We were first taught to sympathize with
+the slave, and now that he is free, and needs less, perhaps, of our
+sympathy, this, by a transition, as easy as it is natural, is
+transferred to his master. Poor, poor Phil!"
+
+There was a strange emotion, half-sad, half-pleasant tugging at his
+heart. A mist came before his eyes and hid the landscape for a
+moment.
+
+And he, he referred it all to the memories of the brother. Yes, he
+thought he was thinking of the brother, and he did not notice or did
+not pretend to notice that a pair of appealing eyes looking out
+beneath waves of brown hair, that a soft, fair hand, pressed in his
+own, floated nebulously at the back of his consciousness.
+
+It was not until he had set out to furnish his house with a complement
+of servants against the coming of his father that Bartley came to
+realize the full worth of Mammy Peggy's offer to "do for him." The old
+woman not only got his meals and kept him comfortable, trudging over
+and back every day from the little cottage, but she proved invaluable
+in the choice of domestic help. She knew her people thereabouts, just
+who was spry, and who was trifling, and with the latter she would have
+nothing whatever to do. She acted rather as if he were a guest in his
+own house, and what was more would take no pay for it. Of course there
+had to be some return for so much kindness, and it took the form of
+various gifts of flowers and fruit from the old place to the new
+cottage. And sometimes when Bartley had forgotten to speak of it
+before mammy had left, he would arrange his baskets and carry his
+offering over himself. Mima thought it was very thoughtful and kind of
+him, and she wondered on these occasions if they ought not to keep Mr.
+Northcope to tea, and if mammy would not like to make some of those
+nice muffins of hers that he had liked so, and mammy always smiled on
+her charge, and said, "Yes, honey, yes, but hit do 'pear lak' dat
+Mistah No'thcope do fu'git mo' an' mo' to sen' de t'ings ovah by me
+w'en I's daih."
+
+But mammy found her special charge when the elder Northcope came. It
+seemed that she could never do enough for the pale, stooped old man,
+and he declared that he had never felt better in his life than he grew
+to feel under her touch. An injury to his spine had resulted in
+partially disabling him, but his mind was a rich store of knowledge,
+and his disposition was tender and cheerful. So it pleased his son
+sometimes to bring Mima over to see him.
+
+The warm, impulsive heart of the Southern girl went out to him, and
+they became friends at once. He found in her that soft, caressing,
+humoring quality that even his son's devotion could not supply, and
+his superior age, knowledge and wisdom made up to her the lost
+father's care for which Peggy's love illy substituted. The tenderness
+grew between them. Through the long afternoons she would read to him
+from his favorite books, or would listen to him as he talked of the
+lands where he had been, and the things he had seen. Sometimes Mammy
+Peggy grumbled at the reading, and said it "wuz jes' lak' doin' hiahed
+wo'k," but Mima only laughed and went on.
+
+Bartley saw the sympathy between them and did not obtrude his
+presence, but often in the twilight when she started away, he would
+slip out of some corner and walk home with her.
+
+These little walks together were very pleasant, and on one occasion he
+had asked her the question that made her pale and red by turns, and
+sent her heart beating with convulsive throbs that made her gasp.
+
+"Maybe I'm over soon in asking you, Mima dear," he faltered,
+"but--but, I couldn't wait any longer. You've become a part of my
+life. I have no hope, no joy, no thought that you are not of. Won't
+you be my wife?"
+
+They were pausing at her gate, and she was trembling from what emotion
+he only dared guess. But she did not answer. She only returned the
+pressure of his hand, and drawing it away, rushed into the house. She
+durst not trust her voice. Bartley went home walking on air.
+
+Mima did not go directly to Mammy Peggy with her news. She must
+compose herself first. This was hard to do, so she went to her room
+and sat down to think it over.
+
+"He loves me, he loves me," she kept saying to herself and with each
+repetition of the words, the red came anew into her cheeks. They were
+still a suspicious hue when she went into the kitchen to find mammy
+who was slumbering over the waiting dinner. "What meks you so long,
+honey," asked the old woman, coming wide awake out of her cat-nap.
+
+"Oh,--I--I--I don't know," answered the young girl, blushing
+furiously, "I--I stopped to talk."
+
+"Why dey ain no one in de house to talk to. I hyeahed you w'en you
+come home. You have been a powahful time sence you come in. Whut meks
+you so red?" Then a look of intelligence came into mammy's fat face,
+"Oomph," she said.
+
+"Oh mammy, don't look that way, I couldn't help it. Bartley--Mr.
+Northcope has asked me to be his wife."
+
+"Asked you to be his wife! Oomph! Whut did you tell him?"
+
+"I didn't tell him anything. I was so ashamed I couldn't talk. I just
+ran away like a silly."
+
+"Oomph," said mammy again, "an' whut you gwine to tell him?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. Don't you think he's a very nice young man, Mr.
+Northcope, mammy? And then his father's so nice."
+
+Mammy's face clouded. "I doan' see whaih yo' Ha'ison pride is," she
+said; "co'se, he may be nice enough, but does you want to tell him yes
+de fust t'ing, so's he'll t'ink dat you jumped at de chanst to git him
+an' git back in de homestid?"
+
+"Oh, mammy," cried Mima; she had gone all white and cold.
+
+"You do' know nothin' 'bout his quality. You a Ha'ison yo'se'f. Who is
+he to be jumped at an' tuk at de fust axin'? Ef he wants you ve'y bad
+he'll ax mo' dan once."
+
+"You needn't have reminded me, mammy, of who I am," said Mima. "I had
+no intention of telling Mr. Northcope yes. You needn't have been
+afraid for me." She fibbed a little, it is to be feared.
+
+"Now don't talk dat 'way, chile. I know you laks him, an' I do' want
+to stop you f'om tekin' him. Don't you say no, ez ef you wasn' nevah
+gwine to say nothin' else. You jes' say a hol'in' off no."
+
+"I like Mr. Northcope as a friend, and my no to him will be final."
+
+The dinner did not go down very well with Mima that evening. It
+stopped in her throat, and when she swallowed, it brought the tears to
+her eyes. When it was done, she hurried away to her room.
+
+She was so disappointed, but she would not confess it to herself, and
+she would not weep. "He proposed to me because he pitied me, oh, the
+shame of it! He turned me out of doors, and then thought I would be
+glad to come back at any price."
+
+When he read her cold formal note, Bartley knew that he had offended
+her, and the thought burned him like fire. He cursed himself for a
+blundering fool. "She was only trying to be kind to father and me," he
+said, "and I have taken advantage of her goodness." He would never
+have confessed to himself before that he was a coward. But that
+morning when he got her note, he felt that he could not face her just
+yet, and commending his father to the tender mercies of Mammy Peggy
+and the servants, he took the first train to the north.
+
+It would be hard to say which of the two was the most disappointed
+when the truth was known. It might better be said which of the three,
+for Mima went no more to the house, and the elder Northcope fretted
+and was restless without her. He availed himself of an invalid's
+privilege to be disagreeable, and nothing Mammy Peggy could do now
+would satisfy him. Indeed, between the two, the old woman had a hard
+time of it, for Mima was tearful and morose, and would not speak to
+her except to blame her. As the days went on she wished to all the
+powers that she had left the Harrison pride in the keeping of the
+direct members of the family. It had proven a dangerous thing in her
+hands.
+
+Mammy soliloquized when she was about her work in the kitchen. "Men
+ain' whut dey used to be," she said, "who'd 'a' t'ought o' de young
+man a runnin' off dat away jes' 'cause a ooman tol' him no. He orter
+had sense enough to know dat a ooman has sev'al kin's o' noes. Now ef
+dat 'ud 'a' been in my day he'd a jes' stayed away to let huh t'ink
+hit ovah an' den come back an' axed huh ag'in. Den she could 'a' said
+yes all right an' proper widout a belittlin' huhse'f. But 'stead o'
+dat he mus' go a ta'in' off jes' ez soon ez de fus' wo'ds come outen
+huh mouf. Put' nigh brekin' huh hea't. I clah to goodness, I nevah did
+see sich ca'in's on."
+
+Several weeks passed before Bartley returned to his home. Autumn was
+painting the trees about the place before the necessity of being at
+his father's side called him from his voluntary exile. And then he did
+not go to see Mima. He was still bowed with shame at what he thought
+his unmanly presumption, and he did not blame her that she avoided
+him.
+
+His attention was arrested one day about a week after his return by
+the peculiar actions of Mammy Peggy. She hung around him, and watched
+him, following him from place to place like a spaniel.
+
+Finally he broke into a laugh and said, "Why, what's the matter, Aunt
+Peggy, are you afraid I'm going to run away?"
+
+"No, I ain' afeared o' dat," said mammy, meekly, "but I been had
+somepn' to say to you dis long w'ile."
+
+"Well, go ahead, I'm listening."
+
+Mammy gulped and went on. "Ask huh ag'in," she said, "it were my fault
+she tol' you no. I 'minded huh o' huh fambly pride an' tol' huh to
+hol' you off less'n you'd t'ink she wan'ed to jump at you."
+
+Bartley was on his feet in a minute.
+
+"What does this mean," he cried. "Is it true, didn't I offend her?"
+
+"No, you didn' 'fend huh. She's been pinin' fu' you, 'twell she's
+growed right peekid."
+
+"Sh, auntie, do you mean to tell me that Mim--Miss Harrison cares for
+me?"
+
+"You go an' ax huh ag'in."
+
+Bartley needed no second invitation. He flew to the cottage. Mima's
+heart gave a great throb when she saw him coming up the walk, and she
+tried to harden herself against him. But her lips would twitch, and
+her voice would tremble as she said, "How do you do, Mr. Northcope?"
+
+He looked keenly into her eyes.
+
+"Have I been mistaken, Mima," he said, "in believing that I greatly
+offended you by asking you to be my wife? Do you--can you care for
+me, darling?"
+
+The words stuck in her throat, and he went on, "I thought you were
+angry with me because I had taken advantage of your kindness to my
+father, or presumed upon any kindness that you may have felt for me
+out of respect to your brother's memory. Believe me, I was innocent of
+any such intention."
+
+"Oh, it wasn't--it wasn't that!" she gasped.
+
+"Then won't you give me a different answer," he said, taking her hand.
+
+"I can't, I can't," she cried.
+
+"Why, Mima?" he asked.
+
+"Because--"
+
+"Because of the Harrison pride?"
+
+"Bartley!"
+
+"Your Mammy Peggy has confessed all to me."
+
+"Mammy Peggy!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+She tried hard to stiffen herself. "Then it is all out of the
+question," she began.
+
+"Don't let any little folly or pride stand between us," he broke in,
+drawing her to him.
+
+She gave up the struggle, and her head dropped upon his shoulder for
+a moment. Then she lifted her eyes, shining with tears to his face,
+and said, "Bartley, it wasn't my pride, it was Mammy Peggy's."
+
+He cut off further remarks.
+
+When he was gone, and mammy came in after a while, Mima ran to her
+crying,
+
+"Oh, mammy, mammy, you bad, stupid, dear old goose!" and she buried
+her head in the old woman's lap.
+
+"Oomph," grunted mammy, "I said de right kin' o' pride allus pays. But
+de wrong kin'--oomph, well, you'd bettah look out!"
+
+
+
+
+VINEY'S FREE PAPERS
+
+
+Part I
+
+
+There was joy in the bosom of Ben Raymond. He sang as he hoed in the
+field. He cheerfully worked overtime and his labors did not make him
+tired. When the quitting horn blew he executed a double shuffle as he
+shouldered his hoe and started for his cabin. While the other men
+dragged wearily over the ground he sprang along as if all day long he
+had not been bending over the hoe in the hot sun, with the sweat
+streaming from his face in rivulets.
+
+And this had been going on for two months now--two happy months--ever
+since Viney had laid her hand in his, had answered with a coquettish
+"Yes," and the master had given his consent, his blessing and a
+five-dollar bill.
+
+It had been a long and trying courtship--that is, it had been trying
+for Ben, because Viney loved pleasure and hungered for attention and
+the field was full of rivals. She was a merry girl and a pretty one.
+No one could dance better; no girl on the place was better able to
+dress her dark charms to advantage or to show them off more
+temptingly. The toss of her head was an invitation and a challenge in
+one, and the way she smiled back at them over her shoulder, set the
+young men's heads dancing and their hearts throbbing. So her suitors
+were many. But through it all Ben was patient, unflinching and
+faithful, and finally, after leading him a life full of doubt and
+suspense, the coquette surrendered and gave herself into his keeping.
+
+She was maid to her mistress, but she had time, nevertheless, to take
+care of the newly whitewashed cabin in the quarters to which Ben took
+her. And it was very pleasant to lean over and watch him at work
+making things for the little house--a chair from a barrel and a
+wonderful box of shelves to stand in the corner. And she knew how to
+say merry things, and later outside his door Ben would pick his banjo
+and sing low and sweetly in the musical voice of his race. Altogether
+such another honeymoon there had never been.
+
+For once the old women hushed up their prophecies of evil, although in
+the beginning they had shaken their wise old turbaned heads and
+predicted that marriage with such a flighty creature as Viney could
+come to no good. They had said among themselves that Ben would better
+marry some good, solid-minded, strong-armed girl who would think more
+about work than about pleasures and coquetting.
+
+"I 'low, honey," an old woman had said, "she'll mek his heart ache
+many a time. She'll comb his haid wid a three-legged stool an' bresh
+it wid de broom. Uh, huh--putty, is she? You ma'y huh 'cause she
+putty. Ki-yi! She fix you! Putty women fu' putty tricks."
+
+And the old hag smacked her lips over the spice of malevolence in her
+words. Some women--and they are not all black and ugly--never forgive
+the world for letting them grow old.
+
+But, in spite of all prophecies to the contrary, two months of
+unalloyed joy had passed for Ben and Viney, and to-night the climax
+seemed to have been reached. Ben hurried along, talking to himself as
+his hoe swung over his shoulder.
+
+"Kin I do it?" he was saying. "Kin I do it?" Then he would stop his
+walk and his cogitations would bloom into a mirthful chuckle.
+Something very pleasant was passing through his mind.
+
+As he approached, Viney was standing in the door of the little cabin,
+whose white sides with green Madeira clambering over them made a
+pretty frame for the dark girl in her print dress. The husband bent
+double at sight of her, stopped, took off his hat, slapped his knee,
+and relieved his feelings by a sounding "Who-ee!"
+
+"What's de mattah wid you, Ben? You ac' lak you mighty happy. Bettah
+come on in hyeah an' git yo' suppah fo' hit gits col'."
+
+For answer, the big fellow dropped the hoe and, seizing the slight
+form in his arms, swung her around until she gasped for breath.
+
+"Oh, Ben," she shrieked, "you done tuk all my win'!"
+
+"Dah, now," he said, letting her down; "dat's what you gits fu'
+talkin' sassy to me!"
+
+"Nev' min'; I'm goin' to fix you fu' dat fus' time I gits de
+chanst--see ef I don't."
+
+"Whut you gwine do? Gwine to pizen me?"
+
+"Worse'n dat!"
+
+"Wuss'n dat? Whut you gwine fin' any wuss'n pizenin' me, less'n you
+conjuh me?"
+
+"Huh uh--still worse'n dat. I'm goin' to leave you."
+
+"Huh uh--no you ain', 'cause any place you'd go you wouldn' no more'n
+git dah twell you'd tu'n erroun' all of er sudden an' say, 'Why, dah's
+Ben!' an' dah I'd be."
+
+They chattered on like children while she was putting the supper on
+the table and he was laving his hot face in the basin beside the door.
+
+"I got great news fu' you," he said, as they sat down.
+
+"I bet you ain' got nothin' of de kin'."
+
+"All right. Den dey ain' no use in me a tryin' to 'vince you. I jes'
+be wastin' my bref."
+
+"Go on--tell me, Ben."
+
+"Huh uh--you bet I ain', an' ef I tell you you lose de bet."
+
+"I don' keer. Ef you don' tell me, den I know you ain' got no news
+worth tellin'."
+
+"Ain' go no news wuff tellin'! Who-ee!"
+
+He came near choking on a gulp of coffee, and again his knee suffered
+from the pounding of his great hands.
+
+"Huccume you so full of laugh to-night?" she asked, laughing with him.
+
+"How you 'spec' I gwine tell you dat less'n I tell you my sec'ut?"
+
+"Well, den, go on--tell me yo' sec'ut."
+
+"Huh uh. You done bet it ain' wuff tellin'."
+
+"I don't keer what I bet. I wan' to hyeah it now. Please, Ben,
+please!"
+
+"Listen how she baig! Well, I gwine tell you now. I ain' gwine tease
+you no mo'."
+
+She bent her head forward expectantly.
+
+"I had a talk wid Mas' Raymond to-day," resumed Ben.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"An' he say he pay me all my back money fu' ovahtime."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"An' all I gits right along he gwine he'p me save, an' when I git fo'
+hund'ed dollahs he gwine gin me de free papahs fu' you, my little
+gal."
+
+"Oh, Ben, Ben! Hit ain' so, is it?"
+
+"Yes, hit is. Den you'll be you own ooman--leas'ways less'n you wants
+to be mine."
+
+She went and put her arms around his neck. Her eyes were sparkling and
+her lips quivering.
+
+"You don' mean, Ben, dat I'll be free?"
+
+"Yes, you'll be free, Viney. Den I's gwine to set to wo'k an' buy my
+free papahs."
+
+"Oh, kin you do it--kin you do it--kin you do it?"
+
+"Kin I do it?" he repeated. He stretched out his arm, with the sleeve
+rolled to the shoulder, and curved it upward till the muscles stood
+out like great knots of oak. Then he opened and shut his fingers,
+squeezing them together until the joints cracked. "Kin I do it?" He
+looked down on her calmly and smiled simply, happily.
+
+She threw her arms around his waist and sank on her knees at his feet
+sobbing.
+
+"Ben, Ben! My Ben! I nevah even thought of it. Hit seemed so far away,
+but now we're goin' to be free--free, free!"
+
+He lifted her up gently.
+
+"It's gwine to tek a pow'ful long time," he said.
+
+"I don' keer," she cried gaily. "We know it's comin' an' we kin wait."
+
+The woman's serious mood had passed as quickly as it had come, and she
+spun around the cabin, executing a series of steps that set her
+husband a-grin with admiration and joy.
+
+And so Ben began to work with renewed vigor. He had found a purpose in
+life and there was something for him to look for beyond dinner, a
+dance and the end of the day. He had always been a good hand, but now
+he became a model--no shirking, no shiftlessness--and because he was
+so earnest his master did what he could to help him. Numerous little
+plans were formulated whereby the slave could make or save a precious
+dollar.
+
+Viney, too, seemed inspired by a new hope, and if this little house
+had been pleasant to Ben, nothing now was wanting to make it a palace
+in his eyes. Only one sorrow he had, and that one wrung hard at his
+great heart--no baby came to them--but instead he made a great baby of
+his wife, and went on his way hiding his disappointment the best he
+could. The banjo was often silent now, for when he came home his
+fingers were too stiff to play; but sometimes, when his heart ached
+for the laughter of a child, he would take down his old friend and
+play low, soothing melodies until he found rest and comfort.
+
+Viney had once tried to console him by saying that had she had a child
+it would have taken her away from her work, but he had only answered,
+"We could a' stood that."
+
+But Ben's patient work and frugality had their reward, and it was only
+a little over three years after he had set out to do it that he put in
+his master's hand the price of Viney's freedom, and there was sound of
+rejoicing in the land. A fat shoat, honestly come by--for it was the
+master's gift--was killed and baked, great jugs of biting persimmon
+beer were brought forth, and the quarters held high carnival to
+celebrate Viney's new-found liberty.
+
+After the merrymakers had gone, and when the cabin was clear again,
+Ben held out the paper that had been on exhibition all evening to
+Viney.
+
+"Hyeah, hyeah's de docyment dat meks you yo' own ooman. Tek it."
+
+During all the time that it had been out for show that night the
+people had looked upon it with a sort of awe, as if it was possessed
+of some sort of miraculous power. Even now Viney did not take hold of
+it, but shrunk away with a sort of gasp.
+
+"No, Ben, you keep it. I can't tek keer o' no sich precious thing ez
+dat. Put hit in yo' chist."
+
+"Tek hit and feel of hit, anyhow, so's you'll know dat you's free."
+
+She took it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. Ben suddenly
+let go.
+
+"Dah, now," he said; "you keep dat docyment. It's yo's. Keep hit undah
+yo' own 'sponsibility."
+
+"No, no, Ben!" she cried. "I jes' can't!"
+
+"You mus'. Dat's de way to git used to bein' free. Whenevah you looks
+at yo'se'f an' feels lak you ain' no diff'ent f'om whut you been you
+tek dat papah out an' look at hit, an' say to yo'se'f, 'Dat means
+freedom.'"
+
+Carefully, reverently, silently Viney put the paper into her bosom.
+
+"Now, de nex' t'ing fu' me to do is to set out to git one dem papahs
+fu' myse'f. Hit'll be a long try, 'cause I can't buy mine so cheap as
+I got yo's, dough de Lawd knows why a great big ol' hunk lak me should
+cos' mo'n a precious mossell lak you."
+
+"Hit's because dey's so much of you, Ben, an' evah bit of you's wo'th
+its weight in gol'."
+
+"Heish, chile! Don' put my valy so high, er I'll be twell jedgment day
+a-payin' hit off."
+
+
+PART II
+
+
+So Ben went forth to battle for his own freedom, undaunted by the task
+before him, while Viney took care of the cabin, doing what she could
+outside. Armed with her new dignity, she insisted upon her friends'
+recognizing the change in her condition.
+
+Thus, when Mandy so far forgot herself as to address her as Viney
+Raymond, the new free woman's head went up and she said with withering
+emphasis:
+
+"Mis' Viney Allen, if you please!"
+
+"Viney Allen!" exclaimed her visitor. "Huccum you's Viney Allen now?"
+
+"'Cause I don' belong to de Raymonds no mo', an' I kin tek my own name
+now."
+
+"Ben 'longs to de Raymonds, an' his name Ben Raymond an' you his wife.
+How you git aroun' dat, Mis' Viney Allen?"
+
+"Ben's name goin' to be Mistah Allen soon's he gits his free papahs."
+
+"Oomph! You done gone now! Yo' naik so stiff you can't ha'dly ben' it.
+I don' see how dat papah mek sich a change in anybody's actions. Yo'
+face ain' got no whitah."
+
+"No, but I's free, an' I kin do as I please."
+
+Mandy went forth and spread the news that Viney had changed her name
+from Raymond to Allen. "She's Mis' Viney Allen, if you please!" was
+her comment. Great was the indignation among the older heads whose
+fathers and mothers and grandfathers before them had been Raymonds.
+The younger element was greatly amused and took no end of pleasure in
+repeating the new name or addressing each other by fantastic
+cognomens. Viney's popularity did not increase.
+
+Some rumors of this state of things drifted to Ben's ears and he
+questioned his wife about them. She admitted what she had done.
+
+"But, Viney," said Ben, "Raymond's good enough name fu' me."
+
+"Don' you see, Ben," she answered, "dat I don' belong to de Raymonds
+no mo', so I ain' Viney Raymond. Ain' you goin' change w'en you git
+free?"
+
+"I don' know. I talk about dat when I's free, and freedom's a mighty
+long, weary way off yet."
+
+"Evahbody dat's free has dey own name, an' I ain' nevah goin' feel
+free's long ez I's a-totin' aroun' de Raymonds' name."
+
+"Well, change den," said Ben; "but wait ontwell I kin change wid you."
+
+Viney tossed her head, and that night she took out her free papers and
+studied them long and carefully.
+
+She was incensed at her friends that they would not pay her the homage
+that she felt was due her. She was incensed at Ben because he would
+not enter into her feelings about the matter. She brooded upon her
+fancied injuries, and when a chance for revenge came she seized upon
+it eagerly.
+
+There were two or three free negro families in the vicinity of the
+Raymond place, but there had been no intercourse between them and the
+neighboring slaves. It was to these people that Viney now turned in
+anger against her own friends. It first amounted to a few visits back
+and forth, and then, either because the association became more
+intimate or because she was instigated to it by her new companions,
+she refused to have anything more to do with the Raymond servants.
+Boldly and without concealment she shut the door in Mandy's face, and,
+hearing this, few of the others gave her a similar chance.
+
+Ben remonstrated with her, and she answered him:
+
+"No, suh! I ain' goin' 'sociate wid slaves! I's free!"
+
+"But you cuttin' out yo' own husban'."
+
+"Dat's diff'ent. I's jined to my husban'." And then petulantly: "I do
+wish you'd hu'y up an' git yo' free papahs, Ben."
+
+"Dey'll be a long time a-comin'," he said; "yeahs f'om now. Mebbe I'd
+abettah got mine fust."
+
+She looked up at him with a quick, suspicious glance. When she was
+alone again she took her papers and carefully hid them.
+
+"I's free," she whispered to herself, "an' I don' expec' to nevah be a
+slave no mo'."
+
+She was further excited by the moving North of one of the free
+families with which she had been associated. The emigrants had painted
+glowing pictures of the Eldorado to which they were going, and now
+Viney's only talk in the evening was of the glories of the North. Ben
+would listen to her unmoved, until one night she said:
+
+"You ought to go North when you gits yo' papahs."
+
+Then he had answered her, with kindling eyes:
+
+"No, I won't go Nawth! I was bo'n an' raised in de Souf, an' in de
+Souf I stay ontwell I die. Ef I have to go Nawth to injoy my freedom I
+won't have it. I'll quit wo'kin fu' it."
+
+Ben was positive, but he felt uneasy, and the next day he told his
+master of the whole matter, and Mr. Raymond went down to talk to
+Viney.
+
+She met him with a determination that surprised and angered him. To
+everything he said to her she made but one answer: "I's got my free
+papahs an' I's a-goin' Nawth."
+
+Finally her former master left her with the remark:
+
+"Well, I don't care where you go, but I'm sorry for Ben. He was a fool
+for working for you. You don't half deserve such a man."
+
+"I won' have him long," she flung after him, with a laugh.
+
+The opposition with which she had met seemed to have made her more
+obstinate, and in spite of all Ben could do, she began to make
+preparations to leave him. The money for the chickens and eggs had
+been growing and was to have gone toward her husband's ransom, but she
+finally sold all her laying hens to increase the amount. Then she
+calmly announced to her husband:
+
+"I's got money enough an' I's a-goin' Nawth next week. You kin stay
+down hyeah an' be a slave ef you want to, but I's a-goin' Nawth."
+
+"Even ef I wanted to go Nawth you know I ain' half paid out yit."
+
+"Well, I can't he'p it. I can't spen' all de bes' pa't o' my life down
+hyeah where dey ain' no 'vantages."
+
+"I reckon dey's 'vantages everywhah fu' anybody dat wants to wu'k."
+
+"Yes, but what kin' o' wages does yo' git? Why, de Johnsons say dey
+had a lettah f'om Miss Smiff an' dey's gettin' 'long fine in de
+Nawth."
+
+"De Johnsons ain' gwine?"
+
+"Si Johnson is--"
+
+Then the woman stopped suddenly.
+
+"Oh, hit's Si Johnson? Huh!"
+
+"He ain' goin' wid me. He's jes' goin' to see dat I git sta'ted right
+aftah I git thaih."
+
+"Hit's Si Johnson?" he repeated.
+
+"'Tain't," said the woman. "Hit's freedom."
+
+Ben got up and went out of the cabin.
+
+"Men's so 'spicious," she said. "I ain' goin' Nawth 'cause Si's
+a-goin'--I ain't."
+
+When Mr. Raymond found out how matters were really going he went to
+Ben where he was at work in the field.
+
+"Now, look here, Ben," he said. "You're one of the best hands on my
+place and I'd be sorry to lose you. I never did believe in this buying
+business from the first, but you were so bent on it that I gave in.
+But before I'll see her cheat you out of your money I'll give you your
+free papers now. You can go North with her and you can pay me back
+when you find work."
+
+"No," replied Ben doggedly. "Ef she cain't wait fu' me she don' want
+me, an' I won't roller her erroun' an' be in de way."
+
+"You're a fool!" said his master.
+
+"I loves huh," said the slave. And so this plan came to naught.
+
+Then came the night on which Viney was getting together her
+belongings. Ben sat in a corner of the cabin silent, his head bowed in
+his hands. Every once in a while the woman cast a half-frightened
+glance at him. He had never once tried to oppose her with force,
+though she saw that grief had worn lines into his face.
+
+The door opened and Si Johnson came in. He had just dropped in to see
+if everything was all right. He was not to go for a week.
+
+"Let me look at yo' free papahs," he said, for Si could read and liked
+to show off his accomplishment at every opportunity. He stumbled
+through the formal document to the end, reading at the last: "This is
+a present from Ben to his beloved wife, Viney."
+
+She held out her hand for the paper. When Si was gone she sat gazing
+at it, trying in her ignorance to pick from the, to her, senseless
+scrawl those last words. Ben had not raised his head.
+
+Still she sat there, thinking, and without looking her mind began to
+take in the details of the cabin. That box of shelves there in the
+corner Ben had made in the first days they were together. Yes, and
+this chair on which she was sitting--she remembered how they had
+laughed over its funny shape before he had padded it with cotton and
+covered it with the piece of linsey "old Mis'" had given him. The very
+chest in which her things were packed he had made, and when the last
+nail was driven he had called it her trunk, and said she should put
+her finery in it when she went traveling like the white folks. She was
+going traveling now, and Ben--Ben? There he sat across from her in his
+chair, bowed and broken, his great shoulders heaving with suppressed
+grief.
+
+Then, before she knew it, Viney was sobbing, and had crept close to
+him and put her arms around his neck. He threw out his arms with a
+convulsive gesture and gathered her up to his breast, and the tears
+gushed from his eyes.
+
+When the first storm of weeping had passed Viney rose and went to the
+fireplace. She raked forward the coals.
+
+"Ben," she said, "hit's been dese pleggoned free papahs. I want you to
+see em bu'n."
+
+"No, no!" he said. But the papers were already curling, and in a
+moment they were in a blaze.
+
+"Thaih," she said, "thaih, now, Viney Raymond!"
+
+Ben gave a great gasp, then sprang forward and took her in his arms
+and kicked the packed chest into the corner.
+
+And that night singing was heard from Ben's cabin and the sound of the
+banjo.
+
+
+
+
+THE FRUITFUL SLEEPING OF THE REV. ELISHA EDWARDS
+
+
+There was great commotion in Zion Church, a body of Christian
+worshippers, usually noted for their harmony. But for the last six
+months, trouble had been brewing between the congregation and the
+pastor. The Rev. Elisha Edwards had come to them two years before, and
+he had given good satisfaction as to preaching and pastoral work. Only
+one thing had displeased his congregation in him, and that was his
+tendency to moments of meditative abstraction in the pulpit. However
+much fire he might have displayed before a brother minister arose to
+speak, and however much he might display in the exhortation after the
+brother was done with the labors of hurling phillipics against the
+devil, he sat between in the same way, with head bowed and eyes
+closed.
+
+There were some who held that it was a sign in him of deep
+thoughtfulness, and that he was using these moments for silent prayer
+and meditation. But others, less generous, said that he was either
+jealous of or indifferent to other speakers. So the discussion rolled
+on about the Rev. Elisha, but it did not reach him and he went
+on in the same way until one hapless day, one tragic, one
+never-to-be-forgotten day. While Uncle Isham Dyer was exhorting the
+people to repent of their sins, the disclosure came. The old man had
+arisen on the wings of his eloquence and was painting hell for the
+sinners in the most terrible colors, when to the utter surprise of the
+whole congregation, a loud and penetrating snore broke from the throat
+of the pastor of the church. It rumbled down the silence and startled
+the congregation into sudden and indignant life like the surprising
+cannon of an invading host. Horror-stricken eyes looked into each
+other, hands were thrown into the air, and heavy lips made round O's
+of surprise and anger. This was his meditation. The Rev. Elisha
+Edwards was asleep!
+
+Uncle Isham Dyer turned around and looked down on his pastor in
+disgust, and then turned again to his exhortations, but he was
+disconcerted, and soon ended lamely.
+
+    [Illustration: UNCLE ISHAM DYER EXHORTS.]
+
+As for the Rev. Elisha himself, his snore rumbled on through the
+church, his head drooped lower, until with a jerk, he awakened
+himself. He sighed religiously, patted his foot upon the floor, rubbed
+his hands together, and looked complacently over the aggrieved
+congregation. Old ladies moaned and old men shivered, but the pastor
+did not know what they had discovered, and shouted Amen, because he
+thought something Uncle Isham had said was affecting them. Then, when
+he arose to put the cap sheaf on his local brother's exhortations, he
+was strong, fiery, eloquent, but it was of no use. Not a cry, not a
+moan, not an Amen could he gain from his congregation. Only the local
+preacher himself, thinking over the scene which had just been enacted,
+raised his voice, placed his hands before his eyes, and murmured,
+"Lord he'p we po' sinnahs!"
+
+Brother Edwards could not understand this unresponsiveness on the part
+of his people. They had been wont to weave and moan and shout and sigh
+when he spoke to them, and when, in the midst of his sermon, he paused
+to break into spirited song, they would join with him until the church
+rang again. But this day, he sang alone, and ominous glances were
+flashed from pew to pew and from aisle to pulpit. The collection that
+morning was especially small. No one asked the minister home to
+dinner, an unusual thing, and so he went his way, puzzled and
+wondering.
+
+Before church that night, the congregation met together for
+conference. The exhorter of the morning himself opened proceedings by
+saying, "Brothahs an' sistahs, de Lawd has opened ouah eyes to
+wickedness in high places."
+
+"Oom--oom--oom, he have opened ouah eyes," moaned an old sister.
+
+"We have been puhmitted to see de man who was intrusted wid de
+guidance of dis flock a-sleepin' in de houah of duty, an' we feels
+grieved ter-night."
+
+"He sholy were asleep," sister Hannah Johnson broke in, "dey ain't no
+way to 'spute dat, dat man sholy were asleep."
+
+"I kin testify to it," said another sister, "I p'intly did hyeah him
+sno', an' I hyeahed him sno't w'en he waked up."
+
+"An' we been givin' him praise fu' meditation," pursued Brother Isham
+Dyer, who was only a local preacher, in fact, but who had designs on
+ordination, and the pastoring of Zion Church himself.
+
+"It ain't de sleepin' itse'f," he went on, "ef you 'member in de
+Gyarden of Gethsemane, endurin' de agony of ouah Lawd, dem what he
+tuk wid him fu' to watch while he prayed, went to sleep on his han's.
+But he fu'give 'em, fu' he said, 'De sperit is willin' but de flesh is
+weak.' We know dat dey is times w'en de eyes grow sandy, an' de haid
+grow heavy, an' we ain't accusin' ouah brothah, nor a-blamin' him fu'
+noddin'. But what we do blame him fu' is fu' 'ceivin' us, an' mekin'
+us believe he was prayin' an' meditatin', w'en he wasn' doin' a
+blessed thing but snoozin'."
+
+"Dat's it, dat's it," broke in a chorus of voices. "He 'ceived us,
+dat's what he did."
+
+The meeting went stormily on, the accusation and the anger of the
+people against the minister growing more and more. One or two were for
+dismissing him then and there, but calmer counsel prevailed and it was
+decided to give him another trial. He was a good preacher they had to
+admit. He had visited them when they were sick, and brought sympathy
+to their afflictions, and a genial presence when they were well. They
+would not throw him over, without one more chance, at least, of
+vindicating himself.
+
+This was well for the Rev. Elisha, for with the knowledge that he was
+to be given another chance, one trembling little woman, who had
+listened in silence and fear to the tirades against him, crept out of
+the church, and hastened over in the direction of the parsonage. She
+met the preacher coming toward the church, hymn-book in hand, and his
+Bible under his arm. With a gasp, she caught him by the arm, and
+turned him back.
+
+"Come hyeah," she said, "come hyeah, dey been talkin' 'bout you, an' I
+want to tell you."
+
+"Why, Sis' Dicey," said the minister complacently, "what is the
+mattah? Is you troubled in sperit?"
+
+"I's troubled in sperit now," she answered, "but you'll be troubled in
+a minute. Dey done had a church meetin' befo' services. Dey foun' out
+you was sleepin' dis mornin' in de pulpit. You ain't only sno'ed, but
+you sno'ted, an' dey 'lowin' to give you one mo' trial, an' ef you
+falls f'om grace agin, dey gwine ax you fu' to 'sign f'om de
+pastorship."
+
+The minister staggered under the blow, and his brow wrinkled. To leave
+Zion Church. It would be very hard. And to leave there in disgrace;
+where would he go? His career would be ruined. The story would go to
+every church of the connection in the country, and he would be an
+outcast from his cloth and his kind. He felt that it was all a mistake
+after all. He loved his work, and he loved his people. He wanted to do
+the right thing, but oh, sometimes, the chapel was hot and the hours
+were long. Then his head would grow heavy, and his eyes would close,
+but it had been only for a minute or two. Then, this morning, he
+remembered how he had tried to shake himself awake, how gradually, the
+feeling had overcome him. Then--then--he had snored. He had not tried
+wantonly to deceive them, but the Book said, "Let not thy right hand
+know what thy left hand doeth." He did not think it necessary to tell
+them that he dropped into an occasional nap in church. Now, however,
+they knew all.
+
+He turned and looked down at the little woman, who waited to hear what
+he had to say.
+
+"Thankye, ma'am, Sis' Dicey," he said. "Thankye, ma'am. I believe I'll
+go back an' pray ovah this subject." And he turned and went back into
+the parsonage.
+
+Whether he had prayed over it or whether he had merely thought over
+it, and made his plans accordingly, when the Rev. Elisha came into
+church that night, he walked with a new spirit. There was a smile on
+his lips, and the light of triumph in his eyes. Throughout the
+Deacon's long prayer, his loud and insistent Amens precluded the
+possibility of any sleep on his part. His sermon was a masterpiece of
+fiery eloquence, and as Sister Green stepped out of the church door
+that night, she said, "Well, ef Brothah Eddards slep' dis mornin', he
+sholy prached a wakenin' up sermon ter-night." The congregation hardly
+remembered that their pastor had ever been asleep. But the pastor knew
+when the first flush of enthusiasm was over that their minds would
+revert to the crime of the morning, and he made plans accordingly for
+the next Sunday which should again vindicate him in the eyes of his
+congregation.
+
+The Sunday came round, and as he ascended to the pulpit, their eyes
+were fastened upon him with suspicious glances. Uncle Isham Dyer had a
+smile of triumph on his face, because the day was a particularly hot
+and drowsy one. It was on this account, the old man thought, that the
+Rev. Elisha asked him to say a few words at the opening of the
+meeting. "Shirkin' again," said the old man to himself, "I reckon he
+wants to go to sleep again, but ef he don't sleep dis day to his own
+confusion, I ain't hyeah." So he arose, and burst into a wonderful
+exhortation on the merits of a Christian life.
+
+He had scarcely been talking for five minutes, when the ever watchful
+congregation saw the pastor's head droop, and his eyes close. For the
+next fifteen minutes, little or no attention was paid to Brother
+Dyer's exhortation. The angry people were nudging each other,
+whispering, and casting indignant glances at the sleeping pastor. He
+awoke and sat up, just as the exhorter was finishing in a fiery
+period. If those who watched him, were expecting to see any
+embarrassed look on his face, or show of timidity in his eyes, they
+were mistaken. Instead, his appearance was one of sudden alertness,
+and his gaze that of a man in extreme exaltation. One would have said
+that it had been given to him as to the inspired prophets of old to
+see and to hear things far and beyond the ken of ordinary mortals. As
+Brother Dyer sat down, he arose quickly and went forward to the front
+of the pulpit with a firm step. Still, with the look of exaltation on
+his face, he announced his text, "Ef he sleep he shell do well."
+
+The congregation, which a moment before had been all indignation,
+suddenly sprang into the most alert attention. There was a visible
+pricking up of ears as the preacher entered into his subject. He spoke
+first of the benefits of sleep, what it did for the worn human body
+and the weary human soul, then turning off into a half-humorous,
+half-quizzical strain, which was often in his sermons, he spoke of how
+many times he had to forgive some of those who sat before him to-day
+for nodding in their pews; then raising his voice, like a good
+preacher, he came back to his text, exclaiming, "But ef he sleep, he
+shell do well."
+
+He went on then, and told of Jacob's sleep, and how at night, in the
+midst of his slumbers the visions of angels had come to him, and he
+had left a testimony behind him that was still a solace to their
+hearts. Then he lowered his voice and said:
+
+"You all condemns a man when you sees him asleep, not knowin' what
+visions is a-goin' thoo his mind, nor what feelin's is a-goin thoo his
+heart. You ain't conside'in' that mebbe he's a-doin' mo' in the soul
+wo'k when he's asleep then when he's awake. Mebbe he sleep, w'en you
+think he ought to be up a-wo'kin'. Mebbe he slumber w'en you think he
+ought to be up an' erbout. Mebbe he sno' an' mebbe he sno't, but I'm
+a-hyeah to tell you, in de wo'ds of the Book, that they ain't no
+'sputin' 'Ef he sleep, he shell do well!'"
+
+"Yes, Lawd!" "Amen!" "Sleep on Ed'ards!" some one shouted. The church
+was in smiles of joy. They were rocking to and fro with the ecstasy of
+the sermon, but the Rev. Elisha had not yet put on the cap sheaf.
+
+"Hol' on," he said, "befo' you shouts er befo' you sanctions. Fu' you
+may yet have to tu'n yo' backs erpon me, an' say, 'Lawd he'p the man!'
+I's a-hyeah to tell you that many's the time in this very pulpit,
+right under yo' very eyes, I has gone f'om meditation into slumber.
+But what was the reason? Was I a-shirkin' er was I lazy?"
+
+Shouts of "No! No!" from the congregation.
+
+"No, no," pursued the preacher, "I wasn't a-shirkin' ner I wasn't
+a-lazy, but the soul within me was a wo'kin' wid the min', an' as we
+all gwine ter do some day befo' long, early in de mornin', I done
+fu'git this ol' body. My haid fall on my breas', my eyes close, an' I
+see visions of anothah day to come. I see visions of a new Heaven an'
+a new earth, when we shell all be clothed in white raimen', an' we
+shell play ha'ps of gol', an' walk de golden streets of the New
+Jerusalem! That's what been a runnin' thoo my min', w'en I set up in
+the pulpit an' sleep under the Wo'd; but I want to ax you, was I
+wrong? I want to ax you, was I sinnin'? I want to p'int you right
+hyeah to the Wo'd, as it are read out in yo' hyeahin' ter-day, 'Ef he
+sleep, he shell do well.'"
+
+The Rev. Elisha ended his sermon amid the smiles and nods and tears of
+his congregation. No one had a harsh word for him now, and even
+Brother Dyer wiped his eyes and whispered to his next neighbor, "Dat
+man sholy did sleep to some pu'pose," although he knew that the dictum
+was a deathblow to his own pastoral hopes. The people thronged around
+the pastor as he descended from the pulpit, and held his hand as they
+had done of yore. One old woman went out, still mumbling under her
+breath, "Sleep on, Ed'ards, sleep on."
+
+There were no more church meetings after that, and no tendency to
+dismiss the pastor. On the contrary, they gave him a donation party
+next week, at which Sister Dicey helped him to receive his guests.
+
+
+
+
+THE INGRATE
+
+
+I
+
+
+Mr. Leckler was a man of high principle. Indeed, he himself had
+admitted it at times to Mrs. Leckler. She was often called into
+counsel with him. He was one of those large souled creatures with a
+hunger for unlimited advice, upon which he never acted. Mrs. Leckler
+knew this, but like the good, patient little wife that she was, she
+went on paying her poor tribute of advice and admiration. To-day her
+husband's mind was particularly troubled,--as usual, too, over a
+matter of principle. Mrs. Leckler came at his call.
+
+"Mrs. Leckler," he said, "I am troubled in my mind. I--in fact, I am
+puzzled over a matter that involves either the maintaining or
+relinquishing of a principle."
+
+"Well, Mr. Leckler?" said his wife, interrogatively.
+
+"If I had been a scheming, calculating Yankee, I should have been rich
+now; but all my life I have been too generous and confiding. I have
+always let principle stand between me and my interests." Mr. Leckler
+took himself all too seriously to be conscious of his pun, and went
+on: "Now this is a matter in which my duty and my principles seem to
+conflict. It stands thus: Josh has been doing a piece of plastering
+for Mr. Eckley over in Lexington, and from what he says, I think that
+city rascal has misrepresented the amount of work to me and so cut
+down the pay for it. Now, of course, I should not care, the matter of
+a dollar or two being nothing to me; but it is a very different matter
+when we consider poor Josh." There was deep pathos in Mr. Leckler's
+tone. "You know Josh is anxious to buy his freedom, and I allow him a
+part of whatever he makes; so you see it's he that's affected. Every
+dollar that he is cheated out of cuts off just so much from his
+earnings, and puts further away his hope of emancipation."
+
+If the thought occurred to Mrs. Leckler that, since Josh received only
+about one-tenth of what he earned, the advantage of just wages would
+be quite as much her husband's as the slave's, she did not betray it,
+but met the naïve reasoning with the question, "But where does the
+conflict come in, Mr. Leckler?"
+
+"Just here. If Josh knew how to read and write and cipher--"
+
+"Mr. Leckler, are you crazy!"
+
+"Listen to me, my dear, and give me the benefit of your judgment. This
+is a very momentous question. As I was about to say, if Josh knew
+these things, he could protect himself from cheating when his work is
+at too great a distance for me to look after it for him."
+
+"But teaching a slave--"
+
+"Yes, that's just what is against my principles. I know how public
+opinion and the law look at it. But my conscience rises up in
+rebellion every time I think of that poor black man being cheated out
+of his earnings. Really, Mrs. Leckler, I think I may trust to Josh's
+discretion, and secretly give him such instructions as will permit him
+to protect himself."
+
+"Well, of course, it's just as you think best," said his wife.
+
+"I knew you would agree with me," he returned. "It's such a comfort to
+take counsel with you, my dear!" And the generous man walked out on to
+the veranda, very well satisfied with himself and his wife, and
+prospectively pleased with Josh. Once he murmured to himself, "I'll
+lay for Eckley next time."
+
+Josh, the subject of Mr. Leckler's charitable solicitations, was the
+plantation plasterer. His master had given him his trade, in order
+that he might do whatever such work was needed about the place; but he
+became so proficient in his duties, having also no competition among
+the poor whites, that he had grown to be in great demand in the
+country thereabout. So Mr. Leckler found it profitable, instead of
+letting him do chores and field work in his idle time, to hire him out
+to neighboring farms and planters. Josh was a man of more than
+ordinary intelligence; and when he asked to be allowed to pay for
+himself by working overtime, his master readily agreed,--for it
+promised more work to be done, for which he could allow the slave just
+what he pleased. Of course, he knew now that when the black man began
+to cipher this state of affairs would be changed; but it would mean
+such an increase of profit from the outside, that he could afford to
+give up his own little peculations. Anyway, it would be many years
+before the slave could pay the two thousand dollars, which price he
+had set upon him. Should he approach that figure, Mr. Leckler felt it
+just possible that the market in slaves would take a sudden rise.
+
+When Josh was told of his master's intention, his eyes gleamed with
+pleasure, and he went to his work with the zest of long hunger. He
+proved a remarkably apt pupil. He was indefatigable in doing the tasks
+assigned him. Even Mr. Leckler, who had great faith in his plasterer's
+ability, marveled at the speed which he had acquired the three R's. He
+did not know that on one of his many trips a free negro had given Josh
+the rudimentary tools of learning, and that since the slave had been
+adding to his store of learning by poring over signs and every bit of
+print that he could spell out. Neither was Josh so indiscreet as to
+intimate to his benefactor that he had been anticipated in his good
+intentions.
+
+It was in this way, working and learning, that a year passed away, and
+Mr. Leckler thought that his object had been accomplished. He could
+safely trust Josh to protect his own interests, and so he thought that
+it was quite time that his servant's education should cease.
+
+"You know, Josh," he said, "I have already gone against my principles
+and against the law for your sake, and of course a man can't stretch
+his conscience too far, even to help another who's being cheated; but
+I reckon you can take care of yourself now."
+
+"Oh, yes, suh, I reckon I kin," said Josh.
+
+"And it wouldn't do for you to be seen with any books about you now."
+
+"Oh, no, suh, su't'n'y not." He didn't intend to be seen with any
+books about him.
+
+It was just now that Mr. Leckler saw the good results of all he had
+done, and his heart was full of a great joy, for Eckley had been
+building some additions to his house, and sent for Josh to do the
+plastering for him. The owner admonished his slave, took him over a
+few examples to freshen his memory, and sent him forth with glee. When
+the job was done, there was a discrepancy of two dollars in what Mr.
+Eckley offered for it and the price which accrued from Josh's
+measurements. To the employer's surprise, the black man went over the
+figures with him and convinced him of the incorrectness of the
+payment,--and the additional two dollars were turned over.
+
+"Some o' Leckler's work," said Eckley, "teaching a nigger to cipher!
+Close-fisted old reprobate,--I've a mind to have the law on him." Mr.
+Leckler heard the story with great glee. "I laid for him that
+time--the old fox." But to Mrs. Leckler he said: "You see, my dear
+wife, my rashness in teaching Josh to figure for himself is
+vindicated. See what he has saved for himself."
+
+"What did he save?" asked the little woman indiscreetly.
+
+Her husband blushed and stammered for a moment, and then replied,
+"Well, of course, it was only twenty cents saved to him, but to a man
+buying his freedom every cent counts; and after all, it is not the
+amount, Mrs. Leckler, it's the principle of the thing."
+
+"Yes," said the lady meekly.
+
+
+II
+
+
+Unto the body it is easy for the master to say, "Thus far shalt thou
+go, and no farther." Gyves, chains and fetters will enforce that
+command. But what master shall say unto the mind, "Here do I set the
+limit of your acquisition. Pass it not"? Who shall put gyves upon the
+intellect, or fetter the movement of thought? Joshua Leckler, as
+custom denominated him, had tasted of the forbidden fruit, and his
+appetite had grown by what it fed on. Night after night he crouched
+in his lonely cabin, by the blaze of a fat pine brand, poring over the
+few books that he had been able to secure and smuggle in. His
+fellow-servants alternately laughed at him and wondered why he did not
+take a wife. But Joshua went on his way. He had no time for marrying
+or for love; other thoughts had taken possession of him. He was being
+swayed by ambitions other than the mere fathering of slaves for his
+master. To him his slavery was deep night. What wonder, then, that he
+should dream, and that through the ivory gate should come to him the
+forbidden vision of freedom? To own himself, to be master of his
+hands, feet, of his whole body--something would clutch at his heart as
+he thought of it; and the breath would come hard between his lips. But
+he met his master with an impassive face, always silent, always
+docile; and Mr. Leckler congratulated himself that so valuable and
+intelligent a slave should be at the same time so tractable. Usually
+intelligence in a slave meant discontent; but not so with Josh. Who
+more content than he? He remarked to his wife: "You see, my dear, this
+is what comes of treating even a nigger right."
+
+Meanwhile the white hills of the North were beckoning to the chattel,
+and the north winds were whispering to him to be a chattel no longer.
+Often the eyes that looked away to where freedom lay were filled with
+a wistful longing that was tragic in its intensity, for they saw the
+hardships and the difficulties between the slave and his goal and,
+worst of all, an iniquitous law,--liberty's compromise with bondage,
+that rose like a stone wall between him and hope,--a law that degraded
+every free-thinking man to the level of a slave-catcher. There it
+loomed up before him, formidable, impregnable, insurmountable. He
+measured it in all its terribleness, and paused. But on the other side
+there was liberty; and one day when he was away at work, a voice came
+out of the woods and whispered to him "Courage!"--and on that night
+the shadows beckoned him as the white hills had done, and the forest
+called to him, "Follow."
+
+"It seems to me that Josh might have been able to get home to-night,"
+said Mr. Leckler, walking up and down his veranda; "but I reckon it's
+just possible that he got through too late to catch a train." In the
+morning he said: "Well, he's not here yet; he must have had to do some
+extra work. If he doesn't get here by evening, I'll run up there."
+
+In the evening, he did take the train for Joshua's place of
+employment, where he learned that his slave had left the night before.
+But where could he have gone? That no one knew, and for the first time
+it dawned upon his master that Josh had run away. He raged; he fumed;
+but nothing could be done until morning, and all the time Leckler knew
+that the most valuable slave on his plantation was working his way
+toward the North and freedom. He did not go back home, but paced the
+floor all night long. In the early dawn he hurried out, and the hounds
+were put on the fugitive's track. After some nosing around they set
+off toward a stretch of woods. In a few minutes they came yelping
+back, pawing their noses and rubbing their heads against the ground.
+They had found the trail, but Josh had played the old slave trick of
+filling his tracks with cayenne pepper. The dogs were soothed, and
+taken deeper into the wood to find the trail. They soon took it up
+again, and dashed away with low bays. The scent led them directly to a
+little wayside station about six miles distant. Here it stopped.
+Burning with the chase, Mr. Leckler hastened to the station agent.
+Had he seen such a negro? Yes, he had taken the northbound train two
+nights before.
+
+"But why did you let him go without a pass?" almost screamed the
+owner.
+
+"I didn't," replied the agent. "He had a written pass, signed James
+Leckler, and I let him go on it."
+
+"Forged, forged!" yelled the master. "He wrote it himself."
+
+"Humph!" said the agent, "how was I to know that? Our niggers round
+here don't know how to write."
+
+Mr. Leckler suddenly bethought him to hold his peace. Josh was
+probably now in the arms of some northern abolitionist, and there was
+nothing to be done now but advertise; and the disgusted master spread
+his notices broadcast before starting for home. As soon as he arrived
+at his house, he sought his wife and poured out his griefs to her.
+
+"You see, Mrs. Leckler, this is what comes of my goodness of heart. I
+taught that nigger to read and write, so that he could protect
+himself,--and look how he uses his knowledge. Oh, the ingrate, the
+ingrate! The very weapon which I give him to defend himself against
+others he turns upon me. Oh, it's awful,--awful! I've always been too
+confiding. Here's the most valuable nigger on my plantation
+gone,--gone, I tell you,--and through my own kindness. It isn't his
+value, though, I'm thinking so much about. I could stand his loss, if
+it wasn't for the principle of the thing, the base ingratitude he has
+shown me. Oh, if I ever lay hands on him again!" Mr. Leckler closed
+his lips and clenched his fist with an eloquence that laughed at
+words.
+
+Just at this time, in one of the underground railway stations, six
+miles north of the Ohio, an old Quaker was saying to Josh: "Lie
+still,--thee'll be perfectly safe there. Here comes John Trader, our
+local slave catcher, but I will parley with him and send him away.
+Thee need not fear. None of thy brethren who have come to us have ever
+been taken back to bondage.--Good-evening, Friend Trader!" and Josh
+heard the old Quaker's smooth voice roll on, while he lay back half
+smothering in a bag, among other bags of corn and potatoes.
+
+It was after ten o'clock that night when he was thrown carelessly into
+a wagon and driven away to the next station, twenty-five miles to the
+northward. And by such stages, hiding by day and traveling by night,
+helped by a few of his own people who were blessed with freedom, and
+always by the good Quakers wherever found, he made his way into
+Canada. And on one never-to-be-forgotten morning he stood up,
+straightened himself, breathed God's blessed air, and knew himself
+free!
+
+
+III
+
+
+To Joshua Leckler this life in Canada was all new and strange. It was
+a new thing for him to feel himself a man and to have his manhood
+recognized by the whites with whom he came into free contact. It was
+new, too, this receiving the full measure of his worth in work. He
+went to his labor with a zest that he had never known before, and he
+took a pleasure in the very weariness it brought him. Ever and anon
+there came to his ears the cries of his brethren in the South.
+Frequently he met fugitives who, like himself, had escaped from
+bondage; and the harrowing tales that they told him made him burn to
+do something for those whom he had left behind him. But these
+fugitives and the papers he read told him other things. They said
+that the spirit of freedom was working in the United States, and
+already men were speaking out boldly in behalf of the manumission of
+the slaves; already there was a growing army behind that noble
+vanguard, Sumner, Phillips, Douglass, Garrison. He heard the names of
+Lucretia Mott and Harriet Beecher Stowe, and his heart swelled, for on
+the dim horizon he saw the first faint streaks of dawn.
+
+So the years passed. Then from the surcharged clouds a flash of
+lightning broke, and there was the thunder of cannon and the rain of
+lead over the land. From his home in the North he watched the storm as
+it raged and wavered, now threatening the North with its awful power,
+now hanging dire and dreadful over the South. Then suddenly from out
+the fray came a voice like the trumpet tone of God to him: "Thou and
+thy brothers are free!" Free, free, with the freedom not cherished by
+the few alone, but for all that had been bound. Free, with the freedom
+not torn from the secret night, but open to the light of heaven.
+
+When the first call for colored soldiers came, Joshua Leckler hastened
+down to Boston, and enrolled himself among those who were willing to
+fight to maintain their freedom. On account of his ability to read
+and write and his general intelligence, he was soon made an orderly
+sergeant. His regiment had already taken part in an engagement before
+the public roster of this band of Uncle Sam's niggers, as they were
+called, fell into Mr. Leckler's hands. He ran his eye down the column
+of names. It stopped at that of Joshua Leckler, Sergeant, Company F.
+He handed the paper to Mrs. Leckler with his finger on the place:
+
+"Mrs. Leckler," he said, "this is nothing less than a judgment on me
+for teaching a nigger to read and write. I disobeyed the law of my
+state and, as a result, not only lost my nigger, but furnished the
+Yankees with a smart officer to help them fight the South. Mrs.
+Leckler, I have sinned--and been punished. But I am content, Mrs.
+Leckler; it all came through my kindness of heart,--and your mistaken
+advice. But, oh, that ingrate, that ingrate!"
+
+
+
+
+THE CASE OF 'CA'LINE'
+
+A KITCHEN MONOLOGUE
+
+
+The man of the house is about to go into the dining-room when he hears
+voices that tell him that his wife has gone down to give the "hired
+help" a threatened going over. He quietly withdraws, closes the door
+noiselessly behind him and listens from a safe point of vantage.
+
+One voice is timid and hesitating; that is his wife. The other is
+fearlessly raised; that is her majesty, the queen who rules the
+kitchen, and from it the rest of the house.
+
+This is what he overhears:
+
+"Well, Mis' Ma'tin, hit do seem lak you jes' bent an' boun' to be
+a-fin'in' fault wid me w'en de Lawd knows I's doin' de ve'y bes' I
+kin. What 'bout de brekfus'? De steak too done an' de 'taters ain't
+done enough! Now, Miss Ma'tin, I jes' want to show you I cooked dat
+steak an' dem 'taters de same lengt' o' time. Seems to me dey ought to
+be done de same. Dat uz a thick steak, an' I jes' got hit browned
+thoo nice. What mo'd you want?
+
+"You didn't want it fried at all? Now, Mis' Ma'tin, 'clah to goodness!
+Who evah hyeah de beat o' dat? Don't you know dat fried meat is de
+bes' kin' in de worl'? W'y, de las' fambly dat I lived wid--dat uz ol'
+Jedge Johnson--he said dat I beat anybody fryin' he evah seen; said I
+fried evahthing in sight, an' he said my fried food stayed by him
+longer than anything he evah e't. Even w'en he paid me off he said it
+was 'case he thought somebody else ought to have de benefit of my
+wunnerful powahs. Huh, ma'am, I's used to de bes'. De Jedge paid me de
+highes' kin' o' comperments. De las' thing he say to me was, 'Ca'line,
+Ca'line,' he say, 'yo' cookin' is a pa'dox. It is crim'nal, dey ain't
+no 'sputin' dat, but it ain't action'ble.' Co'se, I didn't unnerstan'
+his langidge, but I knowed hit was comperments, 'case his wife, Mis'
+Jedge Johnson, got right jealous an' told him to shet his mouf.
+
+"Dah you goes. Now, who'd 'a' thought dat a lady of yo' raisin' an
+unnerstannin' would 'a' brung dat up. De mo'nin' you come an' ketch me
+settin' down an' de brekfus not ready, I was a-steadyin'. I's a mighty
+han' to steady, Mis' Ma'tin. 'Deed I steadies mos' all de time. But
+dat mo'nin' I got to steadyin' an' aftah while I sot down an' all my
+troubles come to my min'. I sho' has a heap o' trouble. I jes' sot
+thaih a-steadyin' 'bout 'em an' a-steadyin' tell bime-by, hyeah you
+comes.
+
+"No, ma'am, I wasn't 'sleep. I's mighty apt to nod w'en I's
+a-thinkin'. It's a kin' o' keepin' time to my idees. But bless yo'
+soul I wasn't 'sleep. I shets my eyes so's to see to think bettah. An'
+aftah all, Mistah Ma'tin wasn't mo' 'n half an houah late dat mo'nin'
+nohow, 'case w'en I did git up I sholy flew. Ef you jes' 'membahs
+'bout my steadyin' we ain't nevah gwine have no trouble long's I stays
+hyeah.
+
+"You say dat one night I stayed out tell one o'clock. W'y--oh, yes.
+Dat uz Thu'sday night. W'y la! Mis' Ma'tin, dat's de night my s'ciety
+meets, de Af'Ame'ican Sons an' Daughtahs of Judah. We had to
+'nitianate a new can'date dat night, an' la! I wish you'd 'a' been
+thaih, you'd 'a' killed yo'self a-laffin'.
+
+"You nevah did see sich ca'in's on in all yo' bo'n days. It was
+pow'ful funny. Broth' Eph'am Davis, he's ouah Mos' Wusshipful Rabbi,
+he says hit uz de mos' s'cessful 'nitination we evah had. Dat
+can'date pawed de groun' lak a hoss an' tried to git outen de winder.
+But I got to be mighty keerful how I talk: I do' know whethah you
+'long to any secut s'cieties er not. I wouldn't been so late even fu'
+dat, but Mistah Hi'am Smif, he gallanted me home an' you know a lady
+boun' to stan' at de gate an' talk to huh comp'ny a little while. You
+know how it is, Mis' Ma'tin.
+
+"I been en'tainin' my comp'ny in de pa'lor? Co'se I has; you wasn't
+usin' it. What you s'pose my frien's 'u'd think ef I'd ax 'em in de
+kitchen w'en dey wasn't no one in de front room? Co'se I ax 'em in de
+pa'lor. I do' want my frien's to think I's wo'kin' fu' no low-down
+people. W'y, Miss 'Liza Harris set down an' played mos' splendid on
+yo' pianna, an' she compermented you mos' high. S'pose I'd a tuck huh
+in de kitchen, whaih de comperments come in?
+
+"Yass'm, yass'm, I does tek home little things now an' den, dat I
+does, an' I ain't gwine to 'ny it. I jes' says to myse'f, I ain't
+wo'kin' fu' no strainers lak de people nex' do', what goes into
+tantrums ef de lady what cooks fu' 'em teks home a bit o' sugar. I
+'lows to myse'f I ain't wo'kin' fu' no sich folks; so sometimes I teks
+home jes' a weenchy bit o' somep'n' dat nobody couldn't want nohow,
+an' I knows you ain't gwine 'ject to dat. You do 'ject, you do 'ject!
+Huh!
+
+"I's got to come an' ax you, has I? Look a-hyeah, Mis' Ma'tin, I know
+I has to wo'k in yo' kitchen. I know I has to cook fu' you, but I want
+you to know dat even ef I does I's a lady. I's a lady, but I see you
+do' know how to 'preciate a lady w'en you meets one. You kin jes'
+light in an' git yo' own dinner. I wouldn't wo'k fu' you ef you uz
+made o' gol'. I nevah did lak to wo'k fu' strainers, nohow.
+
+"No, ma'am, I cain't even stay an' git de dinner. I know w'en I been
+insulted. Seems lak ef I stay in hyeah another minute I'll bile all
+over dis kitchen.
+
+"Who excited? Me excited? No, I ain't excited. I's mad. I do' lak
+nobody pesterin' 'roun' my kitchen, nohow, huh, uh, honey. Too many
+places in dis town waitin' fu' Ca'line Mason.
+
+"No, indeed, you needn't 'pologize to me! needn't 'pologize to me. I
+b'lieve in people sayin' jes' what dey mean, I does.
+
+"Would I stay, ef you 'crease my wages? Well--I reckon I could, but
+I--but I do' want no foolishness."
+
+(Sola.) "Huh! Did she think she was gwine to come down hyeah an' skeer
+me, huh, uh? Whaih's dat fryin' pan?"
+
+The man of the house hears the rustle of his wife's skirts as she
+beats a retreat and he goes upstairs and into the library whistling,
+"See, the Conquering Hero Comes."
+
+
+
+
+THE FINISH OF PATSY BARNES
+
+
+His name was Patsy Barnes, and he was a denizen of Little Africa. In
+fact, he lived on Douglass Street. By all the laws governing the
+relations between people and their names, he should have been
+Irish--but he was not. He was colored, and very much so. That was the
+reason he lived on Douglass Street. The negro has very strong within
+him the instinct of colonization and it was in accordance with this
+that Patsy's mother had found her way to Little Africa when she had
+come North from Kentucky.
+
+Patsy was incorrigible. Even into the confines of Little Africa had
+penetrated the truant officer and the terrible penalty of the
+compulsory education law. Time and time again had poor Eliza Barnes
+been brought up on account of the shortcomings of that son of hers.
+She was a hard-working, honest woman, and day by day bent over her
+tub, scrubbing away to keep Patsy in shoes and jackets, that would
+wear out so much faster than they could be bought. But she never
+murmured, for she loved the boy with a deep affection, though his
+misdeeds were a sore thorn in her side.
+
+She wanted him to go to school. She wanted him to learn. She had the
+notion that he might become something better, something higher than
+she had been. But for him school had no charms; his school was the
+cool stalls in the big livery stable near at hand; the arena of his
+pursuits its sawdust floor; the height of his ambition, to be a
+horseman. Either here or in the racing stables at the Fair-grounds he
+spent his truant hours. It was a school that taught much, and Patsy
+was as apt a pupil as he was a constant attendant. He learned strange
+things about horses, and fine, sonorous oaths that sounded eerie on
+his young lips, for he had only turned into his fourteenth year.
+
+A man goes where he is appreciated; then could this slim black boy be
+blamed for doing the same thing? He was a great favorite with the
+horsemen, and picked up many a dime or nickel for dancing or singing,
+or even a quarter for warming up a horse for its owner. He was not to
+be blamed for this, for, first of all, he was born in Kentucky, and
+had spent the very days of his infancy about the paddocks near
+Lexington, where his father had sacrificed his life on account of his
+love for horses. The little fellow had shed no tears when he looked at
+his father's bleeding body, bruised and broken by the fiery young
+two-year-old he was trying to subdue. Patsy did not sob or whimper,
+though his heart ached, for over all the feeling of his grief was a
+mad, burning desire to ride that horse.
+
+His tears were shed, however, when, actuated by the idea that times
+would be easier up North, they moved to Dalesford. Then, when he
+learned that he must leave his old friends, the horses and their
+masters, whom he had known, he wept. The comparatively meagre
+appointments of the Fair-grounds at Dalesford proved a poor
+compensation for all these. For the first few weeks Patsy had dreams
+of running away--back to Kentucky and the horses and stables. Then
+after a while he settled himself with heroic resolution to make the
+best of what he had, and with a mighty effort took up the burden of
+life away from his beloved home.
+
+Eliza Barnes, older and more experienced though she was, took up her
+burden with a less cheerful philosophy than her son. She worked hard,
+and made a scanty livelihood, it is true, but she did not make the
+best of what she had. Her complainings were loud in the land, and her
+wailings for her old home smote the ears of any who would listen to
+her.
+
+They had been living in Dalesford for a year nearly, when hard work
+and exposure brought the woman down to bed with pneumonia. They were
+very poor--too poor even to call in a doctor, so there was nothing to
+do but to call in the city physician. Now this medical man had too
+frequent calls into Little Africa, and he did not like to go there. So
+he was very gruff when any of its denizens called him, and it was even
+said that he was careless of his patients.
+
+Patsy's heart bled as he heard the doctor talking to his mother:
+
+"Now, there can't be any foolishness about this," he said. "You've got
+to stay in bed and not get yourself damp."
+
+"How long you think I got to lay hyeah, doctah?" she asked.
+
+"I'm a doctor, not a fortune-teller," was the reply. "You'll lie there
+as long as the disease holds you."
+
+"But I can't lay hyeah long, doctah, case I ain't got nuffin' to go
+on."
+
+"Well, take your choice: the bed or the boneyard."
+
+Eliza began to cry.
+
+"You needn't sniffle," said the doctor; "I don't see what you people
+want to come up here for anyhow. Why don't you stay down South where
+you belong? You come up here and you're just a burden and a trouble to
+the city. The South deals with all of you better, both in poverty and
+crime." He knew that these people did not understand him, but he
+wanted an outlet for the heat within him.
+
+There was another angry being in the room, and that was Patsy. His
+eyes were full of tears that scorched him and would not fall. The
+memory of many beautiful and appropriate oaths came to him; but he
+dared not let his mother hear him swear. Oh! to have a stone--to be
+across the street from that man!
+
+When the physician walked out, Patsy went to the bed, took his
+mother's hand, and bent over shamefacedly to kiss her. He did not know
+that with that act the Recording Angel blotted out many a curious damn
+of his.
+
+The little mark of affection comforted Eliza unspeakably. The
+mother-feeling overwhelmed her in one burst of tears. Then she dried
+her eyes and smiled at him.
+
+"Honey," she said; "mammy ain' gwine lay hyeah long. She be all right
+putty soon."
+
+"Nevah you min'," said Patsy with a choke in his voice. "I can do
+somep'n', an' we'll have anothah doctah."
+
+"La, listen at de chile; what kin you do?"
+
+"I'm goin' down to McCarthy's stable and see if I kin git some horses
+to exercise."
+
+A sad look came into Eliza's eyes as she said: "You'd bettah not go,
+Patsy; dem hosses'll kill you yit, des lak dey did yo' pappy."
+
+But the boy, used to doing pretty much as he pleased, was obdurate,
+and even while she was talking, put on his ragged jacket and left the
+room.
+
+Patsy was not wise enough to be diplomatic. He went right to the point
+with McCarthy, the liveryman.
+
+The big red-faced fellow slapped him until he spun round and round.
+Then he said, "Ye little devil, ye, I've a mind to knock the whole
+head off o' ye. Ye want harses to exercise, do ye? Well git on that
+'un, an' see what ye kin do with him."
+
+The boy's honest desire to be helpful had tickled the big, generous
+Irishman's peculiar sense of humor, and from now on, instead of giving
+Patsy a horse to ride now and then as he had formerly done, he put
+into his charge all the animals that needed exercise.
+
+It was with a king's pride that Patsy marched home with his first
+considerable earnings.
+
+They were small yet, and would go for food rather than a doctor, but
+Eliza was inordinately proud, and it was this pride that gave her
+strength and the desire of life to carry her through the days
+approaching the crisis of her disease.
+
+As Patsy saw his mother growing worse, saw her gasping for breath,
+heard the rattling as she drew in the little air that kept going her
+clogged lungs, felt the heat of her burning hands, and saw the pitiful
+appeal in her poor eyes, he became convinced that the city doctor was
+not helping her. She must have another. But the money?
+
+That afternoon, after his work with McCarthy, found him at the
+Fair-grounds. The spring races were on, and he thought he might get a
+job warming up the horse of some independent jockey. He hung around
+the stables, listening to the talk of men he knew and some he had
+never seen before. Among the latter was a tall, lanky man, holding
+forth to a group of men.
+
+"No, suh," he was saying to them generally, "I'm goin' to withdraw my
+hoss, because thaih ain't nobody to ride him as he ought to be rode. I
+haven't brought a jockey along with me, so I've got to depend on
+pick-ups. Now, the talent's set agin my hoss, Black Boy, because he's
+been losin' regular, but that hoss has lost for the want of ridin',
+that's all."
+
+The crowd looked in at the slim-legged, raw-boned horse, and walked
+away laughing.
+
+"The fools!" muttered the stranger. "If I could ride myself I'd show
+'em!"
+
+Patsy was gazing into the stall at the horse.
+
+"What are you doing thaih," called the owner to him.
+
+"Look hyeah, mistah," said Patsy, "ain't that a bluegrass hoss?"
+
+"Of co'se it is, an' one o' the fastest that evah grazed."
+
+"I'll ride that hoss, mistah."
+
+"What do you know 'bout ridin'?"
+
+"I used to gin'ally be' roun' Mistah Boone's paddock in Lexington,
+an'--"
+
+"Aroun' Boone's paddock--what! Look here, little nigger, if you can
+ride that hoss to a winnin' I'll give you more money than you ever
+seen before."
+
+"I'll ride him."
+
+Patsy's heart was beating very wildly beneath his jacket. That horse.
+He knew that glossy coat. He knew that raw-boned frame and those
+flashing nostrils. That black horse there owed something to the orphan
+he had made.
+
+The horse was to ride in the race before the last. Somehow out of odds
+and ends, his owner scraped together a suit and colors for Patsy. The
+colors were maroon and green, a curious combination. But then it was a
+curious horse, a curious rider, and a more curious combination that
+brought the two together.
+
+Long before the time for the race Patsy went into the stall to become
+better acquainted with his horse. The animal turned its wild eyes upon
+him and neighed. He patted the long, slender head, and grinned as the
+horse stepped aside as gently as a lady.
+
+"He sholy is full o' ginger," he said to the owner, whose name he had
+found to be Brackett.
+
+"He'll show 'em a thing or two," laughed Brackett.
+
+"His dam was a fast one," said Patsy, unconsciously.
+
+Brackett whirled on him in a flash. "What do you know about his dam?"
+he asked.
+
+The boy would have retracted, but it was too late. Stammeringly he
+told the story of his father's death and the horse's connection
+therewith.
+
+"Well," said Brackett, "if you don't turn out a hoodoo, you're a
+winner, sure. But I'll be blessed if this don't sound like a story!
+But I've heard that story before. The man I got Black Boy from, no
+matter how I got him, you're too young to understand the ins and outs
+of poker, told it to me."
+
+When the bell sounded and Patsy went out to warm up, he felt as if he
+were riding on air. Some of the jockeys laughed at his get-up, but
+there was something in him--or under him, maybe--that made him scorn
+their derision. He saw a sea of faces about him, then saw no more.
+Only a shining white track loomed ahead of him, and a restless steed
+was cantering with him around the curve. Then the bell called him back
+to the stand.
+
+They did not get away at first, and back they trooped. A second trial
+was a failure. But at the third they were off in a line as straight
+as a chalk-mark. There were Essex and Firefly, Queen Bess and
+Mosquito, galloping away side by side, and Black Boy a neck ahead.
+Patsy knew the family reputation of his horse for endurance as well as
+fire, and began riding the race from the first. Black Boy came of
+blood that would not be passed, and to this his rider trusted. At the
+eighth the line was hardly broken, but as the quarter was reached
+Black Boy had forged a length ahead, and Mosquito was at his flank.
+Then, like a flash, Essex shot out ahead under whip and spur, his
+jockey standing straight in the stirrups.
+
+The crowd in the stand screamed; but Patsy smiled as he lay low over
+his horse's neck. He saw that Essex had made her best spurt. His only
+fear was for Mosquito, who hugged and hugged his flank. They were
+nearing the three-quarter post, and he was tightening his grip on the
+black. Essex fell back; his spurt was over. The whip fell unheeded on
+his sides. The spurs dug him in vain.
+
+Black Boy's breath touches the leader's ear. They are neck and
+neck--nose to nose. The black stallion passes him.
+
+Another cheer from the stand, and again Patsy smiles as they turn into
+the stretch. Mosquito has gained a head. The colored boy flashes one
+glance at the horse and rider who are so surely gaining upon him, and
+his lips close in a grim line. They are half-way down the stretch, and
+Mosquito's head is at the stallion's neck.
+
+For a single moment Patsy thinks of the sick woman at home and what
+that race will mean to her, and then his knees close against the
+horse's sides with a firmer dig. The spurs shoot deeper into the
+steaming flanks. Black Boy shall win; he must win. The horse that has
+taken away his father shall give him back his mother. The stallion
+leaps away like a flash, and goes under the wire--a length ahead.
+
+Then the band thundered, and Patsy was off his horse, very warm and
+very happy, following his mount to the stable. There, a little later,
+Brackett found him. He rushed to him, and flung his arms around him.
+
+"You little devil," he cried, "you rode like you were kin to that
+hoss! We've won! We've won!" And he began sticking banknotes at the
+boy. At first Patsy's eyes bulged, and then he seized the money and
+got into his clothes.
+
+"Goin' out to spend it?" asked Brackett.
+
+"I'm goin' for a doctah fu' my mother," said Patsy, "she's sick."
+
+"Don't let me lose sight of you."
+
+"Oh, I'll see you again. So long," said the boy.
+
+An hour later he walked into his mother's room with a very big doctor,
+the greatest the druggist could direct him to. The doctor left his
+medicines and his orders, but, when Patsy told his story, it was
+Eliza's pride that started her on the road to recovery. Patsy did not
+tell his horse's name.
+
+
+
+
+ONE MAN'S FORTUNES
+
+
+Part I
+
+
+When Bertram Halliday left the institution which, in the particular
+part of the middle west where he was born, was called the state
+university, he did not believe, as young graduates are reputed to,
+that he had conquered the world and had only to come into his kingdom.
+He knew that the battle of life was, in reality, just beginning and,
+with a common sense unusual to his twenty-three years but born out of
+the exigencies of a none-too-easy life, he recognized that for him the
+battle would be harder than for his white comrades.
+
+Looking at his own position, he saw himself the member of a race
+dragged from complacent savagery into the very heat and turmoil of a
+civilization for which it was in nowise prepared; bowed beneath a yoke
+to which its shoulders were not fitted, and then, without warning,
+thrust forth into a freedom as absurd as it was startling and
+overwhelming. And yet, he felt, as most young men must feel, an
+individual strength that would exempt him from the workings of the
+general law. His outlook on life was calm and unfrightened. Because he
+knew the dangers that beset his way, he feared them less. He felt
+assured because with so clear an eye he saw the weak places in his
+armor which the world he was going to meet would attack, and these he
+was prepared to strengthen. Was it not the fault of youth and
+self-confessed weakness, he thought, to go into the world always
+thinking of it as a foe? Was not this great Cosmopolis, this dragon of
+a thousand talons kind as well as cruel? Had it not friends as well as
+enemies? Yes. That was it: the outlook of young men, of colored young
+men in particular, was all wrong,--they had gone at the world in the
+wrong spirit. They had looked upon it as a terrible foeman and forced
+it to be one. He would do it, oh, so differently. He would take the
+world as a friend. He would even take the old, old world under his
+wing.
+
+They sat in the room talking that night, he and Webb Davis and Charlie
+McLean. It was the last night they were to be together in so close a
+relation. The commencement was over. They had their sheepskins. They
+were pitched there on the bed very carelessly to be the important
+things they were,--the reward of four years digging in Greek and
+Mathematics.
+
+They had stayed after the exercises of the day just where they had
+first stopped. This was at McLean's rooms, dismantled and topsy-turvy
+with the business of packing. The pipes were going and the talk kept
+pace. Old men smoke slowly and in great whiffs with long intervals of
+silence between their observations. Young men draw fast and say many
+and bright things, for young men are wise,--while they are young.
+
+"Now, it's just like this," Davis was saying to McLean, "Here we are,
+all three of us turned out into the world like a lot of little
+sparrows pitched out of the nest, and what are we going to do? Of
+course it's easy enough for you, McLean, but what are my grave friend
+with the nasty black briar, and I, your humble servant, to do? In what
+wilderness are we to pitch our tents and where is our manna coming
+from?"
+
+"Oh, well, the world owes us all a living," said McLean.
+
+"Hackneyed, but true. Of course it does; but every time a colored man
+goes around to collect, the world throws up its hands and yells
+'insolvent'--eh, Halliday?"
+
+Halliday took his pipe from his mouth as if he were going to say
+something. Then he put it back without speaking and looked
+meditatively through the blue smoke.
+
+"I'm right," Davis went on, "to begin with, we colored people haven't
+any show here. Now, if we could go to Central or South America, or
+some place like that,--but hang it all, who wants to go thousands of
+miles away from home to earn a little bread and butter?"
+
+"There's India and the young Englishmen, if I remember rightly," said
+McLean.
+
+"Oh, yes, that's all right, with the Cabots and Drake and Sir John
+Franklin behind them. Their traditions, their blood, all that they
+know makes them willing to go 'where there ain't no ten commandments
+and a man can raise a thirst,' but for me, home, if I can call it
+home."
+
+"Well, then, stick it out."
+
+"That's easy enough to say, McLean; but ten to one you've got some
+snap picked out for you already, now 'fess up, ain't you?"
+
+"Well, of course I'm going in with my father, I can't help that, but
+I've got--"
+
+"To be sure," broke in Davis, "you go in with your father. Well, if
+all I had to do was to step right out of college into my father's
+business with an assured salary, however small, I shouldn't be falling
+on my own neck and weeping to-night. But that's just the trouble with
+us; we haven't got fathers before us or behind us, if you'd rather."
+
+"More luck to you, you'll be a father before or behind some one else;
+you'll be an ancestor."
+
+"It's more profitable being a descendant, I find."
+
+A glow came into McLean's face and his eyes sparkled as he replied:
+"Why, man, if I could, I'd change places with you. You don't deserve
+your fate. What is before you? Hardships, perhaps, and long waiting.
+But then, you have the zest of the fight, the joy of the action and
+the chance of conquering. Now what is before me,--me, whom you are
+envying? I go out of here into a dull counting-room. The way is
+prepared for me. Perhaps I shall have no hardships, but neither have I
+the joy that comes from pains endured. Perhaps I shall have no battle,
+but even so, I lose the pleasure of the fight and the glory of
+winning. Your fate is infinitely to be preferred to mine."
+
+"Ah, now you talk with the voluminous voice of the centuries,"
+bantered Davis. "You are but echoing the breath of your Nelsons, your
+Cabots, your Drakes and your Franklins. Why, can't you see, you
+sentimental idiot, that it's all different and has to be different
+with us? The Anglo-Saxon race has been producing that fine frenzy in
+you for seven centuries and more. You come, with the blood of
+merchants, pioneers and heroes in your veins, to a normal battle. But
+for me, my forebears were savages two hundred years ago. My people
+learn to know civilization by the lowest and most degrading contact
+with it, and thus equipped or unequipped I tempt, an abnormal contest.
+Can't you see the disproportion?"
+
+"If I do, I can also see the advantage of it."
+
+"For the sake of common sense, Halliday," said Davis, turning to his
+companion, "don't sit there like a clam; open up and say something to
+convince this Don Quixote who, because he himself, sees only
+windmills, cannot be persuaded that we have real dragons to fight."
+
+"Do you fellows know Henley?" asked Halliday, with apparent
+irrelevance.
+
+"I know him as a critic," said McLean.
+
+"I know him as a name," echoed the worldly Davis, "but--"
+
+"I mean his poems," resumed Halliday, "he is the most virile of the
+present-day poets. Kipling is virile, but he gives you the man in hot
+blood with the brute in him to the fore; but the strong masculinity of
+Henley is essentially intellectual. It is the mind that is conquering
+always."
+
+"Well, now that you have settled the relative place in English letters
+of Kipling and Henley, might I be allowed humbly to ask what in the
+name of all that is good has that to do with the question before the
+house?"
+
+"I don't know your man's poetry," said McLean, "but I do believe that
+I can see what you are driving at."
+
+"Wonderful perspicacity, oh, youth!"
+
+"If Webb will agree not to run, I'll spring on you the poem that seems
+to me to strike the keynote of the matter in hand."
+
+"Oh, well, curiosity will keep me. I want to get your position, and I
+want to see McLean annihilated."
+
+In a low, even tone, but without attempt at dramatic effect, Halliday
+began to recite:
+
+    "Out of the night that covers me,
+        Black as the pit from pole to pole,
+    I thank whatever gods there be
+        For my unconquerable soul!
+
+    "In the fell clutch of circumstance,
+        I have not winced nor cried aloud.
+    Under the bludgeonings of chance,
+        My head is bloody, but unbowed.
+
+    "Beyond this place of wrath and tears
+        Looms but the horror of the shade,
+    And yet the menace of the years
+        Finds, and shall find me unafraid.
+
+    "It matters not how strait the gate,
+        How charged with punishments the scroll,
+    I am the master of my fate,
+        I am the captain of my soul."
+
+"That's it," exclaimed McLean, leaping to his feet, "that's what I
+mean. That's the sort of a stand for a man to take."
+
+Davis rose and knocked the ashes from his pipe against the
+window-sill. "Well, for two poetry-spouting, poetry-consuming,
+sentimental idiots, commend me to you fellows. Master of my fate,
+captain of my soul, be dashed! Old Jujube, with his bone-pointed
+hunting spear, began determining a couple of hundred years ago what I
+should be in this year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and
+ninety-four. J. Webb Davis, senior, added another brick to this
+structure, when he was picking cotton on his master's plantation forty
+years ago."
+
+"And now," said Halliday, also rising, "don't you think it fair that
+you should start out with the idea of adding a few bricks of your own,
+and all of a better make than those of your remote ancestor, Jujube,
+or that nearer one, your father?"
+
+"Spoken like a man," said McLean.
+
+"Oh, you two are so hopelessly young," laughed Davis.
+
+
+PART II
+
+
+After the two weeks' rest which he thought he needed, and consequently
+promised himself, Halliday began to look about him for some means of
+making a start for that success in life which he felt so sure of
+winning.
+
+With this end in view he returned to the town where he was born. He
+had settled upon the law as a profession, and had studied it for a
+year or two while at college. He would go back to Broughton now to
+pursue his studies, but of course, he needed money. No difficulty,
+however, presented itself in the getting of this for he knew several
+fellows who had been able to go into offices, and by collecting and
+similar duties make something while they studied. Webb Davis would
+have said, "but they were white," but Halliday knew what his own reply
+would have been: "What a white man can do, I can do."
+
+Even if he could not go to studying at once, he could go to work and
+save enough money to go on with his course in a year or two. He had
+lots of time before him, and he only needed a little start. What
+better place then, to go to than Broughton, where he had first seen
+the light? Broughton, that had known him, boy and man. Broughton that
+had watched him through the common school and the high school, and had
+seen him go off to college with some pride and a good deal of
+curiosity. For even in middle west towns of such a size, that is,
+between seventy and eighty thousand souls, a "smart negro" was still a
+freak.
+
+So Halliday went back home because the people knew him there and would
+respect his struggles and encourage his ambitions.
+
+He had been home two days, and the old town had begun to take on its
+remembered aspect as he wandered through the streets and along the
+river banks. On this second day he was going up Main street deep in a
+brown study when he heard his name called by a young man who was
+approaching him, and saw an outstretched hand.
+
+"Why, how de do, Bert, how are you? Glad to see you back. I hear you
+have been astonishing them up at college."
+
+Halliday's reverie had been so suddenly broken into that for a moment,
+the young fellow's identity wavered elusively before his mind and then
+it materialized, and his consciousness took hold of it. He remembered
+him, not as an intimate, but as an acquaintance whom he had often met
+upon the football and baseball fields.
+
+"How do you do? It's Bob Dickson," he said, shaking the proffered
+hand, which at the mention of the name, had grown unaccountably cold
+in his grasp.
+
+"Yes, I'm Mr. Dickson," said the young man, patronizingly. "You seem
+to have developed wonderfully, you hardly seem like the same Bert
+Halliday I used to know."
+
+"Yes, but I'm the same Mr. Halliday."
+
+"Oh--ah--yes," said the young man, "well, I'm glad to have seen you.
+Ah--good-bye, Bert."
+
+"Good-bye, Bob."
+
+"Presumptuous darky!" murmured Mr. Dickson.
+
+"Insolent puppy!" said Mr. Halliday to himself.
+
+But the incident made no impression on his mind as bearing upon his
+status in the public eye. He only thought the fellow a cad, and went
+hopefully on. He was rather amused than otherwise. In this frame of
+mind, he turned into one of the large office-buildings that lined the
+street and made his way to a business suite over whose door was the
+inscription, "H.G. Featherton, Counsellor and Attorney-at-Law." Mr.
+Featherton had shown considerable interest in Bert in his school days,
+and he hoped much from him.
+
+As he entered the public office, a man sitting at the large desk in
+the centre of the room turned and faced him. He was a fair man of an
+indeterminate age, for you could not tell whether those were streaks
+of grey shining in his light hair, or only the glint which it took on
+in the sun. His face was dry, lean and intellectual. He smiled now
+and then, and his smile was like a flash of winter lightning, so cold
+and quick it was. It went as suddenly as it came, leaving the face as
+marbly cold and impassive as ever. He rose and extended his hand,
+"Why--why--ah--Bert, how de do, how are you?"
+
+"Very well, I thank you, Mr. Featherton."
+
+"Hum, I'm glad to see you back, sit down. Going to stay with us, you
+think?"
+
+"I'm not sure, Mr. Featherton; it all depends upon my getting
+something to do."
+
+"You want to go to work, do you? Hum, well, that's right. It's work
+makes the man. What do you propose to do, now since you've graduated?"
+
+Bert warmed at the evident interest of his old friend. "Well, in the
+first place, Mr. Featherton," he replied, "I must get to work and make
+some money. I have heard of fellows studying and supporting themselves
+at the same time, but I musn't expect too much. I'm going to study
+law."
+
+The attorney had schooled his face into hiding any emotion he might
+feel, and it did not betray him now. He only flashed one of his quick
+cold smiles and asked,
+
+"Don't you think you've taken rather a hard profession to get on in?"
+
+"No doubt. But anything I should take would be hard. It's just like
+this, Mr. Featherton," he went on, "I am willing to work and to work
+hard, and I am not looking for any snap."
+
+Mr. Featherton was so unresponsive to this outburst that Bert was
+ashamed of it the minute it left his lips. He wished this man would
+not be so cold and polite and he wished he would stop putting the ends
+of his white fingers together as carefully as if something depended
+upon it.
+
+"I say the law is a hard profession to get on in, and as a friend I
+say that it will be harder for you. Your people have not the money to
+spend in litigation of any kind."
+
+"I should not cater for the patronage of my own people alone."
+
+"Yes, but the time has not come when a white person will employ a
+colored attorney."
+
+"Do you mean to say that the prejudice here at home is such that if I
+were as competent as a white lawyer a white person would not employ
+me?"
+
+"I say nothing about prejudice at all. It's nature. They have their
+own lawyers; why should they go outside of their own to employ a
+colored man?"
+
+"But I am of their own. I am an American citizen, there should be no
+thought of color about it."
+
+"Oh, my boy, that theory is very nice, but State University democracy
+doesn't obtain in real life."
+
+"More's the pity, then, for real life."
+
+"Perhaps, but we must take things as we find them, not as we think
+they ought to be. You people are having and will have for the next ten
+or a dozen years the hardest fight of your lives. The sentiment of
+remorse and the desire for atoning which actuated so many white men to
+help negroes right after the war has passed off without being replaced
+by that sense of plain justice which gives a black man his due, not
+because of, nor in spite of, but without consideration of his color."
+
+"I wonder if it can be true, as my friend Davis says, that a colored
+man must do twice as much and twice as well as a white man before he
+can hope for even equal chances with him? That white mediocrity
+demands black genius to cope with it?"
+
+"I am afraid your friend has philosophized the situation about right."
+
+"Well, we have dealt in generalities," said Bert, smiling, "let us
+take up the particular and personal part of this matter. Is there any
+way you could help me to a situation?"
+
+"Well,--I should be glad to see you get on, Bert, but as you see, I
+have nothing in my office that you could do. Now, if you don't mind
+beginning at the bottom--"
+
+"That's just what I expected to do."
+
+"--Why I could speak to the head-waiter of the hotel where I stay.
+He's a very nice colored man and I have some influence with him. No
+doubt Charlie could give you a place."
+
+"But that's a work I abhor."
+
+"Yes, but you must begin at the bottom, you know. All young men must."
+
+"To be sure, but would you have recommended the same thing to your
+nephew on his leaving college?"
+
+"Ah--ah--that's different."
+
+"Yes," said Halliday, rising, "it is different. There's a different
+bottom at which black and white young men should begin, and by a
+logical sequence, a different top to which they should aspire.
+However, Mr. Featherton, I'll ask you to hold your offer in abeyance.
+If I can find nothing else, I'll ask you to speak to the head-waiter.
+Good-morning."
+
+"I'll do so with pleasure," said Mr. Featherton, "and good-morning."
+
+As the young man went up the street, an announcement card in the
+window of a publishing house caught his eye. It was the announcement
+of the next Sunday's number in a series of addresses which the local
+business men were giving before the Y.M.C.A. It read, "'How a
+Christian young man can get on in the law'--an address by a Christian
+lawyer--H.G. Featherton."
+
+Bert laughed. "I should like to hear that address," he said. "I wonder
+if he'll recommend them to his head-waiter. No, 'that's different.'
+All the addresses and all the books written on how to get on, are
+written for white men. We blacks must solve the question for
+ourselves."
+
+He had lost some of the ardor with which he had started out but he was
+still full of hope. He refused to accept Mr. Featherton's point of
+view as general or final. So he hailed a passing car that in the
+course of a half hour set him down at the door of the great factory
+which, with its improvements, its army of clerks and employees, had
+built up one whole section of the town. He felt especially hopeful in
+attacking this citadel, because they were constantly advertising for
+clerks and their placards plainly stated that preference would be
+given to graduates of the local high school. The owners were
+philanthropists in their way. Well, what better chance could there be
+before him? He had graduated there and stood well in his classes, and
+besides, he knew that a number of his classmates were holding good
+positions in the factory. So his voice was cheerful as he asked to see
+Mr. Stockard, who had charge of the clerical department.
+
+Mr. Stockard was a fat, wheezy young man, with a reputation for humor
+based entirely upon his size and his rubicund face, for he had really
+never said anything humorous in his life. He came panting into the
+room now with a "Well, what can I do for you?"
+
+"I wanted to see you about a situation"--began Halliday.
+
+"Oh, no, no, you don't want to see me," broke in Stockard, "you want
+to see the head janitor."
+
+"But I don't want to see the head janitor. I want to see the head of
+the clerical department."
+
+"You want to see the head of the clerical department!"
+
+"Yes, sir, I see you are advertising for clerks with preference given
+to the high school boys. Well, I am an old high school boy, but have
+been away for a few years at college."
+
+Mr. Stockard opened his eyes to their widest extent, and his jaw
+dropped. Evidently he had never come across such presumption before.
+
+"We have nothing for you," he wheezed after awhile.
+
+"Very well, I should be glad to drop in again and see you," said
+Halliday, moving to the door. "I hope you will remember me if anything
+opens."
+
+Mr. Stockard did not reply to this or to Bert's good-bye. He stood in
+the middle of the floor and stared at the door through which the
+colored man had gone, then he dropped into a chair with a gasp.
+
+"Well, I'm dumbed!" he said.
+
+A doubt had begun to arise in Bertram Halliday's mind that turned him
+cold and then hot with a burning indignation. He could try nothing
+more that morning. It had brought him nothing but rebuffs. He
+hastened home and threw himself down on the sofa to try and think out
+his situation.
+
+"Do they still require of us bricks without straw? I thought all that
+was over. Well, I suspect that I will have to ask Mr. Featherton to
+speak to his head-waiter in my behalf. I wonder if the head-waiter
+will demand my diploma. Webb Davis, you were nearer right than I
+thought."
+
+He spent the day in the house thinking and planning.
+
+
+PART III
+
+
+Halliday was not a man to be discouraged easily, and for the next few
+weeks he kept up an unflagging search for work. He found that there
+were more Feathertons and Stockards than he had ever looked to find.
+Everywhere that he turned his face, anything but the most menial work
+was denied him. He thought once of going away from Broughton, but
+would he find it any better anywhere else, he asked himself? He
+determined to stay and fight it out there for two reasons. First,
+because he held that it would be cowardice to run away, and secondly,
+because he felt that he was not fighting a local disease, but was
+bringing the force of his life to bear upon a national evil. Broughton
+was as good a place to begin curative measures as elsewhere.
+
+There was one refuge which was open to him, and which he fought
+against with all his might. For years now, from as far back as he
+could remember, the colored graduates had "gone South to teach." This
+course was now recommended to him. Indeed, his own family quite
+approved of it, and when he still stood out against the scheme, people
+began to say that Bertram Halliday did not want work; he wanted to be
+a gentleman.
+
+But Halliday knew that the South had plenty of material, and year by
+year was raising and training her own teachers. He knew that the time
+would come, if it were not present when it would be impossible to go
+South to teach, and he felt it to be essential that the North should
+be trained in a manner looking to the employment of her own negroes.
+So he stayed. But he was only human, and when the tide of talk anent
+his indolence began to ebb and flow about him, he availed himself of
+the only expedient that could arrest it.
+
+When he went back to the great factory where he had seen and talked
+with Mr. Stockard, he went around to another door and this time asked
+for the head janitor. This individual, a genial Irishman, took stock
+of Halliday at a glance.
+
+"But what do ye want to be doin' sich wurruk for, whin ye've been
+through school?" he asked.
+
+"I am doing the only thing I can get to do," was the answer.
+
+"Well," said the Irishman, "ye've got sinse, anyhow."
+
+Bert found himself employed as an under janitor at the factory at a
+wage of nine dollars a week. At this, he could pay his share to keep
+the house going, and save a little for the period of study he still
+looked forward to. The people who had accused him of laziness now made
+a martyr of him, and said what a pity it was for a man with such an
+education and with so much talent to be so employed menially.
+
+He did not neglect his studies, but read at night, whenever the day's
+work had not made both brain and body too weary for the task.
+
+In this way his life went along for over a year when one morning a
+note from Mr. Featherton summoned him to that gentleman's office. It
+is true that Halliday read the note with some trepidation. His bitter
+experience had not yet taught him how not to dream. He was not yet old
+enough for that. "Maybe," he thought, "Mr. Featherton has relented,
+and is going to give me a chance anyway. Or perhaps he wanted me to
+prove my metal before he consented to take me up. Well, I've tried to
+do it, and if that's what he wanted, I hope he's satisfied." The note
+which seemed written all over with joyful tidings shook in his hand.
+
+The genial manner with which Mr. Featherton met him reaffirmed in his
+mind the belief that at last the lawyer had determined to give him a
+chance. He was almost deferential as he asked Bert into his private
+office, and shoved a chair forward for him.
+
+"Well, you've been getting on, I see," he began.
+
+"Oh, yes," replied Bert, "I have been getting on by hook and crook."
+
+"Hum, done any studying lately?"
+
+"Yes, but not as much as I wish to. Coke and Wharton aren't any
+clearer to a head grown dizzy with bending over mops, brooms and
+heavy trucks all day."
+
+"No, I should think not. Ah--oh--well, Bert, how should you like to
+come into my office and help around, do such errands as I need and
+help copy my papers?"
+
+"I should be delighted."
+
+"It would only pay you five dollars a week, less than what you are
+getting now, I suppose, but it will be more genteel."
+
+"Oh, now, that I have had to do it, I don't care so much about the
+lack of gentility of my present work, but I prefer what you offer
+because I shall have a greater chance to study."
+
+"Well, then, you may as well come in on Monday. The office will be
+often in your charge, as I am going to be away a great deal in the
+next few months. You know I am going to make the fight for nomination
+to the seat on the bench which is vacant this fall."
+
+"Indeed. I have not so far taken much interest in politics, but I will
+do all in my power to help you with both nomination and election."
+
+"Thank you," said Mr. Featherton, "I am sure you can be of great
+service to me as the vote of your people is pretty heavy in Broughton.
+I have always been a friend to them, and I believe I can depend upon
+their support. I shall be glad of any good you can do me with them."
+
+Bert laughed when he was out on the street again. "For value
+received," he said. He thought less of Mr. Featherton's generosity
+since he saw it was actuated by self-interest alone, but that in no
+wise destroyed the real worth of the opportunity that was now given
+into his hands. Featherton, he believed, would make an excellent
+judge, and he was glad that in working for his nomination his
+convictions so aptly fell in with his inclinations.
+
+His work at the factory had put him in touch with a larger number of
+his people than he could have possibly met had he gone into the office
+at once. Over them, his naturally bright mind exerted some influence.
+As a simple laborer he had fellowshipped with them but they
+acknowledged and availed themselves of his leadership, because they
+felt instinctively in him a power which they did not have. Among them
+now he worked sedulously. He held that the greater part of the battle
+would be in the primaries, and on the night when they convened, he had
+his friends out in force in every ward which went to make up the
+third judicial district. Men who had never seen the inside of a
+primary meeting before were there actively engaged in this.
+
+The _Diurnal_ said next morning that the active interest of the
+hard-working, church-going colored voters, who wanted to see a
+Christian judge on the bench had had much to do with the nomination of
+Mr. Featherton.
+
+The success at the primaries did not tempt Halliday to relinquish his
+efforts on his employer's behalf. He was indefatigable in his cause.
+On the west side where the colored population had largely colonized,
+he made speeches and held meetings clear up to election day. The fight
+had been between two factions of the party and after the nomination it
+was feared that the defection of the part defeated in the primaries
+might prevent the ratification of the nominee at the polls. But before
+the contest was half over all fears for him were laid. What he had
+lost in the districts where the skulking faction was strong, he made
+up in the wards where the colored vote was large. He was
+overwhelmingly elected.
+
+Halliday smiled as he sat in the office and heard the congratulations
+poured in upon Judge Featherton.
+
+"Well, it's wonderful," said one of his visitors, "how the colored
+boys stood by you."
+
+"Yes, I have been a friend to the colored people, and they know it,"
+said Featherton.
+
+It would be some months before His Honor would take his seat on the
+bench, and during that time, Halliday hoped to finish his office
+course.
+
+He was surprised when Featherton came to him a couple of weeks after
+the election and said, "Well, Bert, I guess I can get along now. I'll
+be shutting up this office pretty soon. Here are your wages and here
+is a little gift I wish to add out of respect to you for your kindness
+during my run for office."
+
+Bert took the wages, but the added ten dollar note he waved aside.
+"No, I thank you, Mr. Featherton," he said, "what I did, I did from a
+belief in your fitness for the place, and out of loyalty to my
+employer. I don't want any money for it."
+
+"Then let us say that I have raised your wages to this amount."
+
+"No, that would only be evasion. I want no more than you promised to
+give me."
+
+"Very well, then accept my thanks, anyway."
+
+What things he had at the office Halliday took away that night. A
+couple of days later he remembered a book which he had failed to get
+and returned for it. The office was as usual. Mr. Featherton was a
+little embarrassed and nervous. At Halliday's desk sat a young white
+man about his own age. He was copying a deed for Mr. Featherton.
+
+
+PARY IV
+
+
+Bertram Halliday went home, burning with indignation at the treatment
+he had received at the hands of the Christian judge.
+
+"He has used me as a housemaid would use a lemon," he said, "squeezed
+all out of me he could get, and then flung me into the street. Well,
+Webb was nearer right than I thought."
+
+He was now out of everything. His place at the factory had been
+filled, and no new door opened to him. He knew what reward a search
+for work brought a man of his color in Broughton so he did not bestir
+himself to go over the old track again. He thanked his stars that he,
+at least, had money enough to carry him away from the place and he
+determined to go. His spirit was quelled, but not broken.
+
+Just before leaving, he wrote to Davis.
+
+"My dear Webb!" the letter ran, "you, after all, were right. We have
+little or no show in the fight for life among these people. I have
+struggled for two years here at Broughton, and now find myself back
+where I was when I first stepped out of school with a foolish faith in
+being equipped for something. One thing, my eyes have been opened
+anyway, and I no longer judge so harshly the shiftless and unambitious
+among my people. I hardly see how a people, who have so much to
+contend with and so little to hope for, can go on striving and
+aspiring. But the very fact that they do, breeds in me a respect for
+them. I now see why so many promising young men, class orators,
+valedictorians and the like fall by the wayside and are never heard
+from after commencement day. I now see why the sleeping and dining-car
+companies are supplied by men with better educations than half the
+passengers whom they serve. They get tired of swimming always against
+the tide, as who would not? and are content to drift.
+
+"I know that a good many of my friends would say that I am whining.
+Well, suppose I am, that's the business of a whipped cur. The dog on
+top can bark, but the under dog must howl.
+
+"Nothing so breaks a man's spirit as defeat, constant, unaltering,
+hopeless defeat. That's what I've experienced. I am still studying law
+in a half-hearted way for I don't know what I am going to do with it
+when I have been admitted. Diplomas don't draw clients. We have been
+taught that merit wins. But I have learned that the adages, as well as
+the books and the formulas were made by and for others than us of the
+black race.
+
+"They say, too, that our brother Americans sympathize with us, and
+will help us when we help ourselves. Bah! The only sympathy that I
+have ever seen on the part of the white man was not for the negro
+himself, but for some portion of white blood that the colored man had
+got tangled up in his veins.
+
+"But there, perhaps my disappointment has made me sour, so think no
+more of what I have said. I am going now to do what I abhor. Going
+South to try to find a school. It's awful. But I don't want any one to
+pity me. There are several thousands of us in the same position.
+
+"I am glad you are prospering. You were better equipped than I was
+with a deal of materialism and a dearth of ideals. Give us a line when
+you are in good heart.
+
+    "Yours, HALLIDAY.
+
+"P.S.--Just as I finished writing I had a note from Judge Featherton
+offering me the court messengership at five dollars a week. I am
+twenty-five. The place was held before by a white boy of fifteen. I
+declined. 'Southward Ho!'"
+
+Davis was not without sympathy as he read his friend's letter in a
+city some distance away. He had worked in a hotel, saved money enough
+to start a barber-shop and was prospering. His white customers joked
+with him and patted him on the back, and he was already known to have
+political influence. Yes, he sympathized with Bert, but he laughed
+over the letter and jingled the coins in his pockets.
+
+"Thank heaven," he said, "that I have no ideals to be knocked into a
+cocked hat. A colored man has no business with ideals--not in _this_
+nineteenth century!"
+
+
+
+
+JIM'S PROBATION
+
+
+For so long a time had Jim been known as the hardest sinner on the
+plantation that no one had tried to reach the heart under his outward
+shell even in camp-meeting and revival times. Even good old Brother
+Parker, who was ever looking after the lost and straying sheep, gave
+him up as beyond recall.
+
+"Dat Jim," he said, "Oomph, de debbil done got his stamp on dat boy,
+an' dey ain' no use in tryin' to scratch hit off."
+
+"But Parker," said his master, "that's the very sort of man you want
+to save. Don't you know it's your business as a man of the gospel to
+call sinners to repentance?"
+
+"Lawd, Mas' Mordaunt," exclaimed the old man, "my v'ice done got
+hoa'se callin' Jim, too long ergo to talk erbout. You jes' got to let
+him go 'long, maybe some o' dese days he gwine slip up on de gospel
+an' fall plum' inter salvation."
+
+Even Mandy, Jim's wife, had attempted to urge the old man to some more
+active efforts in her husband's behalf. She was a pillar of the
+church herself, and was woefully disturbed about the condition of
+Jim's soul. Indeed, it was said that half of the time it was Mandy's
+prayers and exhortations that drove Jim into the woods with his dog
+and his axe, or an old gun that he had come into possession of from
+one of the younger Mordaunts.
+
+Jim was unregenerate. He was a fighter, a hard drinker, fiddled on
+Sunday, and had been known to go out hunting on that sacred day. So it
+startled the whole place when Mandy announced one day to a few of her
+intimate friends that she believed "Jim was under conviction." He had
+stolen out hunting one Sunday night and in passing through the swamp
+had gotten himself thoroughly wet and chilled, and this had brought on
+an attack of acute rheumatism, which Mandy had pointed out to him as a
+direct judgment of heaven. Jim scoffed at first, but Mandy grew more
+and more earnest, and finally, with the racking of the pain, he waxed
+serious and determined to look to the state of his soul as a means to
+the good of his body.
+
+"Hit do seem," Mandy said, "dat Jim feel de weight o' his sins mos'
+powahful."
+
+"I reckon hit's de rheumatics," said Dinah.
+
+    [Illustration: JIM.]
+
+"Don' mek no diffunce what de inst'ument is," Mandy replied, "hit's de
+'sult, hit's de 'sult."
+
+When the news reached Stuart Mordaunt's ears he became intensely
+interested. Anything that would convert Jim, and make a model
+Christian of him would be providential on that plantation. It would
+save the overseers many an hour's worry; his horses, many a secret
+ride; and the other servants, many a broken head. So he again went
+down to labor with Parker in the interest of the sinner.
+
+"Is he mou'nin' yit?" said Parker.
+
+"No, not yet, but I think now is a good time to sow the seeds in his
+mind."
+
+"Oomph," said the old man, "reckon you bettah let Jim alone twell dem
+sins o' his'n git him to tossin' an' cryin' an' a mou'nin'. Den'll be
+time enough to strive wid him. I's allus willin' to do my pa't, Mas'
+Stuart, but w'en hit comes to ol' time sinnahs lak Jim, I believe in
+layin' off, an' lettin' de sperit do de strivin'."
+
+"But Parker," said his master, "you yourself know that the Bible says
+that the spirit will not always strive."
+
+"Well, la den, mas', you don' spec' I gwine outdo de sperit."
+
+But Stuart Mordaunt was particularly anxious that Jim's steps might be
+turned in the right direction. He knew just what a strong hold over
+their minds the Negroes' own emotional religion had, and he felt that
+could he once get Jim inside the pale of the church, and put him on
+guard of his salvation, it would mean the loss of fewer of his shoats
+and pullets. So he approached the old preacher, and said in a
+confidential tone.
+
+"Now look here, Parker, I've got a fine lot of that good old tobacco
+you like so up to the big house, and I'll tell you what I'll do. If
+you'll just try to work on Jim, and get his feet in the right path,
+you can come up and take all you want."
+
+"Oom-oomph," said the old man, "dat sho' is monst'ous fine terbaccer,
+Mas' Stua't."
+
+"Yes, it is, and you shall have all you want of it."
+
+"Well, I'll have a little wisit wid Jim, an' des' see how much he
+'fected, an' if dey any stroke to be put in fu' de gospel ahmy, you
+des' count on me ez a mighty strong wa'ior. Dat boy been layin' heavy
+on my mind fu' lo, dese many days."
+
+As a result of this agreement, the old man went down to Jim's cabin on
+a night when that interesting sinner was suffering particularly from
+his rheumatic pains.
+
+"Well, Jim," the preacher said, "how you come on?"
+
+"Po'ly, po'ly," said Jim, "I des' plum' racked an' 'stracted f'om haid
+to foot."
+
+"Uh, huh, hit do seem lak to me de Bible don' tell nuffin' else but de
+trufe."
+
+"What de Bible been sayin' now?" asked Jim suspiciously.
+
+"Des' what it been sayin' all de res' o' de time. 'Yo' sins will fin'
+you out'"
+
+Jim groaned and turned uneasily in his chair. The old man saw that he
+had made a point and pursued it.
+
+"Don' you reckon now, Jim, ef you was a bettah man dat you wouldn'
+suffah so?"
+
+"I do' know, I do' know nuffin' 'bout hit."
+
+"Now des' look at me. I ben a-trompin' erlong in dis low groun' o'
+sorrer fu' mo' den seventy yeahs, an' I hain't got a ache ner a pain.
+Nevah had no rheumatics in my life, an' yere you is, a young man, in a
+mannah o' speakin', all twinged up wid rheumatics. Now what dat p'int
+to? Hit mean de Lawd tek keer o' dem dat's his'n. Now Jim, you bettah
+come ovah on de Lawd's side, an' git erway f'om yo' ebil doin's."
+
+Jim groaned again, and lifted his swollen leg with an effort just as
+Brother Parker said, "Let us pray."
+
+The prayer itself was less effective than the request was just at that
+time for Jim was so stiff that it made him fairly howl with pain to
+get down on his knees. The old man's supplication was loud, deep, and
+diplomatic, and when they arose from their knees there were tears in
+Jim's eyes, but whether from cramp or contrition it is not safe to
+say. But a day or two after, the visit bore fruit in the appearance of
+Jim at meeting where he sat on one of the very last benches, his
+shoulders hunched, and his head bowed, unmistakable signs of the
+convicted sinner.
+
+The usual term of mourning passed, and Jim was converted, much to
+Mandy's joy, and Brother Parker's delight. The old man called early on
+his master after the meeting, and announced the success of his labors.
+Stuart Mordaunt himself was no less pleased than the preacher. He
+shook Parker warmly by the hand, patted him on the shoulder, and
+called him a "sly old fox." And then he took him to the cupboard, and
+gave him of his store of good tobacco, enough to last him for months.
+Something else, too, he must have given him, for the old man came away
+from the cupboard grinning broadly, and ostentatiously wiping his
+mouth with the back of his hand.
+
+"Great work you've done, Parker, a great work."
+
+"Yes, yes, Mas'," grinned the old man, "now ef Jim can des' stan' out
+his p'obation, hit'll be montrous fine."
+
+"His probation!" exclaimed the master.
+
+"Oh yes suh, yes suh, we has all de young convu'ts stan' a p'obation
+o' six months, fo' we teks 'em reg'lar inter de chu'ch. Now ef Jim
+will des' stan' strong in de faif--"
+
+"Parker," said Mordaunt, "you're an old wretch, and I've got a mind to
+take every bit of that tobacco away from you. No. I'll tell you what
+I'll do."
+
+He went back to the cupboard and got as much again as he had given
+Parker, and handed it to him saying,
+
+"I think it will be better for all concerned if Jim's probation only
+lasts two months. Get him into the fold, Parker, get him into the
+fold!" And he shoved the ancient exhorter out of the door.
+
+It grieved Jim that he could not go 'possum hunting on Sundays any
+more, but shortly after he got religion, his rheumatism seemed to take
+a turn for the better and he felt that the result was worth the
+sacrifice. But as the pain decreased in his legs and arms, the longing
+for his old wicked pleasures became stronger and stronger upon him
+though Mandy thought that he was living out the period of his
+probation in the most exemplary manner, and inwardly rejoiced.
+
+It was two weeks before he was to be regularly admitted to church
+fellowship. His industrious spouse had decked him out in a bleached
+cotton shirt in which to attend divine service. In the morning Jim was
+there. The sermon which Brother Parker preached was powerful, but
+somehow it failed to reach this new convert. His gaze roved out of the
+window toward the dark line of the woods beyond, where the frost still
+glistened on the trees and where he knew the persimmons were hanging
+ripe. Jim was present at the afternoon service also, for it was a
+great day; and again, he was preoccupied. He started and clasped his
+hands together until the bones cracked, when a dog barked somewhere
+out on the hill. The sun was going down over the tops of the woodland
+trees, throwing the forest into gloom, as they came out of the log
+meeting-house. Jim paused and looked lovingly at the scene, and sighed
+as he turned his steps back toward the cabin.
+
+That night Mandy went to church alone. Jim had disappeared. Nowhere
+around was his axe, and Spot, his dog, was gone. Mandy looked over
+toward the woods whose tops were feathered against the frosty sky, and
+away off, she heard a dog bark.
+
+Brother Parker was feeling his way home from meeting late that night,
+when all of a sudden, he came upon a man creeping toward the quarters.
+The man had an axe and a dog, and over his shoulders hung a bag in
+which the outlines of a 'possum could be seen.
+
+"Hi, oh, Brothah Jim, at it agin?"
+
+Jim did not reply. "Well, des' heish up an' go 'long. We got to mek
+some 'lowances fu' you young convu'ts. Wen you gwine cook dat 'possum,
+Brothah Jim?"
+
+"I do' know, Brothah Pahkah. He so po', I 'low I haveter keep him and
+fatten him fu' awhile."
+
+"Uh, huh! well, so long, Jim."
+
+"So long, Brothah Pahkah." Jim chuckled as he went away. "I 'low I
+fool dat ol' fox. Wanter come down an' eat up my one little 'possum,
+do he? huh, uh!"
+
+So that very night Jim scraped his possum, and hung it out-of-doors,
+and the next day, brown as the forest whence it came, it lay on a
+great platter on Jim's table. It was a fat possum too. Jim had just
+whetted his knife, and Mandy had just finished the blessing when the
+latch was lifted and Brother Parker stepped in.
+
+"Hi, oh, Brothah Jim, I's des' in time."
+
+Jim sat with his mouth open. "Draw up a cheer, Brothah Pahkah," said
+Mandy. Her husband rose, and put his hand over the possum.
+
+"Wha--wha'd you come hyeah fu'?" he asked.
+
+"I thought I'd des' come in an' tek a bite wid you."
+
+"Ain' gwine tek no bite wid me," said Jim.
+
+"Heish," said Mandy, "wha' kin' o' way is dat to talk to de preachah?"
+
+"Preachah er no preachah, you hyeah what I say," and he took the
+possum, and put it on the highest shelf.
+
+"Wha's de mattah wid you, Jim; dat's one o' de' 'quiahments o' de
+chu'ch."
+
+The angry man turned to the preacher.
+
+"Is it one o' de 'quiahments o' de chu'ch dat you eat hyeah
+ter-night?"
+
+"Hit sholy am usual fu' de shepherd to sup wherevah he stop," said
+Parker suavely.
+
+"Ve'y well, ve'y well," said Jim, "I wants you to know dat I 'specs to
+stay out o' yo' chu'ch. I's got two weeks mo' p'obation. You tek hit
+back, an' gin hit to de nex' niggah you ketches wid a 'possum."
+
+Mandy was horrified. The preacher looked longingly at the possum, and
+took up his hat to go.
+
+There were two disappointed men on the plantation when he told his
+master the next day the outcome of Jim's probation.
+
+
+
+
+UNCLE SIMON'S SUNDAYS OUT
+
+
+Mr. Marston sat upon his wide veranda in the cool of the summer
+Sabbath morning. His hat was off, the soft breeze was playing with his
+brown hair, and a fragrant cigar was rolled lazily between his lips.
+He was taking his ease after the fashion of a true gentleman. But his
+eyes roamed widely, and his glance rested now on the blue-green sweep
+of the great lawn, again on the bright blades of the growing corn, and
+anon on the waving fields of tobacco, and he sighed a sigh of
+ineffable content. The breath had hardly died on his lips when the
+figure of an old man appeared before him, and, hat in hand, shuffled
+up the wide steps of the porch.
+
+It was a funny old figure, stooped and so one-sided that the tail of
+the long and shabby coat he wore dragged on the ground. The face was
+black and shrewd, and little patches of snow-white hair fringed the
+shiny pate.
+
+"Good-morning, Uncle Simon," said Mr. Marston, heartily.
+
+"Mornin' Mas' Gawge. How you come on?"
+
+"I'm first-rate. How are you? How are your rheumatics coming on?"
+
+"Oh, my, dey's mos' nigh well. Dey don' trouble me no mo'!"
+
+"Most nigh well, don't trouble you any more?"
+
+"Dat is none to speak of."
+
+"Why, Uncle Simon, who ever heard tell of a man being cured of his
+aches and pains at your age?"
+
+"I ain' so powahful ol', Mas', I ain' so powahful ol'."
+
+"You're not so powerful old! Why, Uncle Simon, what's taken hold of
+you? You're eighty if a day."
+
+"Sh--sh, talk dat kin' o' low, Mastah, don' 'spress yo'se'f so loud!"
+and the old man looked fearfully around as if he feared some one might
+hear the words.
+
+The master fell back in his seat in utter surprise.
+
+"And, why, I should like to know, may I not speak of your age aloud?"
+
+Uncle Simon showed his two or three remaining teeth in a broad grin as
+he answered:
+
+"Well, Mastah, I's 'fraid ol' man Time mought hyeah you an' t'ink he
+done let me run too long." He chuckled, and his master joined him with
+a merry peal of laughter.
+
+"All right, then, Simon," he said, "I'll try not to give away any of
+your secrets to old man Time. But isn't your age written down
+somewhere?"
+
+"I reckon it's in dat ol' Bible yo' pa gin me."
+
+"Oh, let it alone then, even Time won't find it there."
+
+The old man shifted the weight of his body from one leg to the other
+and stood embarrassedly twirling his ancient hat in his hands. There
+was evidently something more that he wanted to say. He had not come to
+exchange commonplaces with his master about age or its ailments.
+
+"Well, what is it now, Uncle Simon?" the master asked, heeding the
+servant's embarrassment, "I know you've come up to ask or tell me
+something. Have any of your converts been backsliding, or has Buck
+been misbehaving again?"
+
+"No, suh, de converts all seem to be stan'in' strong in de faif, and
+Buck, he actin' right good now."
+
+"Doesn't Lize bring your meals regular, and cook them good?"
+
+"Oh, yes, suh, Lize ain' done nuffin'. Dey ain' nuffin' de mattah at
+de quahtahs, nuffin' 't'al."
+
+"Well, what on earth then--"
+
+"Hol' on, Mas', hol' on! I done tol' you dey ain' nuffin' de mattah
+'mong de people, an' I ain' come to 'plain 'bout nuffin'; but--but--I
+wants to speak to you 'bout somefin' mighty partic'ler."
+
+"Well, go on, because it will soon be time for you to be getting down
+to the meeting-house to exhort the hands."
+
+"Dat's jes' what I want to speak 'bout, dat 'zortin'."
+
+"Well, you've been doing it for a good many years now."
+
+"Dat's de very idee, dat's in my haid now. Mas' Gawge, huccume you
+read me so nigh right?"
+
+"Oh, that's not reading anything, that's just truth. But what do you
+mean, Uncle Simon, you don't mean to say that you want to resign. Why
+what would your old wife think if she was living?"
+
+"No, no, Mas' Gawge, I don't ezzactly want to 'sign, but I'd jes' lak
+to have a few Sundays off."
+
+"A few Sundays off! Well, now, I do believe that you are crazy. What
+on earth put that into your head?"
+
+"Nuffin', Mas' Gawge, I wants to be away f'om my Sabbaf labohs fu' a
+little while, dat's all."
+
+"Why, what are the hands going to do for some one to exhort them on
+Sunday. You know they've got to shout or burst, and it used to be your
+delight to get them stirred up until all the back field was ringing."
+
+"I do' say dat I ain' gwine try an' do dat some mo', Mastah, min' I
+do' say dat. But in de mean time I's got somebody else to tek my
+place, one dat I trained up in de wo'k right undah my own han'. Mebbe
+he ain' endowed wif de sperrit as I is, all men cain't be gifted de
+same way, but dey ain't no sputin' he is powahful. Why, he can handle
+de Scriptures wif bof han's, an' you kin hyeah him prayin' fu' two
+miles."
+
+"And you want to put this wonder in your place?"
+
+"Yes, suh, fu' a while, anyhow."
+
+"Uncle Simon, aren't you losing your religion?"
+
+"Losin' my u'ligion? Who, me losin' my u'ligion! No, suh."
+
+"Well, aren't you afraid you'll lose it on the Sundays that you spend
+out of your meeting-house?"
+
+"Now, Mas' Gawge, you a white man, an' you my mastah, an' you got
+larnin'. But what kin' o' argyment is dat? Is dat good jedgment?"
+
+"Well, now if it isn't, you show me why, you're a logician." There was
+a twinkle in the eye of George Marston as he spoke.
+
+"No, I ain' no 'gician, Mastah," the old man contended. "But what kin'
+o' u'ligion you spec' I got anyhow? Hyeah me been sto'in' it up fu'
+lo, dese many yeahs an' ain' got enough to las' ovah a few Sundays.
+What kin' o' u'ligion is dat?"
+
+The master laughed, "I believe you've got me there, Uncle Simon; well
+go along, but see that your flock is well tended."
+
+"Thanky, Mas' Gawge, thanky. I'll put a shepherd in my place dat'll
+put de food down so low dat de littles' lambs kin enjoy it, but'll mek
+it strong enough fu' de oldes' ewes." And with a profound bow the old
+man went down the steps and hobbled away.
+
+As soon as Uncle Simon was out of sight, George Marston threw back his
+head and gave a long shout of laughter.
+
+"I wonder," he mused, "what crotchet that old darkey has got into his
+head now. He comes with all the air of a white divine to ask for a
+vacation. Well, I reckon he deserves it. He had me on the religious
+argument, too. He's got his grace stored." And another peal of her
+husband's laughter brought Mrs. Marston from the house.
+
+"George, George, what is the matter. What amuses you so that you
+forget that this is the Sabbath day?"
+
+"Oh, don't talk to me about Sunday any more, when it comes to the pass
+that the Reverend Simon Marston wants a vacation. It seems that the
+cares of his parish have been too pressing upon him and he wishes to
+be away for some time. He does not say whether he will visit Europe or
+the Holy Land, however, we shall expect him to come back with much new
+and interesting material for the edification of his numerous
+congregation."
+
+"I wish you would tell me what you mean by all this."
+
+Thus adjured, George Marston curbed his amusement long enough to
+recount to his wife the particulars of his interview with Uncle Simon.
+
+"Well, well, and you carry on so, only because one of the servants
+wishes his Sundays to himself for awhile? Shame on you!"
+
+"Mrs. Marston," said her husband, solemnly, "you are
+hopeless--positively, undeniably, hopeless. I do not object to your
+failing to see the humor in the situation, for you are a woman; but
+that you should not be curious as to the motives which actuate Uncle
+Simon, that you should be unmoved by a burning desire to know why this
+staunch old servant who has for so many years pictured hell each
+Sunday to his fellow-servants should wish a vacation--that I can
+neither understand nor forgive."
+
+"Oh, I can see why easily enough, and so could you, if you were not so
+intent on laughing at everything. The poor old man is tired and wants
+rest, that's all." And Mrs. Marston turned into the house with a
+stately step, for she was a proud and dignified lady.
+
+"And that reason satisfies you? Ah, Mrs. Marston, Mrs. Marston, you
+discredit your sex!" her husband sighed, mockingly after her.
+
+There was perhaps some ground for George Marston's perplexity as to
+Uncle Simon's intentions. His request for "Sundays off" was so
+entirely out of the usual order of things. The old man, with the other
+servants on the plantation had been bequeathed to Marston by his
+father. Even then, Uncle Simon was an old man, and for many years in
+the elder Marston's time had been the plantation exhorter. In this
+position he continued, and as his age increased, did little of
+anything else. He had a little log house built in a stretch of woods
+convenient to the quarters, where Sunday after Sunday he held forth to
+as many of the hands as could be encouraged to attend.
+
+With time, the importance of his situation grew upon him. He would
+have thought as soon of giving up his life as his pulpit to any one
+else. He was never absent a single meeting day in all that time.
+Sunday after Sunday he was in his place expounding his doctrine. He
+had grown officious, too, and if any of his congregation were away
+from service, Monday morning found him early at their cabins to find
+out the reason why.
+
+After a life, then, of such punctilious rigidity, it is no wonder that
+his master could not accept Mrs. Marston's simple excuse for Uncle
+Simon's dereliction, "that the old man needed rest." For the time
+being, the good lady might have her way, as all good ladies should,
+but as for him, he chose to watch and wait and speculate.
+
+Mrs. Marston, however, as well as her husband, was destined to hear
+more that day of Uncle Simon's strange move, for there was one other
+person on the place who was not satisfied with Uncle Simon's
+explanation of his conduct, and yet could not as easily as the
+mistress formulate an opinion of her own. This was Lize, who did about
+the quarters and cooked the meals of the older servants who were no
+longer in active service.
+
+It was just at the dinner hour that she came hurrying up to the "big
+house," and with the freedom of an old and privileged retainer went
+directly to the dining-room.
+
+"Look hyeah, Mis' M'ree," she exclaimed, without the formality of
+prefacing her remarks, "I wants to know whut's de mattah wif Brothah
+Simon--what mek him ac' de way he do?"
+
+"Why, I do not know, Eliza, what has Uncle Simon been doing?"
+
+"Why, some o' you all mus' know, lessn' he couldn' 'a' done hit. Ain'
+he ax you nuffin', Marse Gawge?"
+
+"Yes, he did have some talk with me."
+
+"Some talk! I reckon he did have some talk wif somebody!"
+
+"Tell us, Lize," Mr. Marston said, "what has Uncle Simon done?"
+
+"He done brung somebody else, dat young Merrit darky, to oc'py his
+pu'pit. He in'juce him, an' 'en he say dat he gwine be absent a few
+Sundays, an' 'en he tek hissef off, outen de chu'ch, widout even
+waitin' fu' de sehmont."
+
+"Well, didn't you have a good sermon?"
+
+"It mought 'a' been a good sehmont, but dat ain' whut I ax you. I want
+to know whut de mattah wif Brothah Simon."
+
+"Why, he told me that the man he put over you was one of the most
+powerful kind, warranted to make you shout until the last bench was
+turned over."
+
+"Oh, some o' dem, dey shouted enough, dey shouted dey fill. But dat
+ain' whut I's drivin' at yit. Whut I wan' 'o know, whut mek Brothah
+Simon do dat?"
+
+"Well, I'll tell you, Lize," Marston began, but his wife cut him off.
+
+"Now, George," she said, "you shall not trifle with Eliza in that
+manner." Then turning to the old servant, she said: "Eliza, it means
+nothing. Do not trouble yourself about it. You know Uncle Simon is
+old; he has been exhorting for you now for many years, and he needs a
+little rest these Sundays. It is getting toward midsummer, and it is
+warm and wearing work to preach as Uncle Simon does."
+
+Lize stood still, with an incredulous and unsatisfied look on her
+face. After a while she said, dubiously shaking her head:
+
+"Huh uh! Miss M'ree, dat may 'splain t'ings to you, but hit ain' mek
+'em light to me yit."
+
+"Now, Mrs. Marston"--began her husband, chuckling.
+
+"Hush, I tell you, George. It's really just as I tell you, Eliza, the
+old man is tired and needs rest!"
+
+Again the old woman shook her head, "Huh uh," she said, "ef you'd' a'
+seen him gwine lickety split outen de meetin'-house you wouldn' a
+thought he was so tiahed."
+
+Marston laughed loud and long at this. "Well, Mrs. Marston," he
+bantered, "even Lize is showing a keener perception of the fitness of
+things than you."
+
+"There are some things I can afford to be excelled in by my husband
+and my servants. For my part, I have no suspicion of Uncle Simon, and
+no concern about him either one way or the other."
+
+"'Scuse me, Miss M'ree," said Lize, "I didn' mean no ha'm to you, but
+I ain' a trustin' ol' Brothah Simon, I tell you."
+
+"I'm not blaming you, Eliza; you are sensible as far as you know."
+
+"Ahem," said Mr. Marston.
+
+Eliza went out mumbling to herself, and Mr. Marston confined his
+attentions to his dinner; he chuckled just once, but Mrs. Marston met
+his levity with something like a sniff.
+
+On the first two Sundays that Uncle Simon was away from his
+congregation nothing was known about his whereabouts. On the third
+Sunday he was reported to have been seen making his way toward the
+west plantation. Now what did this old man want there? The west
+plantation, so called, was a part of the Marston domain, but the land
+there was worked by a number of slaves which Mrs. Marston had brought
+with her from Louisiana, where she had given up her father's gorgeous
+home on the Bayou Lafourche, together with her proud name of Marie
+St. Pierre for George Marston's love. There had been so many
+bickerings between the Marston servants and the contingent from
+Louisiana that the two sets had been separated, the old remaining on
+the east side and the new ones going to the west. So, to those who had
+been born on the soil the name of the west plantation became a
+reproach. It was a synonym for all that was worldly, wicked and
+unregenerate. The east plantation did not visit with the west. The
+east gave a dance, the west did not attend. The Marstons and St.
+Pierres in black did not intermarry. If a Marston died, a St. Pierre
+did not sit up with him. And so the division had kept up for years.
+
+It was hardly to be believed then that Uncle Simon Marston, the very
+patriarch of the Marston flock, was visiting over the border. But on
+another Sunday he was seen to go straight to the west plantation.
+
+At her first opportunity Lize accosted him:--
+
+"Look a-hyeah, Brothah Simon, whut's dis I been hyeahin' 'bout you,
+huh?"
+
+"Well, sis' Lize, I reckon you'll have to tell me dat yo' se'f, 'case
+I do' know. Whut you been hyeahin'?"
+
+"Brothah Simon, you's a ol' man, you's ol'."
+
+"Well, sis' Lize, dah was Methusalem."
+
+"I ain' jokin', Brothah Simon, I ain' jokin', I's a talkin' right
+straightfo'wa'd. Yo' conduc' don' look right. Hit ain' becomin' to you
+as de shepherd of a flock."
+
+"But whut I been doin', sistah, whut I been doin'?"
+
+"You know."
+
+"I reckon I do, but I wan' see whethah you does er not."
+
+"You been gwine ovah to de wes' plantation, dat's whut you been doin'.
+You can' 'ny dat, you's been seed!"
+
+"I do' wan' 'ny it. Is dat all?"
+
+"Is dat all!" Lize stood aghast. Then she said slowly and wonderingly,
+"Brothah Simon, is you losin' yo' senses er yo' grace?"
+
+"I ain' losin' one ner 'tothah, but I do' see no ha'm in gwine ovah to
+de wes' plantation."
+
+"You do' see no ha'm in gwine ovah to de wes' plantation! You stan'
+hyeah in sight o' Gawd an' say dat?"
+
+"Don't git so 'cited, sis' Lize, you mus' membah dat dey's souls on de
+wes' plantation, jes' same as dey is on de eas'."
+
+"Yes, an' dey's souls in hell, too," the old woman fired back.
+
+"Cose dey is, but dey's already damned; but dey's souls on de wes'
+plantation to be saved."
+
+"Oomph, uh, uh, uh!" grunted Lize.
+
+"You done called me de shepherd, ain't you, sistah? Well, sayin' I is,
+when dey's little lambs out in de col' an' dey ain' got sense 'nough
+to come in, er dey do' know de way, whut do de shepherd do? Why, he go
+out, an' he hunt up de po' shiverin', bleatin' lambs and brings 'em
+into de fol'. Don't you bothah 'bout de wes' plantation, sis' Lize."
+And Uncle Simon hobbled off down the road with surprising alacrity,
+leaving his interlocutor standing with mouth and eyes wide open.
+
+"Well, I nevah!" she exclaimed when she could get her lips together,
+"I do believe de day of jedgmen' is at han'."
+
+Of course this conversation was duly reported to the master and
+mistress, and called forth some strictures from Mrs. Marston on Lize's
+attempted interference with the old man's good work.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Eliza, that you ought. After the
+estrangement of all this time if Uncle Simon can effect a
+reconciliation between the west and the east plantations, you ought
+not to lay a straw in his way. I am sure there is more of a real
+Christian spirit in that than in shouting and singing for hours, and
+then coming out with your heart full of malice. You need not laugh,
+Mr. Marston, you need not laugh at all. I am very much in earnest, and
+I do hope that Uncle Simon will continue his ministrations on the
+other side. If he wants to, he can have a room built in which to lead
+their worship."
+
+"But you do' want him to leave us altogethah?"
+
+"If you do not care to share your meeting-house with them, they can
+have one of their own."
+
+"But, look hyeah, Missy, dem Lousiany people, dey bad--an' dey hoodoo
+folks, an' dey Cath'lics--"
+
+"Eliza!"
+
+"'Scuse me, Missy, chile, bless yo' hea't, you know I do' mean no ha'm
+to you. But somehow I do' feel right in my hea't 'bout Brothah Simon."
+
+"Never mind, Eliza, it is only evil that needs to be watched, the good
+will take care of itself."
+
+It was not one, nor two, nor three Sundays that Brother Simon was away
+from his congregation, but six passed before he was there again. He
+was seen to be very busy tinkering around during the week, and then
+one Sunday he appeared suddenly in his pulpit. The church nodded and
+smiled a welcome to him. There was no change in him. If anything he
+was more fiery than ever. But, there was a change. Lize, who was
+news-gatherer and carrier extraordinary, bore the tidings to her
+owners. She burst into the big house with the cry of "Whut I tell you!
+Whut I tell you!"
+
+"Well, what now," exclaimed both Mr. and Mrs. Marston.
+
+"Didn' I tell you ol' Simon was up to some'p'n?"
+
+"Out with it," exclaimed her master, "out with it, I knew he was up to
+something, too."
+
+"George, try to remember who you are."
+
+"Brothah Simon come in chu'ch dis mo'nin' an' he 'scended up de
+pulpit--"
+
+"Well, what of that, are you not glad he is back?"
+
+"Hol' on, lemme tell you--he 'scended up de pu'pit, an' 'menced his
+disco'se. Well, he hadn't no sooner got sta'ted when in walked one o'
+dem brazen Lousiany wenches--"
+
+"Eliza!"
+
+"Hol' on, Miss M'ree, she walked in lak she owned de place, an'
+flopped huhse'f down on de front seat."
+
+"Well, what if she did," burst in Mrs. Marston, "she had a right. I
+want you to understand, you and the rest of your kind, that that
+meeting-house is for any of the hands that care to attend it. The
+woman did right. I hope she'll come again."
+
+"I hadn' got done yit, Missy. Jes' ez soon ez de sehmont was ovah,
+whut mus' Brothah Simon, de 'zortah, min' you, whut mus' he do but
+come hoppin' down f'om de pu'pit, an' beau dat wench home! 'Scorted
+huh clah 'crost de plantation befo' evahbody's face. Now whut you call
+dat?"
+
+"I call it politeness, that is what I call it. What are you laughing
+at, Mr. Marston? I have no doubt that the old man was merely trying to
+set an example of courtesy to some of the younger men, or to protect
+the woman from the insults that the other members of the congregation
+would heap upon her. Mr. Marston, I do wish you would keep your face
+serious. There is nothing to laugh at in this matter. A worthy old man
+tries to do a worthy work, his fellow-servants cavil at him, and his
+master, who should encourage him, laughs at him for his pains."
+
+"I assure you, my dear, I'm not laughing at Uncle Simon."
+
+"Then at me, perhaps; that is infinitely better."
+
+"And not at you, either; I'm amused at the situation."
+
+"Well, Manette ca'ied him off dis mo'nin'," resumed Eliza.
+
+"Manette!" exclaimed Mrs. Marston.
+
+"It was Manette he was a beauin'. Evahbody say he likin' huh moughty
+well, an' dat he look at huh all th'oo preachin'."
+
+"Oh my! Manette's one of the nicest girls I brought from St. Pierre. I
+hope--oh, but then she is a young woman, she would not think of being
+foolish over an old man."
+
+"I do' know, Miss M'ree. De ol' men is de wuss kin'. De young oomans
+knows how to tek de young mans, 'case dey de same age, an' dey been
+lu'nin' dey tricks right along wif dem'; but de ol' men, dey got sich
+a long sta't ahaid, dey been lu'nin' so long. Ef I had a darter, I
+wouldn' be afeard to let huh tek keer o' huhse'f wif a young man, but
+ef a ol' man come a cou'tin' huh, I'd keep my own two eyes open."
+
+"Eliza, you're a philosopher," said Mr. Marston. "You're one of the
+few reasoners of your sex."
+
+"It is all nonsense," said his wife. "Why Uncle Simon is old enough to
+be Manette's grandfather."
+
+"Love laughs at years."
+
+"And you laugh at everything."
+
+"That's the difference between love and me, my dear Mrs. Marston."
+
+"Do not pay any attention to your master, Eliza, and do not be so
+suspicious of every one. It is all right. Uncle Simon had Manette
+over, because he thought the service would do her good."
+
+"Yes'm, I 'low she's one o' de young lambs dat he gone out in de col'
+to fotch in. Well, he tek'n' moughty good keer o' dat lamb."
+
+Mrs. Marston was compelled to laugh in spite of herself. But when
+Eliza was gone, she turned to her husband, and said:
+
+"George, dear, do you really think there is anything in it?"
+
+"I thoroughly agree with you, Mrs. Marston, in the opinion that Uncle
+Simon needed rest, and I may add on my own behalf, recreation."
+
+"Pshaw! I do not believe it."
+
+All doubts, however, were soon dispelled. The afternoon sun drove Mr.
+Marston to the back veranda where he was sitting when Uncle Simon
+again approached and greeted him.
+
+"Well, Uncle Simon, I hear that you're back in your pulpit again?"
+
+"Yes, suh, I's done 'sumed my labohs in de Mastah's vineya'd."'
+
+"Have you had a good rest of it?"
+
+"Well, I ain' ezzackly been restin'," said the aged man, scratching
+his head. "I's been pu'su'in' othah 'ployments."
+
+"Oh, yes, but change of work is rest. And how's the rheumatism, now,
+any better?"
+
+"Bettah? Why, Mawse Gawge, I ain' got a smidgeon of hit. I's jes'
+limpin' a leetle bit on 'count o' habit."
+
+"Well, it's good if one can get well, even if his days are nearly
+spent."
+
+"Heish, Mas' Gawge. I ain' t'inkin' 'bout dyin'."
+
+"Aren't you ready yet, in all these years?"
+
+"I hope I's ready, but I hope to be spaihed a good many yeahs yit."
+
+"To do good, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, suh; yes, suh. Fac' is, Mawse Gawge, I jes' hop up to ax you
+some'p'n."
+
+"Well, here I am."
+
+"I want to ax you--I want to ax you--er--er--I want--"
+
+"Oh, speak out. I haven't time to be bothering here all day."
+
+"Well, you know, Mawse Gawge, some o' us ain' nigh ez ol' ez dey
+looks."
+
+"That's true. A person, now, would take you for ninety, and to my
+positive knowledge, you're not more than eighty-five."
+
+"Oh, Lawd. Mastah, do heish."
+
+"I'm not flattering you, that's the truth."
+
+"Well, now, Mawse Gawge, couldn' you mek me' look lak eighty-fo', an'
+be a little youngah?"
+
+"Why, what do you want to be younger for?"
+
+"You see, hit's jes' lak dis, Mawse Gawge. I come up hyeah to ax
+you--I want--dat is--me an' Manette, we wants to git ma'ied."
+
+"Get married!" thundered Marston. "What you, you old scarecrow, with
+one foot in the grave!"
+
+"Heish, Mastah, 'buse me kin' o' low. Don't th'ow yo' words 'roun' so
+keerless."
+
+"This is what you wanted your Sundays off for, to go sparking
+around--you an exhorter, too."
+
+"But I's been missin' my po' ol' wife so much hyeah lately."
+
+"You've been missing her, oh, yes, and so you want to get a woman
+young enough to be your granddaughter to fill her place."
+
+"Well, Mas' Gawge, you know, ef I is ol' an' feeble, ez you say, I
+need a strong young han' to he'p me down de hill, an' ef Manette don'
+min' spa'in' a few mont's er yeahs--"
+
+"That'll do, I'll see what your mistress says. Come back in an hour."
+
+A little touched, and a good deal amused, Marston went to see his
+wife. He kept his face straight as he addressed her. "Mrs. Marston,
+Manette's hand has been proposed for."
+
+"George!"
+
+"The Rev. Simon Marston has this moment come and solemnly laid his
+heart at my feet as proxy for Manette."
+
+"He shall not have her, he shall not have her!" exclaimed the lady,
+rising angrily.
+
+"But remember, Mrs. Marston, it will keep her coming to meeting."
+
+"I do not care; he is an old hypocrite, that is what he is."
+
+"Think, too, of what a noble work he is doing. It brings about a
+reconciliation between the east and west plantations, for which we
+have been hoping for years. You really oughtn't to lay a straw in his
+way."
+
+"He's a sneaking, insidious, old scoundrel."
+
+"Such poor encouragement from his mistress for a worthy old man, who
+only needs rest!"
+
+"George!" cried Mrs. Marston, and she sank down in tears, which turned
+to convulsive laughter as her husband put his arm about her and
+whispered, "He is showing the true Christian spirit. Don't you think
+we'd better call Manette and see if she consents? She is one of his
+lambs, you know."
+
+"Oh, George, George, do as you please. If the horrid girl consents, I
+wash my hands of the whole affair."
+
+"You know these old men have been learning such a long while."
+
+By this time Mrs. Marston was as much amused as her husband. Manette
+was accordingly called and questioned. The information was elicited
+from her that she loved "Brothah Simon" and wished to marry him.
+
+"'Love laughs at age,'" quoted Mr. Marston again when the girl had
+been dismissed. Mrs. Marston was laughingly angry, but speechless for
+a moment. Finally she said: "Well, Manette seems willing, so there is
+nothing for us to do but to consent, although, mind you, I do not
+approve of this foolish marriage, do you hear?"
+
+After a while the old man returned for his verdict. He took it calmly.
+He had expected it. The disparity in the years of him and his
+betrothed did not seem to strike his consciousness at all. He only
+grinned.
+
+"Now look here, Uncle Simon," said his master, "I want you to tell me
+how you, an old, bad-looking, half-dead darky won that likely young
+girl."
+
+The old man closed one eye and smiled.
+
+"Mastah, I don' b'lieve you looks erroun' you," he said. "Now, 'mongst
+white folks, you knows a preachah 'mongst de ladies is mos' nigh
+i'sistible, but 'mongst col'ed dey ain't no pos'ble way to git erroun'
+de gospel man w'en he go ahuntin' fu' anything."
+
+
+
+
+MR. CORNELIUS JOHNSON, OFFICE-SEEKER
+
+
+It was a beautiful day in balmy May and the sun shone pleasantly on
+Mr. Cornelius Johnson's very spruce Prince Albert suit of grey as he
+alighted from the train in Washington. He cast his eyes about him, and
+then gave a sigh of relief and satisfaction as he took his bag from
+the porter and started for the gate. As he went along, he looked with
+splendid complacency upon the less fortunate mortals who were
+streaming out of the day coaches. It was a Pullman sleeper on which he
+had come in. Out on the pavement he hailed a cab, and giving the
+driver the address of a hotel, stepped in and was rolled away. Be it
+said that he had cautiously inquired about the hotel first and found
+that he could be accommodated there.
+
+As he leaned back in the vehicle and allowed his eyes to roam over the
+streets, there was an air of distinct prosperity about him. It was in
+evidence from the tips of his ample patent-leather shoes to the crown
+of the soft felt hat that sat rakishly upon his head. His entrance
+into Washington had been long premeditated, and he had got himself up
+accordingly.
+
+It was not such an imposing structure as he had fondly imagined,
+before which the cab stopped and set Mr. Johnson down. But then he
+reflected that it was about the only house where he could find
+accommodation at all, and he was content. In Alabama one learns to be
+philosophical. It is good to be philosophical in a place where the
+proprietor of a café fumbles vaguely around in the region of his hip
+pocket and insinuates that he doesn't want one's custom. But the
+visitor's ardor was not cooled for all that. He signed the register
+with a flourish, and bestowed a liberal fee upon the shabby boy who
+carried his bag to his room.
+
+"Look here, boy," he said, "I am expecting some callers soon. If they
+come, just send them right up to my room. You take good care of me and
+look sharp when I ring and you'll not lose anything."
+
+Mr. Cornelius Johnson always spoke in a large and important tone. He
+said the simplest thing with an air so impressive as to give it the
+character of a pronouncement. Indeed, his voice naturally was round,
+mellifluous and persuasive. He carried himself always as if he were
+passing under his own triumphal arch. Perhaps, more than anything
+else, it was these qualities of speech and bearing that had made him
+invaluable on the stump in the recent campaign in Alabama. Whatever it
+was that held the secret of his power, the man and principles for
+which he had labored triumphed, and he had come to Washington to reap
+his reward. He had been assured that his services would not be
+forgotten, and it was no intention of his that they should be.
+
+After a while he left his room and went out, returning later with
+several gentlemen from the South and a Washington man. There is some
+freemasonry among these office-seekers in Washington that throws them
+inevitably together. The men with whom he returned were such
+characters as the press would designate as "old wheel-horses" or
+"pillars of the party." They all adjourned to the bar, where they had
+something at their host's expense. Then they repaired to his room,
+whence for the ensuing two hours the bell and the bell-boy were kept
+briskly going.
+
+The gentleman from Alabama was in his glory. His gestures as he held
+forth were those of a gracious and condescending prince. It was his
+first visit to the city, and he said to the Washington man: "I tell
+you, sir, you've got a mighty fine town here. Of course, there's no
+opportunity for anything like local pride, because it's the outsiders,
+or the whole country, rather, that makes it what it is, but that's
+nothing. It's a fine town, and I'm right sorry that I can't stay
+longer."
+
+"How long do you expect to be with us, Professor?" inquired Col.
+Mason, the horse who had bent his force to the party wheel in the
+Georgia ruts.
+
+"Oh, about ten days, I reckon, at the furthest. I want to spend some
+time sight-seeing. I'll drop in on the Congressman from my district
+to-morrow, and call a little later on the President."
+
+"Uh, huh!" said Col. Mason. He had been in the city for some time.
+
+"Yes, sir, I want to get through with my little matter and get back
+home. I'm not asking for much, and I don't anticipate any trouble in
+securing what I desire. You see, it's just like this, there's no way
+for them to refuse us. And if any one deserves the good things at the
+hands of the administration, who more than we old campaigners, who
+have been helping the party through its fights from the time that we
+had our first votes?"
+
+"Who, indeed?" said the Washington man.
+
+"I tell you, gentlemen, the administration is no fool. It knows that
+we hold the colored vote down there in our vest pockets and it ain't
+going to turn us down."
+
+"No, of course not, but sometimes there are delays--"
+
+"Delays, to be sure, where a man doesn't know how to go about the
+matter. The thing to do, is to go right to the centre of authority at
+once. Don't you see?"
+
+"Certainly, certainly," chorused the other gentlemen.
+
+Before going, the Washington man suggested that the newcomer join them
+that evening and see something of society at the capital. "You know,"
+he said, "that outside of New Orleans, Washington is the only town in
+the country that has any colored society to speak of, and I feel that
+you distinguished men from different sections of the country owe it to
+our people that they should be allowed to see you. It would be an
+inspiration to them."
+
+So the matter was settled, and promptly at 8:30 o'clock Mr. Cornelius
+Johnson joined his friends at the door of his hotel. The grey Prince
+Albert was scrupulously buttoned about his form, and a shiny top hat
+replaced the felt of the afternoon. Thus clad, he went forth into
+society, where he need be followed only long enough to note the
+magnificence of his manners and the enthusiasm of his reception when
+he was introduced as Prof. Cornelius Johnson, of Alabama, in a tone
+which insinuated that he was the only really great man his state had
+produced.
+
+It might also be stated as an effect of this excursion into Vanity
+Fair, that when he woke the next morning he was in some doubt as to
+whether he should visit his Congressman or send for that individual to
+call upon him. He had felt the subtle flattery of attention from that
+section of colored society which imitates--only imitates, it is true,
+but better than any other, copies--the kindnesses and cruelties, the
+niceties and deceits, of its white prototype. And for the time, like a
+man in a fog, he had lost his sense of proportion and perspective. But
+habit finally triumphed, and he called upon the Congressman, only to
+be met by an under-secretary who told him that his superior was too
+busy to see him that morning.
+
+"But--"
+
+"Too busy," repeated the secretary.
+
+Mr. Johnson drew himself up and said: "Tell Congressman Barker that
+Mr. Johnson, Mr. Cornelius Johnson, of Alabama, desires to see him. I
+think he will see me."
+
+"Well, I can take your message," said the clerk, doggedly, "but I tell
+you now it won't do you any good. He won't see any one."
+
+But, in a few moments an inner door opened, and the young man came out
+followed by the desired one. Mr. Johnson couldn't resist the
+temptation to let his eyes rest on the underling in a momentary glance
+of triumph as Congressman Barker hurried up to him, saying: "Why, why,
+Cornelius, how'do? how'do? Ah, you came about that little matter,
+didn't you? Well, well, I haven't forgotten you; I haven't forgotten
+you."
+
+The colored man opened his mouth to speak, but the other checked him
+and went on: "I'm sorry, but I'm in a great hurry now. I'm compelled
+to leave town to-day, much against my will, but I shall be back in a
+week; come around and see me then. Always glad to see you, you know.
+Sorry I'm so busy now; good-morning, good-morning."
+
+Mr. Johnson allowed himself to be guided politely, but decidedly, to
+the door. The triumph died out of his face as the reluctant
+good-morning fell from his lips. As he walked away, he tried to look
+upon the matter philosophically. He tried to reason with himself--to
+prove to his own consciousness that the Congressman was very busy and
+could not give the time that morning. He wanted to make himself
+believe that he had not been slighted or treated with scant ceremony.
+But, try as he would, he continued to feel an obstinate, nasty sting
+that would not let him rest, nor forget his reception. His pride was
+hurt. The thought came to him to go at once to the President, but he
+had experience enough to know that such a visit would be vain until he
+had seen the dispenser of patronage for his district. Thus, there was
+nothing for him to do but to wait the necessary week. A whole week!
+His brow knitted as he thought of it.
+
+In the course of these cogitations, his walk brought him to his hotel,
+where he found his friends of the night before awaiting him. He tried
+to put on a cheerful face. But his disappointment and humiliation
+showed through his smile, as the hollows and bones through the skin of
+a cadaver.
+
+"Well, what luck?" asked Col. Mason, cheerfully.
+
+"Are we to congratulate you?" put in Mr. Perry.
+
+"Not yet, not yet, gentlemen. I have not seen the President yet. The
+fact is--ahem--my Congressman is out of town."
+
+He was not used to evasions of this kind, and he stammered slightly
+and his yellow face turned brick-red with shame.
+
+"It is most annoying," he went on, "most annoying. Mr. Barker won't be
+back for a week, and I don't want to call on the President until I
+have had a talk with him."
+
+"Certainly not," said Col. Mason, blandly. "There will be delays."
+This was not his first pilgrimage to Mecca.
+
+Mr. Johnson looked at him gratefully. "Oh, yes; of course, delays," he
+assented; "most natural. Have something."
+
+At the end of the appointed time, the office-seeker went again to see
+the Congressman. This time he was admitted without question, and got
+the chance to state his wants. But somehow, there seemed to be
+innumerable obstacles in the way. There were certain other men whose
+wishes had to be consulted; the leader of one of the party factions,
+who, for the sake of harmony, had to be appeased. Of course, Mr.
+Johnson's worth was fully recognized, and he would be rewarded
+according to his deserts. His interests would be looked after. He
+should drop in again in a day or two. It took time, of course, it took
+time.
+
+Mr. Johnson left the office unnerved by his disappointment. He had
+thought it would be easy to come up to Washington, claim and get what
+he wanted, and, after a glance at the town, hurry back to his home and
+his honors. It had all seemed so easy--before election; but now--
+
+A vague doubt began to creep into his mind that turned him sick at
+heart. He knew how they had treated Davis, of Louisiana. He had heard
+how they had once kept Brotherton, of Texas--a man who had spent all
+his life in the service of his party--waiting clear through a whole
+administration, at the end of which the opposite party had come into
+power. All the stories of disappointment and disaster that he had ever
+heard came back to him, and he began to wonder if some one of these
+things was going to happen to him.
+
+Every other day for the next two weeks, he called upon Barker, but
+always with the same result. Nothing was clear yet, until one day the
+bland legislator told him that considerations of expediency had
+compelled them to give the place he was asking for to another man.
+
+"But what am I to do?" asked the helpless man.
+
+"Oh, you just bide your time. I'll look out for you. Never fear."
+
+Until now, Johnson had ignored the gentle hints of his friend, Col.
+Mason, about a boarding-house being more convenient than a hotel. Now,
+he asked him if there was a room vacant where he was staying, and
+finding that there was, he had his things moved thither at once. He
+felt the change keenly, and although no one really paid any attention
+to it, he believed that all Washington must have seen it, and hailed
+it as the first step in his degradation.
+
+For a while the two together made occasional excursions to a
+glittering palace down the street, but when the money had grown lower
+and lower Col. Mason had the knack of bringing "a little something" to
+their rooms without a loss of dignity. In fact, it was in these hours
+with the old man, over a pipe and a bit of something, that Johnson was
+most nearly cheerful. Hitch after hitch had occurred in his plans, and
+day after day he had come home unsuccessful and discouraged. The
+crowning disappointment, though, came when, after a long session that
+lasted even up into the hot days of summer, Congress adjourned and his
+one hope went away. Johnson saw him just before his departure, and
+listened ruefully as he said: "I tell you, Cornelius, now, you'd
+better go on home, get back to your business and come again next year.
+The clouds of battle will be somewhat dispelled by then and we can see
+clearer what to do. It was too early this year. We were too near the
+fight still, and there were party wounds to be bound up and little
+factional sores that had to be healed. But next year, Cornelius, next
+year we'll see what we can do for you."
+
+His constituent did not tell him that even if his pride would let him
+go back home a disappointed applicant, he had not the means wherewith
+to go. He did not tell him that he was trying to keep up appearances
+and hide the truth from his wife, who, with their two children, waited
+and hoped for him at home.
+
+When he went home that night, Col. Mason saw instantly that things had
+gone wrong with him. But here the tact and delicacy of the old
+politician came uppermost and, without trying to draw his story from
+him--for he already divined the situation too well--he sat for a long
+time telling the younger man stories of the ups and downs of men whom
+he had known in his long and active life.
+
+They were stories of hardship, deprivation and discouragement. But the
+old man told them ever with the touch of cheeriness and the note of
+humor that took away the ghastly hopelessness of some of the pictures.
+He told them with such feeling and sympathy that Johnson was moved to
+frankness and told him his own pitiful tale.
+
+Now that he had some one to whom he could open his heart, Johnson
+himself was no less willing to look the matter in the face, and even
+during the long summer days, when he had begun to live upon his
+wardrobe, piece by piece, he still kept up; although some of his
+pomposity went, along with the Prince Albert coat and the shiny hat.
+He now wore a shiny coat, and less showy head-gear. For a couple of
+weeks, too, he disappeared, and as he returned with some money, it was
+fair to presume that he had been at work somewhere, but he could not
+stay away from the city long.
+
+It was nearing the middle of autumn when Col. Mason came home to their
+rooms one day to find his colleague more disheartened and depressed
+than he had ever seen him before. He was lying with his head upon his
+folded arm, and when he looked up there were traces of tears upon his
+face.
+
+"Why, why, what's the matter now?" asked the old man. "No bad news, I
+hope."
+
+"Nothing worse than I should have expected," was the choking answer.
+"It's a letter from my wife. She's sick and one of the babies is down,
+but"--his voice broke--"she tells me to stay and fight it out. My God,
+Mason, I could stand it if she whined or accused me or begged me to
+come home, but her patient, long-suffering bravery breaks me all up."
+
+Col. Mason stood up and folded his arms across his big chest. "She's a
+brave little woman," he said, gravely. "I wish her husband was as
+brave a man." Johnson raised his head and arms from the table where
+they were sprawled, as the old man went on: "The hard conditions of
+life in our race have taught our women a patience and fortitude which
+the women of no other race have ever displayed. They have taught the
+men less, and I am sorry, very sorry. The thing, that as much as
+anything else, made the blacks such excellent soldiers in the civil
+war was their patient endurance of hardship. The softer education of
+more prosperous days seems to have weakened this quality. The man who
+quails or weakens in this fight of ours against adverse circumstances
+would have quailed before--no, he would have run from an enemy on the
+field."
+
+"Why, Mason, your mood inspires me. I feel as if I could go forth to
+battle cheerfully." For the moment, Johnson's old pomposity had
+returned to him, but in the next, a wave of despondency bore it down.
+"But that's just it; a body feels as if he could fight if he only had
+something to fight. But here you strike out and hit--nothing. It's
+only a contest with time. It's waiting--waiting--waiting!"
+
+"In this case, waiting is fighting."
+
+"Well, even that granted, it matters not how grand his cause, the
+soldier needs his rations."
+
+"Forage," shot forth the answer like a command.
+
+"Ah, Mason, that's well enough in good country; but the army of
+office-seekers has devastated Washington. It has left a track as bare
+as lay behind Sherman's troopers." Johnson rose more cheerfully. "I'm
+going to the telegraph office," he said as he went out.
+
+A few days after this, he was again in the best of spirits, for there
+was money in his pocket.
+
+"What have you been doing?" asked Mr. Toliver.
+
+His friend laughed like a boy. "Something very imprudent, I'm sure you
+will say. I've mortgaged my little place down home. It did not bring
+much, but I had to have money for the wife and the children, and to
+keep me until Congress assembles; then I believe that everything will
+be all right."
+
+Col. Mason's brow clouded and he sighed.
+
+On the reassembling of the two Houses, Congressman Barker was one of
+the first men in his seat. Mr. Cornelius Johnson went to see him soon.
+
+"What, you here already, Cornelius?" asked the legislator.
+
+"I haven't been away," was the answer.
+
+"Well, you've got the hang-on, and that's what an officer-seeker
+needs. Well, I'll attend to your matter among the very first. I'll
+visit the President in a day or two."
+
+The listener's heart throbbed hard. After all his waiting, triumph was
+his at last.
+
+He went home walking on air, and Col. Mason rejoiced with him. In a
+few days came word from Barker: "Your appointment was sent in to-day.
+I'll rush it through on the other side. Come up to-morrow afternoon."
+
+Cornelius and Mr. Toliver hugged each other.
+
+"It came just in time," said the younger man; "the last of my money
+was about gone, and I should have had to begin paying off that
+mortgage with no prospect of ever doing it."
+
+The two had suffered together, and it was fitting that they should be
+together to receive the news of the long-desired happiness; so arm in
+arm they sauntered down to the Congressman's office about five
+o'clock the next afternoon. In honor of the occasion, Mr. Johnson had
+spent his last dollar in redeeming the grey Prince Albert and the
+shiny hat. A smile flashed across Barker's face as he noted the
+change.
+
+"Well, Cornelius," he said, "I'm glad to see you still
+prosperous-looking, for there were some alleged irregularities in your
+methods down in Alabama, and the Senate has refused to confirm you. I
+did all I could for you, but--"
+
+The rest of the sentence was lost, as Col. Mason's arms received his
+friend's fainting form.
+
+"Poor devil!" said the Congressman. "I should have broken it more
+gently."
+
+Somehow Col. Mason got him home and to bed, where for nine weeks he
+lay wasting under a complete nervous give-down. The little wife and
+the children came up to nurse him, and the woman's ready industry
+helped him to such creature comforts as his sickness demanded. Never
+once did she murmur; never once did her faith in him waver. And when
+he was well enough to be moved back, it was money that she had earned,
+increased by what Col. Mason, in his generosity of spirit, took from
+his own narrow means, that paid their second-class fare back to the
+South.
+
+During the fever-fits of his illness, the wasted politician first
+begged piteously that they would not send him home unplaced, and then
+he would break out in the most extravagant and pompous boasts about
+his position, his Congressman and his influence. When he came to
+himself, he was silent, morose, and bitter. Only once did he melt. It
+was when he held Col. Mason's hand and bade him good-bye. Then the
+tears came into his eyes, and what he would have said was lost among
+his broken words.
+
+As he stood upon the platform of the car as it moved out, and gazed at
+the white dome and feathery spires of the city, growing into grey
+indefiniteness, he ground his teeth, and raising his spent hand, shook
+it at the receding view. "Damn you! damn you!" he cried. "Damn your
+deceit, your fair cruelties; damn you, you hard, white liar!"
+
+
+
+
+AN OLD-TIME CHRISTMAS
+
+
+When the holidays came round the thoughts of 'Liza Ann Lewis always
+turned to the good times that she used to have at home when, following
+the precedent of anti-bellum days, Christmas lasted all the week and
+good cheer held sway. She remembered with regret the gifts that were
+given, the songs that were sung to the tinkling of the banjo and the
+dances with which they beguiled the night hours. And the eating! Could
+she forget it? The great turkey, with the fat literally bursting from
+him; the yellow yam melting into deliciousness in the mouth; or in
+some more fortunate season, even the juicy 'possum grinning in brown
+and greasy death from the great platter.
+
+In the ten years she had lived in New York, she had known no such
+feast-day. Food was strangely dear in the Metropolis, and then there
+was always the weekly rental of the poor room to be paid. But she had
+kept the memory of the old times green in her heart, and ever turned
+to it with the fondness of one for something irretrievably lost.
+
+That is how Jimmy came to know about it. Jimmy was thirteen and small
+for his age, and he could not remember any such times as his mother
+told him about. Although he said with great pride to his partner and
+rival, Blinky Scott, "Chee, Blink, you ought to hear my ol' lady talk
+about de times dey have down w'ere we come from at Christmas; N'Yoick
+ain't in it wid dem, you kin jist bet." And Blinky, who was a New
+Yorker clear through with a New Yorker's contempt for anything outside
+of the city, had promptly replied with a downward spreading of his
+right hand, "Aw fu'git it!"
+
+Jimmy felt a little crest-fallen for a minute, but he lifted himself
+in his own estimation by threatening to "do" Blinky and the cloud
+rolled by.
+
+'Liza Ann knew that Jimmy couldn't ever understand what she meant by
+an old-time Christmas unless she could show him by some faint approach
+to its merrymaking, and it had been the dream of her life to do this.
+But every year she had failed, until now she was a little ahead.
+
+Her plan was too good to keep, and when Jimmy went out that Christmas
+eve morning to sell his papers, she had disclosed it to him and bade
+him hurry home as soon as he was done, for they were to have a real
+old-time Christmas.
+
+Jimmy exhibited as much pleasure as he deemed consistent with his
+dignity and promised to be back early to add his earnings to the fund
+for celebration.
+
+When he was gone, 'Liza Ann counted over her savings lovingly and
+dreamed of what she would buy her boy, and what she would have for
+dinner on the next day. Then a voice, a colored man's voice, she knew,
+floated up to her. Some one in the alley below her window was singing
+"The Old Folks at Home."
+
+    "All up an' down the whole creation,
+              Sadly I roam,
+    Still longing for the old plantation,
+      An' for the old folks at home."
+
+She leaned out of the window and listened and when the song had ceased
+and she drew her head in again, there were tears in her eyes--the
+tears of memory and longing. But she crushed them away, and laughed
+tremulously to herself as she said, "What a reg'lar ol' fool I'm
+a-gittin' to be." Then she went out into the cold, snow-covered
+streets, for she had work to do that day that would add a mite to her
+little Christmas store.
+
+Down in the street, Jimmy was calling out the morning papers and
+racing with Blinky Scott for prospective customers; these were only
+transients, of course, for each had his regular buyers whose
+preferences were scrupulously respected by both in agreement with a
+strange silent compact.
+
+The electric cars went clanging to and fro, the streets were full of
+shoppers with bundles and bunches of holly, and all the sights and
+sounds were pregnant with the message of the joyous time. People were
+full of the holiday spirit. The papers were going fast, and the little
+colored boy's pockets were filling with the desired coins. It would
+have been all right with Jimmy if the policeman hadn't come up on him
+just as he was about to toss the "bones," and when Blinky Scott had
+him "faded" to the amount of five hard-earned pennies.
+
+Well, they were trying to suppress youthful gambling in New York, and
+the officer had to do his duty. The others scuttled away, but Jimmy
+was so absorbed in the game that he didn't see the "cop" until he was
+right on him, so he was "pinched." He blubbered a little and wiped his
+grimy face with his grimier sleeve until it was one long, brown smear.
+You know this was Jimmy's first time.
+
+The big blue-coat looked a little bit ashamed as he marched him down
+the street, followed at a distance by a few hooting boys. Some of the
+holiday shoppers turned to look at them as they passed and murmured,
+"Poor little chap; I wonder what he's been up to now." Others said
+sarcastically, "It seems strange that 'copper' didn't call for help."
+A few of his brother officers grinned at him as he passed, and he
+blushed, but the dignity of the law must be upheld and the crime of
+gambling among the newsboys was a growing evil.
+
+Yes, the dignity of the law must be upheld, and though Jimmy was only
+a small boy, it would be well to make an example of him. So his name
+and age were put down on the blotter, and over against them the
+offence with which he was charged. Then he was locked up to await
+trial the next morning.
+
+"It's shameful," the bearded sergeant said, "how the kids are carryin'
+on these days. People are feelin' pretty generous, an' they'll toss
+'em a nickel er a dime fur their paper an' tell 'em to keep the change
+fur Christmas, an' foist thing you know the little beggars are
+shootin' craps er pitchin' pennies. We've got to make an example of
+some of 'em."
+
+'Liza Ann Lewis was tearing through her work that day to get home and
+do her Christmas shopping, and she was singing as she worked some such
+old song as she used to sing in the good old days back home. She
+reached her room late and tired, but happy. Visions of a "wakening up"
+time for her and Jimmy were in her mind. But Jimmy wasn't there.
+
+"I wunner whah that little scamp is," she said, smiling; "I tol' him
+to hu'y home, but I reckon he's stayin' out latah wid de evenin'
+papahs so's to bring home mo' money."
+
+Hour after hour passed and he did not come; then she grew alarmed. At
+two o'clock in the morning she could stand it no longer and she went
+over and awakened Blinky Scott, much to that young gentleman's
+disgust, who couldn't see why any woman need make such a fuss about a
+kid. He told her laconically that "Chimmie was pinched fur t'rowin' de
+bones."
+
+She heard with a sinking heart and went home to her own room to walk
+the floor all night and sob.
+
+In the morning, with all her Christmas savings tied up in a
+handkerchief, she hurried down to Jefferson Market court room. There
+was a full blotter that morning, and the Judge was rushing through
+with it. He wanted to get home to his Christmas dinner. But he paused
+long enough when he got to Jimmy's case to deliver a brief but stern
+lecture upon the evil of child-gambling in New York. He said that as
+it was Christmas Day he would like to release the prisoner with a
+reprimand, but he thought that this had been done too often and that
+it was high time to make an example of one of the offenders.
+
+Well, it was fine or imprisonment. 'Liza Ann struggled up through the
+crowd of spectators and her Christmas treasure added to what Jimmy
+had, paid his fine and they went out of the court room together.
+
+When they were in their room again she put the boy to bed, for there
+was no fire and no coal to make one. Then she wrapped herself in a
+shabby shawl and sat huddled up over the empty stove.
+
+Down in the alley she heard the voice of the day before singing:
+
+    "Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary,
+      Far from the old folks at home."
+
+And she burst into tears.
+
+
+
+
+A MESS OF POTTAGE
+
+
+It was because the Democratic candidate for Governor was such an
+energetic man that he had been able to stir Little Africa, which was a
+Republican stronghold, from centre to circumference. He was a man who
+believed in carrying the war into the enemy's country. Instead of
+giving them a chance to attack him, he went directly into their camp,
+leaving discontent and disaffection among their allies. He believed in
+his principles. He had faith in his policy for the government of the
+State, and, more than all, he had a convincing way of making others
+see as he saw.
+
+No other Democrat had ever thought it necessary to assail the
+stronghold of Little Africa. He had merely put it into his forecast as
+"solidly against," sent a little money to be distributed desultorily
+in the district, and then left it to go its way, never doubting what
+that way would be. The opposing candidates never felt that the place
+was worthy of consideration, for as the Chairman of the Central
+Committee said, holding up his hand with the fingers close together:
+"What's the use of wasting any speakers down there? We've got 'em just
+like that."
+
+It was all very different with Mr. Lane.
+
+"Gentlemen," he said to the campaign managers, "that black district
+must not be ignored. Those people go one way because they are never
+invited to go another."
+
+"Oh, I tell you now, Lane," said his closest friend, "it'll be a waste
+of material to send anybody down there. They simply go like a flock of
+sheep, and nothing is going to turn them."
+
+"What's the matter with the bellwether?" said Lane sententiously.
+
+"That's just exactly what _is_ the matter. Their bellwether is an old
+deacon named Isham Swift, and you couldn't turn him with a
+forty-horsepower crank."
+
+"There's nothing like trying."
+
+"There are many things very similar to failing, but none so bad."
+
+"I'm willing to take the risk."
+
+"Well, all right; but whom will you send? We can't waste a good man."
+
+"I'll go myself."
+
+"What, you?"
+
+"Yes, I."
+
+"Why, you'd be the laughing-stock of the State."
+
+"All right; put me down for that office if I never reach the
+gubernatorial chair."
+
+"Say, Lane, what was the name of that Spanish fellow who went out to
+fight windmills, and all that sort of thing?"
+
+"Never mind, Widner; you may be a good political hustler, but you're
+dead bad on your classics," said Lane laughingly.
+
+So they put him down for a speech in Little Africa, because he himself
+desired it.
+
+Widner had not lied to him about Deacon Swift, as he found when he
+tried to get the old man to preside at the meeting. The Deacon refused
+with indignation at the very idea. But others were more acquiescent,
+and Mount Moriah church was hired at a rental that made the Rev.
+Ebenezer Clay and all his Trustees rub their hands with glee and think
+well of the candidate. Also they looked at their shiny coats and
+thought of new suits.
+
+There was much indignation expressed that Mount Moriah should have
+lent herself to such a cause, and there were murmurs even among the
+congregation where the Rev. Ebenezer Clay was usually an unquestioned
+autocrat. But, because Eve was the mother of all of us and the thing
+was so new, there was a great crowd on the night of the meeting. The
+Rev. Ebenezer Clay presided. Lane had said, "If I can't get the
+bellwether to jump the way I want, I'll transfer the bell." This he
+had tried to do. The effort was very like him.
+
+The Rev. Mr. Clay, looking down into more frowning faces than he cared
+to see, spoke more boldly than he felt. He told his people that though
+they had their own opinions and ideas, it was well to hear both sides.
+He said, "The brothah," meaning the candidate, "had a few thoughts to
+pussent," and he hoped they'd listen to him quietly. Then he added
+subtly: "Of co'se Brothah Lane knows we colo'ed folks 're goin' to
+think our own way, anyhow."
+
+The people laughed and applauded, and Lane went to his work. They were
+quiet and attentive. Every now and then some old brother grunted and
+shook his head. But in the main they merely listened.
+
+Lane was pleasing, plausible and convincing, and the brass band which
+he had brought with him was especially effective. The audience left
+the church shaking their heads with a different meaning, and all the
+way home there were remarks such as, "He sholy tol' de truth," "Dat
+man was right," "They ain't no way to 'ny a word he said."
+
+Just at that particular moment it looked very dark for the other
+candidate, especially as the brass band lingered around an hour or so
+and discoursed sweet music in the streets where the negroes most did
+congregate.
+
+Twenty years ago such a thing could not have happened, but the ties
+which had bound the older generation irrevocably to one party were
+being loosed upon the younger men. The old men said "We know;" the
+young ones said "We have heard," and so there was hardly anything of
+the blind allegiance which had made even free thought seem treason to
+their fathers.
+
+Now all of this was the reason of the great indignation that was rife
+in the breasts of other Little Africans and which culminated in a mass
+meeting called by Deacon Isham Swift and held at Bethel Chapel a few
+nights later. For two or three days before this congregation of the
+opposing elements there were ominous mutterings. On the streets
+little knots of negroes stood and told of the terrible thing that had
+taken place at Mount Moriah. Shoulders were grasped, heads were wagged
+and awful things prophesied as the result of this compromise with the
+general enemy. No one was louder in his denunciation of the
+treacherous course of the Rev. Ebenezer Clay than the Republican
+bellwether, Deacon Swift. He saw in it signs of the break-up of racial
+integrity and he bemoaned the tendency loud and long. His son Tom did
+not tell him that he had gone to the meeting himself and had been one
+of those to come out shaking his head in acquiescent doubt at the
+truths he had heard. But he went, as in duty bound, to his father's
+meeting.
+
+The church was one thronging mass of colored citizens. On the
+platform, from which the pulpit had been removed, sat Deacon Swift and
+his followers. On each side of him were banners bearing glowing
+inscriptions. One of the banners which the schoolmistress had prepared
+read:
+
+     "His temples are our forts and towers which frown upon a tyrant
+     foe."
+
+The schoolmistress taught in a mixed school. They had mixed it by
+giving her a room in a white school where she had only colored pupils.
+Therefore she was loyal to her party, and was known as a woman of
+public spirit.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The meeting was an enthusiastic one, but no such demonstration was
+shown through it all as when old Deacon Swift himself arose to address
+the assembly. He put Moses Jackson in the chair, and then as he walked
+forward to the front of the platform a great, white-haired, rugged,
+black figure, he was heroic in his very crudeness. He wore a long, old
+Prince Albert coat, which swept carelessly about his thin legs. His
+turndown collar was disputing territory with his tie and his
+waistcoat. His head was down, and he glanced out of the lower part of
+his eyes over the congregation, while his hands fumbled at the sides
+of his trousers in an embarrassment which may have been pretended or
+otherwise.
+
+"Mistah Cheerman," he said, "fu' myse'f, I ain't no speakah. I ain't
+nevah been riz up dat way. I has plowed an' I has sowed, an' latah on
+I has laid cyahpets, an' I has whitewashed. But, ladies an' gent'men,
+I is a man, an' as a man I want to speak to you ter-night. We is lak a
+flock o' sheep, an' in de las' week de wolf has come among ouah
+midst. On evah side we has hyeahd de shephe'd dogs a-ba'kin' a-wa'nin'
+unto us. But, my f'en's, de cotton o' p'ospe'ity has been stuck in
+ouah eahs. Fu' thirty yeahs er mo', ef I do not disremember, we has
+walked de streets an' de by-ways o' dis country an' called ouahse'ves
+f'eemen. Away back yander, in de days of old, lak de chillen of Is'ul
+in Egypt, a deliv'ah came unto us, an Ab'aham Lincoln a-lifted de yoke
+f'om ouah shouldahs." The audience waked up and began swaying, and
+there was moaning heard from both Amen corners.
+
+"But, my f'en's, I want to ax you, who was behind Ab'aham Lincoln? Who
+was it helt up dat man's han's when dey sent bayonets an' buttons to
+enfo'ce his word--umph? I want to--to know who was behin' him? Wasn'
+it de 'Publican pa'ty?" There were cries of "Yes, yes! dat's so!" One
+old sister rose and waved her sunbonnet.
+
+"An' now I want to know in dis hyeah day o' comin' up ef we a-gwineter
+'sert de ol' flag which waved ovah Lincoln, waved ovah Gin'r'l Butler,
+an' led us up straight to f'eedom? Ladies an' gent'men, an' my f'en's,
+I know dar have been suttain meetin's held lately in dis pa't o' de
+town. I know dar have been suttain cannerdates which have come down
+hyeah an' brung us de mixed wine o' Babylon. I know dar have been dem
+o' ouah own people who have drunk an' become drunk--ah! But I want to
+know, an' I want to ax you ter-night as my f'en's an' my brothahs, is
+we all a-gwineter do it--huh? Is we all a-gwineter drink o' dat wine?
+Is we all a-gwineter reel down de perlitical street, a-staggerin' to
+an' fro?--hum!"
+
+Cries of "No! No! No!" shook the whole church.
+
+"Gent'men an' ladies," said the old man, lowering his voice, "de
+pa'able has been 'peated, an' some o' us--I ain't mentionin' no names,
+an' I ain't a-blamin' no chu'ch--but I say dar is some o' us dat has
+sol' dere buthrights fu' a pot o' cabbage."
+
+What more Deacon Swift said is hardly worth the telling, for the whole
+church was in confusion and little more was heard. But he carried
+everything with him, and Lane's work seemed all undone. On a back seat
+of the church Tom Swift, the son of the presiding officer, sat and
+smiled at his father unmoved, because he had gone as far as the sixth
+grade in school, and thought he knew more.
+
+As the reporters say, the meeting came to a close amid great
+enthusiasm.
+
+The day of election came and Little Africa gathered as usual about the
+polls in the precinct. The Republicans followed their plan of not
+bothering about the district. They had heard of the Deacon's meeting,
+and chuckled to themselves in their committee-room. Little Africa was
+all solid, as usual, but Lane was not done yet. His emissaries were
+about, as thick as insurance agents, and they, as well as the
+Republican workers, had money to spare and to spend. Some votes, which
+counted only for numbers, were fifty cents apiece, but when Tom Swift
+came down they knew who he was and what his influence could do. They
+gave him five dollars, and Lane had one more vote and a deal of
+prestige. The young man thought he was voting for his convictions.
+
+He had just cast his ballot, and the crowd was murmuring around him
+still at the wonder of it--for the Australian ballot has tongues as
+well as ears--when his father came up, with two or three of his old
+friends, each with the old ticket in his hands. He heard the rumor
+and laughed. Then he came up to Tom.
+
+"Huh," he said, "dey been sayin' 'roun' hyeah you voted de Democratic
+ticket. Go mek 'em out a lie."
+
+"I did vote the Democratic ticket," said Tom steadily.
+
+The old man fell back a step and gasped, as if he had been struck.
+
+"You did?" he cried. "You did?"
+
+"Yes," said Tom, visibly shaken; "every man has a right--"
+
+"Evah man has a right to what?" cried the old man.
+
+"To vote as he thinks he ought to," was his son's reply.
+
+Deacon Swift's eyes were bulging and reddening.
+
+"You--you tell me dat?" His slender form towered above his son's, and
+his knotted, toil-hardened hands opened and closed.
+
+"You tell me dat? You with yo' bringin' up vote de way you think
+you're right? You lie! Tell me what dey paid you, or, befo' de Lawd,
+I'll taih you to pieces right hyeah!"
+
+Tom wavered. He was weaker than his father. He had not gone through
+the same things, and was not made of the same stuff.
+
+"They--they give me five dollahs," he said; "but it wa'n't fu'
+votin'."
+
+"Fi' dollahs! fi' dollahs! My son sell hisse'f fu' fi' dollahs! an'
+forty yeahs ago I brung fifteen hun'erd, an' dat was only my body, but
+you sell body an' soul fu' fi' dollahs!"
+
+Horror and scorn and grief and anger were in the old man's tone. Tears
+trickled down his wrinkled face, but there was no weakness in the grip
+with which he took hold of his son's arms.
+
+"Tek it back to 'em!" he said. "Tek it back to 'em."
+
+"But, pap--"
+
+"Tek it back to 'em, I say, or yo' blood be on yo' own haid!"
+
+And then, shamefaced before the crowd, driven by his father's anger,
+he went back to the man who had paid him and yielded up the precious
+bank-note. Then they turned, the one head-hung, the other proud in his
+very indignation, and made their way homeward.
+
+There was prayer-meeting the next Wednesday night at Bethel Chapel. It
+was nearly over and the minister was about to announce the Doxology,
+when old Deacon Swift arose.
+
+"Des' a minute, brothahs," he said. "I want to mek a 'fession. I was
+too ha'd an' too brash in my talk de othah night, an' de Lawd visited
+my sins upon my haid. He struck me in de bosom o' my own fambly. My
+own son went wrong. Pray fu' me!"
+
+
+
+
+THE TRUSTFULNESS OF POLLY
+
+
+Polly Jackson was a model woman. She was practical and hard-working.
+She knew the value of a dollar, could make one and keep one,
+sometimes--fate permitting. Fate was usually Sam and Sam was Polly's
+husband. Any morning at six o'clock she might be seen, basket on arm,
+wending her way to the homes of her wealthy patrons for the purpose of
+bringing in their washing, for by this means did she gain her
+livelihood. She had been a person of hard common sense, which suffered
+its greatest lapse when she allied herself with the man whose name she
+bore. After that the lapses were more frequent.
+
+How she could ever have done so no one on earth could tell. Sam was
+her exact opposite. He was an easy-going, happy-go-lucky individual,
+who worked only when occasion demanded and inclination and the weather
+permitted. The weather was usually more acquiescent than inclination.
+He was sanguine of temperament, highly imaginative and a dreamer of
+dreams. Indeed, he just missed being a poet. A man who dreams takes
+either to poetry or policy. Not being able quite to reach the former,
+Sam had declined upon the latter, and, instead of meter, feet and
+rhyme, his mind was taken up with "hosses," "gigs" and "straddles."
+
+He was always "jes' behin' dem policy sha'ks, an' I'll be boun',
+Polly, but I gwine to ketch 'em dis time."
+
+Polly heard this and saw the same result so often that even her
+stalwart faith began to turn into doubt. But Sam continued to reassure
+her and promise that some day luck would change. "An' when hit do
+change," he would add, impressively, "it's gwine change fu' sho', an'
+we'll have one wakenin' up time. Den I bet you'll git dat silk dress
+you been wantin' so long."
+
+Polly did have ambitions in the direction of some such finery, and
+this plea always melted her. Trust was restored again, and Hope
+resumed her accustomed place.
+
+It was, however, not through the successful culmination of any of
+Sam's policy manipulations that the opportunity at last came to Polly
+to realize her ambitions. A lady for whom she worked had a
+second-hand silk dress, which she was willing to sell cheap. Another
+woman had spoken for it, but if Polly could get the money in three
+weeks she would let her have it for seven dollars.
+
+To say that the companion of Sam Jackson jumped at the offer hardly
+indicates the attitude of eagerness with which she received the
+proposition.
+
+"Yas'm, I kin sholy git dat much money together in th'ee weeks de way
+I's a-wo'kin'."
+
+"Well, now, Polly, be sure; for if you are not prompt I shall have to
+dispose of it where it was first promised," was the admonition.
+
+"Oh, you kin 'pend on me, Mis' Mo'ton; fu' when I sets out to save
+money I kin save, I tell you." Polly was not usually so sanguine, but
+what changes will not the notion of the possession of a brown silk
+dress trimmed with passementrie make in the disposition of a woman?
+
+Polly let Sam into the secret, and, be it said to his credit, he
+entered into the plan with an enthusiasm no less intense than her own.
+He had always wanted to see her in a silk dress, he told her, and then
+in a quizzically injured tone of voice, "but you ought to waited tell
+I ketched dem policy sha'ks an' I'd 'a' got you a new one." He even
+went so far as to go to work for a week and bring Polly his earnings,
+of course, after certain "little debts" which he mentioned but did not
+specify, had been deducted.
+
+But in spite of all this, when washing isn't bringing an especially
+good price; when one must eat and food is high; when a grasping
+landlord comes around once every week and exacts tribute for the
+privilege of breathing foul air from an alley in a room up four
+flights; when, I say, all this is true, and it generally is true in
+the New York tenderloin, seven whole dollars are not easily saved.
+There was much raking and scraping and pinching during each day that
+at night Polly might add a few nickels or pennies to the store that
+jingled in a blue jug in one corner of her closet. She called it her
+bank, and Sam had laughed at the conceit, telling her that that was
+one bank anyhow that couldn't "bust."
+
+As the days went on how she counted her savings and exulted in their
+growth! She already saw herself decked out in her new gown, the envy
+and admiration of every woman in the neighborhood. She even began to
+wish that she had a full-length glass in order that she might get the
+complete effect of her own magnificence. So saving, hoping, dreaming,
+the time went on until a few days before the limit, and there was only
+about a dollar to be added to make the required amount. This she could
+do easily in the remaining time. So Polly was jubilant.
+
+Now everything would have been all right and matters would have ended
+happily if Sam had only kept on at work. But, no. He must needs stop,
+and give his mind the chance to be employed with other things. And
+that is just what happened. For about this time, having nothing else
+to do, like that old king of Bible renown, he dreamed a dream. But
+unlike the royal dreamer, he asked no seer or prophet to interpret his
+dream to him. He merely drove his hand down into his inside pocket,
+and fished up an ancient dream-book, greasy and tattered with use.
+Over this he pored until his eyes bulged and his hands shook with
+excitement.
+
+"Got 'em at last!" he exclaimed. "Dey ain't no way fu' dem to git away
+f'om me. I's behind 'em. I's behind 'em I tell you," and then his face
+fell and he sat for a long time with his chin in his hand thinking,
+thinking.
+
+"Polly," said he when his wife came in, "d'you know what I dremp 'bout
+las' night?"
+
+"La! Sam Jackson, you ain't gone to dreamin' agin. I thought you done
+quit all dat foolishness."
+
+"Now jes' listen at you runnin' on. You ain't never axed me what I
+dremp 'bout yit."
+
+"Hit don' make much diffunce to me, less 'n you kin dream 'bout a
+dollah mo' into my pocket."
+
+"Dey has been sich things did," said Sam sententiously. He got up and
+went out. If there is one thing above another that your professional
+dreamer does demand, it is appreciation. Sam had failed to get it from
+Polly, but he found a balm for all his hurts when he met Bob Davis.
+
+"What!" exclaimed Bob. "Dreamed of a nakid black man. Fu' de Lawd
+sake, Sam, don' let de chance pass. You got 'em dis time sho'. I'll
+put somep'n' on it myse'f. Wha'd you think ef we'd win de 'capital'?"
+
+That was enough. The two parted and Sam hurried home. He crept into
+the house. Polly was busy hanging clothes on the roof. Where now are
+the guardian spirits that look after the welfare of trusting women?
+Where now are the enchanted belongings that even in the hands of the
+thief cry out to their unsuspecting owners? Gone. All gone with the
+ages of faith that gave them birth. Without an outcry, without even so
+much as a warning jingle, the contents of the blue jug and the
+embodied hope of a woman's heart were transferred to the gaping pocket
+of Sam Jackson. Polly went on hanging up clothes on the roof.
+
+Sam chuckled to himself: "She won't never have a chanst to scol' me.
+I'll git de drawin's early dis evenin', an' go ma'chin' home wif a new
+silk fu' huh, an' money besides. I do' want my wife waihin' no white
+folks' secon'-han' clothes nohow. My, but won't she be su'prised an'
+tickled. I kin jes' see huh now. Oh, mistah policy-sha'k, I got you
+now. I been layin' fu' you fu' a long time, but you's my meat at
+las'."
+
+He marched into the policy shop like a conqueror. To the amazement of
+the clerk, he turned out a pocketful of small coin on the table and
+played it all in "gigs," "straddles and combinations."
+
+"I'll call on you about ha' pas' fou', Mr. McFadden," he announced
+exultantly as he went out.
+
+"Faith, sor," said McFadden to his colleague, "if that nagur does
+ketch it he'll break us, sure."
+
+Sam could hardly wait for half-past four. A minute before the time he
+burst in upon McFadden and demanded the drawings. They were handed to
+him. He held his breath as his eye went down the column of figures.
+Then he gasped and staggered weakly out of the room. The policy sharks
+had triumphed again.
+
+Sam walked the streets until nine o'clock that night. He was afraid to
+go home to Polly. He knew that she had been to the jug and found--. He
+groaned, but at last his very helplessness drove him in. Polly, with
+swollen eyes, was sitting by the table, the empty jug lying on its
+side before her.
+
+"Sam," she exclaimed, "whaih's my money? Whaih's my money I been
+wo'kin' fu' all dis time?"
+
+"Why--Why, Polly--"
+
+"Don' go beatin' 'roun' de bush. I want 'o know whaih my money is; you
+tuck it."
+
+"Polly, I dremp--"
+
+"I do' keer what you dremp, I want my money fu' my dress."
+
+His face was miserable.
+
+"I thought sho' dem numbers 'u'd come out, an'--"
+
+The woman flung herself upon the floor and burst into a storm of
+tears. Sam bent over her. "Nemmine, Polly," he said. "Nemmine. I
+thought I'd su'prise you. Dey beat me dis time." His teeth clenched.
+"But when I ketch dem policy sha'ks--"
+
+
+
+
+THE TRAGEDY AT THREE FORKS
+
+
+It was a drizzly, disagreeable April night. The wind was howling in a
+particularly dismal and malignant way along the valleys and hollows of
+that part of Central Kentucky in which the rural settlement of Three
+Forks is situated. It had been "trying to rain" all day in a
+half-hearted sort of manner, and now the drops were flying about in a
+cold spray. The night was one of dense, inky blackness, occasionally
+relieved by flashes of lightning. It was hardly a night on which a
+girl should be out. And yet one was out, scudding before the storm,
+with clenched teeth and wild eyes, wrapped head and shoulders in a
+great blanket shawl, and looking, as she sped along like a restless,
+dark ghost. For her, the night and the storm had no terrors; passion
+had driven out fear. There was determination in her every movement,
+and purpose was apparent in the concentration of energy with which she
+set her foot down. She drew the shawl closer about her head with a
+convulsive grip, and muttered with a half sob, "'Tain't the first
+time, 'tain't the first time she's tried to take me down in comp'ny,
+but--" and the sob gave way to the dry, sharp note in her voice, "I'll
+fix her, if it kills me. She thinks I ain't her ekals, does she?
+'Cause her pap's got money, an' has good crops on his lan', an' my pap
+ain't never had no luck, but I'll show 'er, I'll show 'er that good
+luck can't allus last. Pleg-take 'er, she's jealous, 'cause I'm better
+lookin' than she is, an' pearter in every way, so she tries to make me
+little in the eyes of people. Well, you'll find out what it is to be
+pore--to have nothin', Seliny Williams, if you live."
+
+The black night hid a gleam in the girl's eyes, and her shawl hid a
+bundle of something light, which she clutched very tightly, and which
+smelled of kerosene.
+
+The dark outline of a house and its outbuildings loomed into view
+through the dense gloom; and the increased caution with which the girl
+proceeded, together with the sudden breathless intentness of her
+conduct, indicated that it was with this house and its occupants she
+was concerned.
+
+The house was cellarless, but it was raised at the four corners on
+heavy blocks, leaving a space between the ground and the floor, the
+sides of which were partly closed by banks of ashes and earth which
+were thrown up against the weather-boarding. It was but a few minutes'
+work to scrape away a portion of this earth, and push under the pack
+of shavings into which the mysterious bundle resolved itself. A match
+was lighted, sheltered, until it blazed, and then dropped among them.
+It took only a short walk and a shorter time to drop a handful of
+burning shavings into the hay at the barn. Then the girl turned and
+sped away, muttering: "I reckon I've fixed you, Seliny Williams,
+mebbe, next time you meet me out at a dance, you won't snub me; mebbe
+next time, you'll be ez pore ez I am, an'll be willin' to dance crost
+from even ole 'Lias Hunster's gal."
+
+The constantly falling drizzle might have dampened the shavings and
+put out the fire, had not the wind fanned the sparks into too rapid a
+flame, which caught eagerly at shingle, board and joist until house
+and barn were wrapped in flames. The whinnying of the horses first
+woke Isaac Williams, and he sprang from bed at sight of the furious
+light which surrounded his house. He got his family up and out of the
+house, each seizing what he could of wearing apparel as he fled before
+the flames. Nothing else could be saved, for the fire had gained
+terrible headway, and its fierceness precluded all possibility of
+fighting it. The neighbors attracted by the lurid glare came from far
+and near, but the fire had done its work, and their efforts availed
+nothing. House, barn, stock, all, were a mass of ashes and charred
+cinders. Isaac Williams, who had a day before, been accounted one of
+the solidest farmers in the region, went out that night with his
+family--homeless.
+
+Kindly neighbors took them in, and by morning the news had spread
+throughout all the country-side. Incendiarism was the only cause that
+could be assigned, and many were the speculations as to who the guilty
+party could be. Of course, Isaac Williams had enemies. But who among
+them was mean, ay, daring enough to perpetrate such a deed as this?
+
+Conjecture was rife, but futile, until old 'Lias Hunster, who though
+he hated Williams, was shocked at the deed, voiced the popular
+sentiment by saying, "Look a here, folks, I tell you that's the work
+o' niggers, I kin see their hand in it."
+
+"Niggers, o' course," exclaimed every one else. "Why didn't we think
+of it before? It's jest like 'em."
+
+Public opinion ran high and fermented until Saturday afternoon when
+the county paper brought the whole matter to a climax by coming out in
+a sulphurous account of the affair, under the scarehead:
+
+                  A TERRIBLE OUTRAGE!
+
+    MOST DASTARDLY DEED EVER COMMITTED IN THE HISTORY OF
+      BARLOW COUNTY. A HIGHLY RESPECTED, UNOFFENDING
+        AND WELL-BELOVED FAMILY BURNED OUT OF HOUSE
+            AND HOME. NEGROES! UNDOUBTEDLY THE
+                PERPETRATORS OF THE DEED!
+
+The article went on to give the facts of the case, and many more
+supposed facts, which had originated entirely in the mind of the
+correspondent. Among these facts was the intelligence that some
+strange negroes had been seen lurking in the vicinity the day before
+the catastrophe and that a party of citizens and farmers were scouring
+the surrounding country in search of them. "They would, if caught,"
+concluded the correspondent, "be summarily dealt with."
+
+Notwithstanding the utter falsity of these statements, it did not take
+long for the latter part of the article to become a prophecy
+fulfilled, and soon, excited, inflamed and misguided parties of men
+and boys were scouring the woods and roads in search of strange
+"niggers." Nor was it long, before one of the parties raised the cry
+that they had found the culprits. They had come upon two strange
+negroes going through the woods, who seeing a band of mounted and
+armed men, had instantly taken to their heels. This one act had
+accused, tried and convicted them.
+
+The different divisions of the searching party came together, and led
+the negroes with ropes around their necks into the centre of the
+village. Excited crowds on the one or two streets which the hamlet
+boasted, cried "Lynch 'em, lynch 'em! Hang the niggers up to the first
+tree!"
+
+Jane Hunster was in one of the groups, as the shivering negroes
+passed, and she turned very pale even under the sunburn that browned
+her face.
+
+The law-abiding citizens of Barlow County, who composed the capturing
+party, were deaf to the admonitions of the crowd. They filed solemnly
+up the street, and delivered their prisoners to the keeper of the
+jail, sheriff, by courtesy, and scamp by the seal of Satan; and then
+quietly dispersed. There was something ominous in their very
+orderliness.
+
+Late that afternoon, the man who did duty as prosecuting attorney for
+that county, visited the prisoners at the jail, and drew from them the
+story that they were farm-laborers from an adjoining county. They had
+come over only the day before, and were passing through on the quest
+for work; the bad weather and the lateness of the season having thrown
+them out at home.
+
+"Uh, huh," said the prosecuting attorney at the conclusion of the
+tale, "your story's all right, but the only trouble is that it won't
+do here. They won't believe you. Now, I'm a friend to niggers as much
+as any white man can be, if they'll only be friends to themselves, an'
+I want to help you two all I can. There's only one way out of this
+trouble. You must confess that you did this."
+
+"But Mistah," said the bolder of the two negroes, "how kin we 'fess,
+when we wasn' nowhahs nigh de place?"
+
+"Now there you go with regular nigger stubbornness; didn't I tell you
+that that was the only way out of this? If you persist in saying you
+didn't do it, they'll hang you; whereas, if you own, you'll only get a
+couple of years in the 'pen.' Which 'ud you rather have, a couple o'
+years to work out, or your necks stretched?"
+
+"Oh, we'll 'fess, Mistah, we'll 'fess we done it; please, please don't
+let 'em hang us!" cried the thoroughly frightened blacks.
+
+"Well, that's something like it," said the prosecuting attorney as he
+rose to go. "I'll see what can be done for you."
+
+With marvelous and mysterious rapidity, considering the reticence
+which a prosecuting attorney who was friendly to the negroes should
+display, the report got abroad that the negroes had confessed their
+crime, and soon after dark, ominous looking crowds began to gather in
+the streets. They passed and repassed the place, where stationed on
+the little wooden shelf that did duty as a doorstep, Jane Hunster sat
+with her head buried in her hands. She did not raise up to look at any
+of them, until a hand was laid on her shoulder, and a voice called
+her, "Jane!"
+
+"Oh, hit's you, is it, Bud," she said, raising her head slowly,
+"howdy?"
+
+"Howdy yoreself," said the young man, looking down at her tenderly.
+
+"Bresh off yore pants an' set down," said the girl making room for him
+on the step. The young man did so, at the same time taking hold of her
+hand with awkward tenderness.
+
+"Jane," he said, "I jest can't wait fur my answer no longer! you got
+to tell me to-night, either one way or the other. Dock Heaters has
+been a-blowin' hit aroun' that he has beat my time with you. I don't
+believe it Jane, fur after keepin' me waitin' all these years, I don't
+believe you'd go back on me. You know I've allus loved you, ever sence
+we was little children together."
+
+The girl was silent until he leaned over and said in pleading tones,
+"What do you say, Jane?"
+
+"I hain't fitten fur you, Bud."
+
+"Don't talk that-a-way, Jane, you know ef you jest say 'yes,' I'll be
+the happiest man in the state."
+
+"Well, yes, then, Bud, for you're my choice, even ef I have fooled
+with you fur a long time; an' I'm glad now that I kin make somebody
+happy." The girl was shivering, and her hands were cold, but she made
+no movement to rise or enter the house.
+
+Bud put his arms around her and kissed her shyly. And just then a
+shout arose from the crowd down the street.
+
+"What's that?" she asked.
+
+"It's the boys gittin' worked up, I reckon. They're going to lynch
+them niggers to-night that burned ole man Williams out."
+
+The girl leaped to her feet, "They mustn't do it," she cried. "They
+ain't never been tried!"
+
+"Set down, Janey," said her lover, "they've owned up to it."
+
+"I don't believe it," she exclaimed, "somebody's jest a lyin' on 'em
+to git 'em hung because they're niggers."
+
+"Sh--Jane, you're excited, you ain't well; I noticed that when I first
+come to-night. Somebody's got to suffer fur that house-burnin', an' it
+might ez well be them ez anybody else. You mustn't talk so. Ef people
+knowed you wuz a standin' up fur niggers so, it 'ud ruin you."
+
+He had hardly finished speaking, when the gate opened, and another man
+joined them.
+
+"Hello, there, Dock Heaters, that you?" said Bud Mason.
+
+"Yes, it's me. How are you, Jane?" said the newcomer.
+
+"Oh, jest middlin', Dock, I ain't right well."
+
+"Well, you might be in better business than settin' out here talkin'
+to Bud Mason."
+
+"Don't know how as to that," said his rival, "seein' as we're
+engaged."
+
+"You're a liar!" flashed Dock Heaters.
+
+Bud Mason half rose, then sat down again; his triumph was sufficient
+without a fight. To him "liar" was a hard name to swallow without
+resort to blows, but he only said, his flashing eyes belying his calm
+tone, "Mebbe I am a liar, jest ast Jane."
+
+"Is that the truth, Jane?" asked Heaters, angrily.
+
+"Yes, hit is, Dock Heaters, an' I don't see what you've got to say
+about it; I hain't never promised you nothin' shore."
+
+Heaters turned toward the gate without a word. Bud sent after him a
+mocking laugh, and the bantering words, "You'd better go down, an'
+he'p hang them niggers, that's all you're good fur." And the rival
+really did bend his steps in that direction.
+
+Another shout arose from the throng down the street, and rising
+hastily, Bud Mason exclaimed, "I must be goin', that yell means
+business."
+
+"Don't go down there, Bud!" cried Jane. "Don't go, fur my sake, don't
+go." She stretched out her arms, and clasped them about his neck.
+
+"You don't want me to miss nothin' like that," he said as he unclasped
+her arms; "don't you be worried, I'll be back past here." And in a
+moment he was gone, leaving her cry of "Bud, Bud, come back," to smite
+the empty silence.
+
+When Bud Mason reached the scene of action, the mob had already broken
+into the jail and taken out the trembling prisoners. The ropes were
+round their necks and they had been led to a tree.
+
+"See ef they'll do anymore house-burnin'!" cried one as the ends of
+the ropes were thrown over the limbs of the tree.
+
+"Reckon they'll like dancin' hemp a heap better," mocked a second.
+
+"Justice an' pertection!" yelled a third.
+
+"The mills of the gods grind swift enough in Barlow County," said the
+schoolmaster.
+
+The scene, the crowd, the flaring lights and harsh voices intoxicated
+Mason, and he was soon the most enthusiastic man in the mob. At the
+word, his was one of the willing hands that seized the rope, and
+jerked the negroes off their feet into eternity. He joined the others
+with savage glee as they emptied their revolvers into the bodies. Then
+came the struggle for pieces of the rope as "keepsakes." The scramble
+was awful. Bud Mason had just laid hold of a piece and cut it off,
+when some one laid hold of the other end. It was not at the rope's
+end, and the other man also used his knife in getting a hold. Mason
+looked up to see who his antagonist was, and his face grew white with
+anger. It was Dock Heaters.
+
+"Let go this rope," he cried.
+
+"Let go yoreself, I cut it first, an' I'm a goin' to have it."
+
+They tugged and wrestled and panted, but they were evenly matched and
+neither gained the advantage.
+
+"Let go, I say," screamed Heaters, wild with rage.
+
+"I'll die first, you dirty dog!"
+
+The words were hardly out of his mouth before a knife flashed in the
+light of the lanterns, and with a sharp cry, Bud Mason fell to the
+ground. Heaters turned to fly, but strong hands seized and disarmed
+him.
+
+"He's killed him! Murder, murder!" arose the cry, as the crowd with
+terror-stricken faces gathered about the murderer and his victim.
+
+"Lynch him!" suggested some one whose thirst for blood was not yet
+appeased.
+
+"No," cried an imperious voice, "who knows what may have put him up to
+it? Give a white man a chance for his life."
+
+The crowd parted to let in the town marshal and the sheriff who took
+charge of the prisoner, and led him to the little rickety jail, whence
+he escaped later that night; while others improvised a litter, and
+bore the dead man to his home.
+
+The news had preceded them up the street, and reached Jane's ears. As
+they passed her home, she gazed at them with a stony, vacant stare,
+muttering all the while as she rocked herself to and fro, "I knowed
+it, I knowed it!"
+
+The press was full of the double lynching and the murder. Conservative
+editors wrote leaders about it in which they deplored the rashness of
+the hanging but warned the negroes that the only way to stop lynching
+was to quit the crimes of which they so often stood accused. But only
+in one little obscure sheet did an editor think to say, "There was
+Salem and its witchcraft; there is the south and its lynching. When
+the blind frenzy of a people condemn a man as soon as he is accused,
+his enemies need not look far for a pretext!"
+
+
+
+
+THE FINDING OF ZACH
+
+
+The rooms of the "Banner" Club--an organization of social intent, but
+with political streaks--were a blaze of light that Christmas Eve
+night. On the lower floor some one was strumming on the piano, and
+upstairs, where the "ladies" sat, and where the Sunday smokers were
+held, a man was singing one of the latest coon songs. The "Banner"
+always got them first, mainly because the composers went there, and
+often the air of the piece itself had been picked out or patched
+together, with the help of the "Banner's" piano, before the song was
+taken out for somebody to set the "'companiment" to it.
+
+The proprietor himself had just gone into the parlor to see that the
+Christmas decorations were all that he intended them to be when a door
+opened and an old man entered the room. In one hand he carried an
+ancient carpetbag, which he deposited on the floor, while he stared
+around at the grandeur of the place. He was a typical old uncle of the
+South, from the soles of his heavy brogans to the shiny top of his
+bald pate, with its fringe of white wool. It was plain to be seen that
+he was not a denizen of the town, or of that particular quarter. They
+do not grow old in the Tenderloin. He paused long enough to take in
+the appointments of the place, then, suddenly remembering his manners,
+he doffed his hat and bowed with old-fashioned courtesy to the
+splendid proprietor.
+
+"Why, how'do, uncle!" said the genial Mr. Turner, extending his hand.
+"Where did you stray from?"
+
+"Howdy, son, howdy," returned the old man gravely. "I hails f'om
+Miss'ippi myse'f, a mighty long ways f'om hyeah."
+
+His voice and old-time intonation were good to listen to, and Mr.
+Turner's thoughts went back to an earlier day in his own life. He was
+from Maryland himself. He drew up a chair for the old man and took one
+himself. A few other men passed into the room and stopped to look with
+respectful amusement at the visitor. He was such a perfect bit of old
+plantation life and so obviously out of place in a Tenderloin club
+room.
+
+"Well, uncle, are you looking for a place to stay?" pursued Turner.
+
+"Not 'zackly, honey; not 'zackly. I come up hyeah a-lookin' fu' a son
+o' mine dat been away f'om home nigh on to five years. He live hyeah
+in Noo Yo'k, an' dey tell me whaih I 'quiahed dat I li'ble to fin'
+somebody hyeah dat know him. So I jes' drapped in."
+
+"I know a good many young men from the South. What's your son's name?"
+
+"Well, he named aftah my ol' mastah, Zachariah Priestley Shackelford."
+
+"Zach Shackelford!" exclaimed some of the men, and there was a general
+movement among them, but a glance from Turner quieted the commotion.
+
+"Why, yes, I know your son," he said. "He's in here almost every
+night, and he's pretty sure to drop in a little later on. He has been
+singing with one of the colored companies here until a couple of weeks
+ago."
+
+"Heish up; you don't say so. Well! well! well! but den Zachariah allus
+did have a mighty sweet voice. He tu'k hit aftah his mammy. Well, I
+sholy is hopin' to see dat boy. He was allus my favorite, aldough I
+reckon a body ain' got no livin' right to have favorites among dey
+chilluns. But Zach was allus sich a good boy."
+
+The men turned away. They could not remember a time since they had
+known Zach Shackelford when by any stretch of imagination he could
+possibly have been considered good. He was known as one of the wildest
+young bucks that frequented the club, with a deft hand at cards and
+dice and a smooth throat for whisky. But Turner gave them such a
+defiant glance that they were almost ready to subscribe to anything
+the old man might say.
+
+"Dis is a mighty fine place you got hyeah. Hit mus' be a kind of a
+hotel or boa'din' house, ain't hit?"
+
+"Yes, something like."
+
+"We don' have nuffin' lak dis down ouah way. Co'se, we's jes' common
+folks. We wo'ks out in de fiel', and dat's about all we knows--fiel',
+chu'ch an' cabin. But I's mighty glad my Zach 's gittin' up in de
+worl'. He nevah were no great han' fu' wo'k. Hit kin' o' seemed to go
+agin his natur'. You know dey is folks lak dat."
+
+"Lots of 'em, lots of 'em," said Mr. Turner.
+
+The crowd of men had been augmented by a party from out of the card
+room, and they were listening intently to the old fellow's chatter.
+They felt now that they ought to laugh, but somehow they could not,
+and the twitching of their careless faces was not from suppressed
+merriment.
+
+The visitor looked around at them, and then remarked: "My, what a lot
+of boa'dahs you got."
+
+"They don't all stay here," answered Turner seriously; "some of them
+have just dropped in to see their friends."
+
+"Den I 'low Zach'll be drappin' in presently. You mus' 'scuse me fu'
+talkin' 'bout him, but I's mighty anxious to clap my eyes on him. I's
+been gittin' on right sma't dese las' two yeahs, an' my ol' ooman she
+daid an' gone, an' I kin' o' lonesome, so I jes' p'omised mysef dis
+Crismus de gif' of a sight o' Zach. Hit do look foolish fu' a man ez
+ol' ez me to be a runnin' 'roun' de worl' a spen'in' money dis away,
+but hit do seem so ha'd to git Zach home."
+
+"How long are you going to be with us?"
+
+"Well, I 'specs to stay all o' Crismus week."
+
+"Maybe--" began one of the men. But Turner interrupted him. "This
+gentleman is my guest. Uncle," turning to the old man, "do you
+ever--would you--er. I've got some pretty good liquor here, ah--"
+
+Zach's father smiled a sly smile. "I do' know, suh," he said,
+crossing his leg high. "I's Baptis' mys'f, but 'long o' dese Crismus
+holidays I's right fond of a little toddy."
+
+A half dozen eager men made a break for the bar, but Turner's uplifted
+hand held them. He was an autocrat in his way.
+
+"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, "but I think I remarked some time ago
+that Mr. Shackelford was my guest." And he called the waiter.
+
+All the men had something and tapped rims with the visitor.
+
+"'Pears to me you people is mighty clevah up hyeah; 'tain' no wondah
+Zachariah don' wan' to come home."
+
+Just then they heard a loud whoop outside the door, and a voice broke
+in upon them singing thickly, "Oh, this spo'tin' life is surely
+killin' me." The men exchanged startled glances. Turner looked at
+them, and there was a command in his eye. Several of them hurried out,
+and he himself arose, saying: "I've got to go out for a little while,
+but you just make yourself at home, uncle. You can lie down right
+there on that sofa and push that button there--see, this way--if you
+want some more toddy. It shan't cost you anything."
+
+"Oh, I'll res' myself, but I ain' gwine sponge on you dat away. I got
+some money," and the old man dug down into his long pocket. But his
+host laid a hand on his arm.
+
+"Your money's no good up here."
+
+"Wh--wh--why, I thought dis money passed any whah in de Nunited
+States!" exclaimed the bewildered old man.
+
+"That's all right, but you can't spend it until we run out."
+
+"Oh! Why, bless yo' soul, suh, you skeered me. You sho' is clevah."
+
+Turner went out and came upon his emissaries, where they had halted
+the singing Zach in the hallway, and were trying to get into his
+muddled brain that his father was there.
+
+"Wha'sh de ol' man doin' at de 'Banner,' gittin' gay in his ol' days?
+Hic."
+
+That was enough for Turner to hear. "Look a-here," he said, "don't you
+get flip when you meet your father. He's come a long ways to see you,
+and I'm damned if he shan't see you right. Remember you're stoppin' at
+my house as long as the old man stays, and if you make a break while
+he's here I'll spoil your mug for you. Bring him along, boys."
+
+Zach had started in for a Christmas celebration, but they took him
+into an empty room. They sent to the drug store and bought many
+things. When the young man came out an hour later he was straight, but
+sad.
+
+"Why, Pap," he said when he saw the old man, "I'll be--"
+
+"Hem!" said Turner.
+
+"I'll be blessed!" Zach finished.
+
+The old man looked him over. "Tsch! tsch! tsch! Dis is a Crismus gif'
+fu' sho'!" His voice was shaking. "I's so glad to see you, honey; but
+chile, you smell lak a 'pothac'ay shop."
+
+"I ain't been right well lately," said Zach sheepishly.
+
+To cover his confusion Turner called for eggnog.
+
+When it came the old man said: "Well, I's Baptis' myse'f, but seein'
+it's Crismus--"
+
+
+
+
+JOHNSONHAM, JUNIOR
+
+
+Now any one will agree with me that it is entirely absurd for two men
+to fall out about their names; but then, circumstances alter cases. It
+had its beginning in 1863, and it has just ended.
+
+In the first place, Ike and Jim had been good friends on the
+plantation, but when the time came for them to leave and seek homes
+for themselves each wanted a name. The master's name was Johnson, and
+they both felt themselves entitled to it. When Ike went forth to men
+as Isaac Johnson, and Jim, not to be outdone, became James Johnsonham,
+the rivalry began. Each married and became the father of a boy who
+took his father's name.
+
+When both families moved North and settled in Little Africa their
+children had been taught that there must be eternal enmity between
+them on account of their names, and just as lasting a friendship on
+every other score. But with boys it was natural that the rivalry
+should extend to other things. When they went to school it was a
+contest for leadership both in the classroom and in sports, and when
+Isaac Johnson left school to go to work in the brickyard, James
+Johnsonham, not to be outdone in industry, also entered the same field
+of labor.
+
+Later, it was questioned all up and down Douglass Street, which, by
+the way, is the social centre of Little Africa--as to which of the two
+was the better dancer or the more gallant beau. It was a piece of good
+fortune that they did not fall in love with the same girl and bring
+their rivalry into their affairs of the heart, for they were only men,
+and nothing could have kept them friends. But they came quite as near
+it as they could, for Matilda Benson was as bright a girl as Martha
+Mason, and when Ike married her she was an even-running contestant
+with her friend, Martha, for the highest social honors of their own
+particular set.
+
+It was a foregone conclusion that when they were married and settled
+they should live near each other. So the houses were distant from each
+other only two or three doors. It was because every one knew every one
+else's business in that locality that Sandy Worthington took it upon
+himself to taunt the two men about their bone of contention.
+
+"Mr. Johnson," he would say, when, coming from the down-town store
+where he worked, he would meet the two coming from their own labors in
+the brickyard, "how are you an' Mistah Johnsonham mekin' it ovah yo'
+names?"
+
+"Well, I don' know that Johnsonham is so much of a name," Ike would
+say; and Jim would reply: "I 'low it's mo' name than Johnson, anyhow."
+
+"So is stealin' ham mo' than stealin'," was the other's rejoinder, and
+then his friends would double up with mirth.
+
+Sometimes the victorious repartee was Jim's, and then the laugh was on
+the other side. But the two went at it all good-naturedly, until one
+day, one foolish day, when they had both stopped too often on the way
+home, Jim grew angry at some little fling of his friend's, and burst
+into hot abuse of him. At first Ike was only astonished, and then his
+eyes, red with the dust of the brick-field, grew redder, the veins of
+his swarthy face swelled, and with a "Take that, Mistah Johnsonham,"
+he gave Jim a resounding thwack across the face.
+
+It took only a little time for a crowd to gather, and, with their
+usual tormentor to urge them on, the men forgot themselves and went
+into the fight in dead earnest. It was a hard-fought battle. Both
+rolled in the dust, caught at each other's short hair, pummeled, bit
+and swore. They were still rolling and tumbling when their wives,
+apprised of the goings on, appeared upon the scene and marched them
+home.
+
+After that, because they were men, they kept a sullen silence between
+them, but Matilda and Martha, because they were women, had much to say
+to each other, and many unpleasant epithets to hurl and hurl again
+across the two yards that intervened between them. Finally, neither
+little family spoke to the other. And then, one day, there was a great
+bustle about Jim's house. A wise old woman went waddling in, and later
+the doctor came. That night the proud husband and father was treating
+his friends, and telling them it was a boy, and his name was to be
+James Johnsonham, Junior.
+
+For a week Jim was irregular and unsteady in his habits, when one
+night, full of gin and pride, he staggered up to a crowd which was
+surrounding his rival, and said in a loud voice, "James Johnsonham,
+Junior--how does that strike you?"
+
+"Any bettah than Isaac Johnson, Junior?" asked some one, slapping the
+happy Ike on the shoulder as the crowd burst into a loud guffaw. Jim's
+head was sadly bemuddled, and for a time he gazed upon the faces about
+him in bewilderment. Then a light broke in upon his mind, and with a
+"Whoo-ee!" he said, "No!" Ike grinned a defiant grin at him, and led
+the way to the nearest place where he and his friends might celebrate.
+
+Jim went home to his wife full of a sullen, heavy anger. "Ike Johnson
+got a boy at his house, too," he said, "an' he done put Junior to his
+name." Martha raised her head from the pillow and hugged her own baby
+to her breast closer.
+
+"It do beat all," she made answer airily; "we can't do a blessed thing
+but them thaih Johnsons has to follow right in ouah steps. Anyhow, I
+don't believe their baby is no sich healthy lookin' chile as this one
+is, bress his little hea't! 'Cause I knows Matilda Benson nevah was
+any too strong."
+
+She was right; Matilda Benson was not so strong. The doctor went
+oftener to Ike's house than he had gone to Jim's, and three or four
+days after an undertaker went in.
+
+They tried to keep the news from Martha's ears, but somehow it leaked
+into them, and when Jim came home on that evening she looked into her
+husband's face with a strange, new expression.
+
+"Oh, Jim," she cried weakly, "'Tildy done gone, an' me jes' speakin'
+ha'd 'bout huh a little while ago, an' that po' baby lef thaih to die!
+Ain't it awful?"
+
+"Nev' min'," said Jim, huskily; "nev' min', honey." He had seen Ike's
+face when the messenger had come for him at the brickyard, and the
+memory of it was like a knife at his heart.
+
+"Jes' think, I said, only a day or so ago," Martha went on, "that
+'Tildy wasn't strong; an' I was glad of it, Jim, I was glad of it! I
+was jealous of huh havin' a baby, too. Now she's daid, an' I feel jes'
+lak I'd killed huh. S'p'osin' God 'ud sen' a jedgment on me--s'p'osin'
+He'd take our little Jim?"
+
+"Sh, sh, honey," said Jim, with a man's inadequacy in such a moment.
+"'Tain't yo' fault; you nevah wished huh any ha'm."
+
+"No; but I said it, I said it!"
+
+"Po' Ike," said Jim absently; "po' fellah!"
+
+"Won't you go thaih," she asked, "an' see what you kin do fu' him?"
+
+"He don't speak to me."
+
+"You mus' speak to him; you got to do it, Jim; you got to."
+
+"What kin I say? 'Tildy's daid."
+
+She reached up and put her arms around her husband's brawny neck. "Go
+bring that po' little lamb hyeah," she said. "I kin save it, an' 'ten'
+to two. It'll be a sort of consolation fu' him to keep his chile."
+
+"Kin you do that, Marthy?" he said. "Kin you do that?"
+
+"I know I kin." A great load seemed to lift itself from Jim's heart as
+he burst out of the house. He opened Ike's door without knocking. The
+man sat by the empty fireplace with his head bowed over the ashes.
+
+"Ike," he said, and then stopped.
+
+Ike raised his head and glanced at him with a look of dull despair.
+"She's gone," he replied; "'Tildy's gone." There was no touch of anger
+in his tone. It was as if he took the visit for granted. All petty
+emotions had passed away before this great feeling which touched both
+earth and the beyond.
+
+"I come fu' the baby," said Jim. "Marthy, she'll take keer of it."
+
+He reached down and found the other's hand, and the two hard palms
+closed together in a strong grip. "Ike," he went on, "I'm goin' to
+drop the 'Junior' an' the 'ham,' an' the two little ones'll jes' grow
+up togethah, one o' them lak the othah."
+
+The bereaved husband made no response. He only gripped the hand
+tighter. A little while later Jim came hastily from the house with
+something small wrapped closely in a shawl.
+
+
+
+
+THE FAITH CURE MAN
+
+
+Hope is tenacious. It goes on living and working when science has
+dealt it what should be its deathblow.
+
+In the close room at the top of the old tenement house little Lucy lay
+wasting away with a relentless disease. The doctor had said at the
+beginning of the winter that she could not live. Now he said that he
+could do no more for her except to ease the few days that remained for
+the child.
+
+But Martha Benson would not believe him. She was confident that
+doctors were not infallible. Anyhow, this one wasn't, for she saw life
+and health ahead for her little one.
+
+Did not the preacher at the Mission Home say: "Ask, and ye shall
+receive?" and had she not asked and asked again the life of her child,
+her last and only one, at the hands of Him whom she worshipped?
+
+No, Lucy was not going to die. What she needed was country air and a
+place to run about in. She had been housed up too much; these long
+Northern winters were too severe for her, and that was what made her
+so pinched and thin and weak. She must have air, and she should have
+it.
+
+"Po' little lammie," she said to the child, "Mammy's little gal boun'
+to git well. Mammy gwine sen' huh out in de country when the spring
+comes, whaih she kin roll in de grass an' pick flowers an' git good
+an' strong. Don' baby want to go to de country? Don' baby want to see
+de sun shine?" And the child had looked up at her with wide, bright
+eyes, tossed her thin arms and moaned for reply.
+
+"Nemmine, we gwine fool dat doctah. Some day we'll th'ow all his nassy
+medicine 'way, an' he come in an' say: 'Whaih's all my medicine?' Den
+we answeh up sma't like: 'We done th'owed it out. We don' need no
+nassy medicine.' Den he look 'roun' an' say: 'Who dat I see runnin'
+roun' de flo' hyeah, a-lookin' so fat?' an' you up an' say: 'Hit's me,
+dat's who 'tis, mistah doctor man!' Den he go out an' slam de do'
+behin' him. Ain' dat fine?"
+
+But the child had closed her eyes, too weak even to listen. So her
+mother kissed her little thin forehead and tiptoed out, sending in a
+child from across the hall to take care of Lucy while she was at
+work, for sick as the little one was she could not stay at home and
+nurse her.
+
+Hope grasps at a straw, and it was quite in keeping with the condition
+of Martha's mind that she should open her ears and her heart when they
+told her of the wonderful works of the faith-cure man. People had gone
+to him on crutches, and he had touched or rubbed them and they had
+come away whole. He had gone to the homes of the bed-ridden, and they
+had risen up to bless him. It was so easy for her to believe it all.
+The only religion she had ever known, the wild, emotional religion of
+most of her race, put her credulity to stronger tests than that. Her
+only question was, would such a man come to her humble room. But she
+put away even this thought. He must come. She would make him. Already
+she saw Lucy strong, and running about like a mouse, the joy of her
+heart and the light of her eyes.
+
+As soon as she could get time she went humbly to see the faith doctor,
+and laid her case before him, hoping, fearing, trembling.
+
+Yes, he would come. Her heart leaped for joy.
+
+"There is no place," said the faith curist, "too humble for the
+messenger of heaven to enter. I am following One who went among the
+humblest and the lowliest, and was not ashamed to be found among
+publicans and sinners. I will come to your child, madam, and put her
+again under the law. The law of life is health, and no one who will
+accept the law need be sick. I am not a physician. I do not claim to
+be. I only claim to teach people how not to be sick. My fee is five
+dollars, merely to defray my expenses, that's all. You know the
+servant is worthy of his hire. And in this little bottle here I have
+an elixir which has never been known to fail in any of the things
+claimed for it. Since the world has got used to taking medicine we
+must make some concessions to its prejudices. But this in reality is
+not a medicine at all. It is only a symbol. It is really liquefied
+prayer and faith."
+
+Martha did not understand anything of what he was saying. She did not
+try to; she did not want to. She only felt a blind trust in him that
+filled her heart with unspeakable gladness.
+
+Tremulous with excitement, she doled out her poor dollars to him,
+seized the precious elixir and hurried away home to Lucy, to whom she
+was carrying life and strength. The little one made a weak attempt to
+smile at her mother, but the light flickered away and died into
+greyness on her face.
+
+"Now mammy's little gal gwine to git well fu' sho'. Mammy done bring
+huh somep'n' good." Awed and reverent, she tasted the wonderful elixir
+before giving it to the child. It tasted very like sweetened water to
+her, but she knew that it was not, and had no doubt of its virtues.
+
+Lucy swallowed it as she swallowed everything her mother brought to
+her. Poor little one! She had nothing to buoy her up or to fight
+science with.
+
+In the course of an hour her mother gave her the medicine again, and
+persuaded herself that there was a perceptible brightening in her
+daughter's face.
+
+Mrs. Mason, Caroline's mother, called across the hall: "How Lucy dis
+evenin', Mis' Benson?"
+
+"Oh, I think Lucy air right peart," Martha replied. "Come over an'
+look at huh."
+
+Mrs. Mason came, and the mother told her about the new faith doctor
+and his wonderful powers.
+
+"Why, Mis' Mason," she said, "'pears like I could see de change in de
+child de minute she swallowed dat medicine."
+
+Her neighbor listened in silence, but when she went back to her own
+room it was to shake her head and murmur: "Po' Marfy, she jes' ez
+blind ez a bat. She jes' go 'long, holdin' on to dat chile wid all huh
+might, an' I see death in Lucy's face now. Dey ain't no faif nur
+prayer, nur Jack-leg doctors nuther gwine to save huh."
+
+But Martha needed no pity then. She was happy in her self-delusion.
+
+On the morrow the faith doctor came to see Lucy. She had not seemed so
+well that morning, even to her mother, who remained at home until the
+doctor arrived. He carried a conquering air, and a baggy umbrella, the
+latter of which he laid across the foot of the bed as he bent over the
+moaning child.
+
+"Give me some brown paper," he commanded.
+
+Martha hastened to obey, and the priestly practitioner dampened it in
+water and laid it on Lucy's head, all the time murmuring prayers--or
+were they incantations?--to himself. Then he placed pieces of the
+paper on the soles of the child's feet and on the palms of her hands,
+and bound them there.
+
+When all this was done he knelt down and prayed aloud, ending with a
+peculiar version of the Lord's prayer, supposed to have mystic effect.
+Martha was greatly impressed, but through it all Lucy lay and moaned.
+
+The faith curist rose to go. "Well, we can look to have her out in a
+few days. Remember, my good woman, much depends upon you. You must try
+to keep your mind in a state of belief. Are you saved?"
+
+"Oh, yes, suh. I'm a puffessor," said Martha, and having completed his
+mission, the man of prayers went out, and Caroline again took Martha's
+place at Lucy's side.
+
+In the next two days Martha saw, or thought she saw, a steady
+improvement in Lucy. According to instructions, the brown paper was
+moved every day, moistened, and put back.
+
+Martha had so far spurred her faith that when she went out on Saturday
+morning she promised to bring Lucy something good for her Christmas
+dinner, and a pair of shoes against the time of her going out, and
+also a little doll. She brought them home that night. Caroline had
+grown tired and, lighting the lamp, had gone home.
+
+"I done brung my little lady bird huh somep'n nice," said Martha,
+"here's a lil' doll and de lil' shoes, honey. How's de baby feel?"
+Lucy did not answer.
+
+"You sleep?" Martha went over to the bed. The little face was pinched
+and ashen. The hands were cold.
+
+"Lucy! Lucy!" called the mother. "Lucy! Oh, Gawd! It ain't true! She
+ain't daid! My little one, my las' one!"
+
+She rushed for the elixir and brought it to the bed. The thin dead
+face stared back at her, unresponsive.
+
+She sank down beside the bed, moaning.
+
+"Daid, daid, oh, my Gawd, gi' me back my chile! Oh, don't I believe
+you enough? Oh, Lucy, Lucy, my little lamb! I got you yo' gif'. Oh,
+Lucy!"
+
+The next day was set apart for the funeral. The Mission preacher read:
+"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the
+Lord," and some one said "Amen!" But Martha could not echo it in her
+heart. Lucy was her last, her one treasured lamb.
+
+
+
+
+A COUNCIL OF STATE
+
+
+PART I
+
+
+Luther Hamilton was a great political power. He was neither
+representative in Congress, senator nor cabinet minister. When asked
+why he aspired to none of these places of honor and emolument he
+invariably shrugged his shoulders and smiled inscrutably. In fact, he
+found it both more pleasant and more profitable simply to boss his
+party. It gave him power, position and patronage, and yet put him
+under obligations to no narrow constituency.
+
+As he sat in his private office this particular morning there was a
+smile upon his face, and his little eyes looked out beneath the heavy
+grey eyebrows and the massive cheeks with gleams of pleasure. His
+whole appearance betokened the fact that he was feeling especially
+good. Even his mail lay neglected before him, and his eyes gazed
+straight at the wall. What wonder that he should smile and dream. Had
+he not just the day before utterly crushed a troublesome opponent?
+Had he not ruined the career of a young man who dared to oppose him,
+driven him out of public life and forced his business to the wall? If
+this were not food for self-congratulation pray what is?
+
+Mr. Hamilton's reverie was broken in upon by a tap at the door, and
+his secretary entered.
+
+"Well, Frank, what is it now? I haven't gone through my mail yet."
+
+"Miss Kirkman is in the outer office, sir, and would like to see you
+this morning."
+
+"Oh, Miss Kirkman, heh; well, show her in at once."
+
+The secretary disappeared and returned ushering in a young woman, whom
+the "boss" greeted cordially.
+
+"Ah, Miss Kirkman, good-morning! Good-morning! Always prompt and busy,
+I see. Have a chair."
+
+Miss Kirkman returned his greeting and dropped into a chair. She began
+at once fumbling in a bag she carried.
+
+"We'll get right to business," she said. "I know you're busy, and so
+am I, and I want to get through. I've got to go and hunt a servant for
+Mrs. Senator Dutton when I leave here."
+
+She spoke in a loud voice, and her words rushed one upon the other as
+if she were in the habit of saying much in a short space of time. This
+is a trick of speech frequently acquired by those who visit public
+men. Miss Kirkman's whole manner indicated bustle and hurry. Even her
+attire showed it. She was a plump woman, aged, one would say about
+thirty. Her hair was brown and her eyes a steely grey--not a bad face,
+but one too shrewd and aggressive perhaps for a woman. One might have
+looked at her for a long time and never suspected the truth, that she
+was allied to the colored race. Neither features, hair nor complexion
+showed it, but then "colored" is such an elastic word, and Miss
+Kirkman in reality was colored "for revenue only." She found it more
+profitable to ally herself to the less important race because she
+could assume a position among them as a representative woman, which
+she could never have hoped to gain among the whites. So she was
+colored, and, without having any sympathy with the people whom she
+represented, spoke for them and uttered what was supposed by the
+powers to be the thoughts that were in their breasts.
+
+"Well, from the way you're tossing the papers in that bag I know
+you've got some news for me."
+
+"Yes, I have, but I don't know how important you'll think it is. Here
+we are!" She drew forth a paper and glanced at it.
+
+"It's just a memorandum, a list of names of a few men who need
+watching. The Afro-American convention is to meet on the 22d; that's
+Thursday of next week. Bishop Carter is to preside. The thing has
+resolved itself into a fight between those who are office-holders and
+those who want to be."
+
+"Yes, well what's the convention going to do?"
+
+"They're going to denounce the administration."
+
+
+"Hem, well in your judgment, what will that amount to, Miss Kirkman?"
+
+"They are the representative talking men from all sections of the
+country, and they have their following, and so there's no use
+disputing that they can do some harm."
+
+"Hum, what are they going to denounce the administration for?"
+
+"Oh, there's a spirit of general discontent, and they've got to
+denounce something, so it had as well be the administration as
+anything else."
+
+There was a new gleam in Mr. Hamilton's eye that was not one of
+pleasure as he asked, "Who are the leaders in this movement?"
+
+"That's just what I brought this list for. There's Courtney, editor of
+the _New York Beacon_, who is rabid; there's Jones of Georgia, Gray of
+Ohio--"
+
+"Whew," whistled the boss, "Gray of Ohio, why he's on the inside."
+
+"Yes, and I can't see what's the matter with him, he's got his
+position, and he ought to keep his mouth shut."
+
+"Oh, there are ways of applying the screw. Go on."
+
+"Then, too, there's Shackelford of Mississippi, Duncan of South
+Carolina, Stowell of Kentucky, and a lot of smaller fry who are not
+worth mentioning."
+
+"Are they organized?"
+
+"Yes, Courtney has seen to that, the forces are compact."
+
+"We must split them. How is the bishop?"
+
+"Neutral."
+
+"Any influence?"
+
+"Lots of it."
+
+"How's your young man, the one for whom you've been soliciting a
+place--what's his name?"
+
+Miss Kirkman did her womanhood the credit of blushing, "Joseph
+Aldrich, you mean. You can trust to me to see that he's on the right
+side."
+
+"Happy is the man who has the right woman to boss him, and who has
+sense enough to be bossed by her; his path shall be a path of roses,
+and his bed a flowery bed of ease. Now to business. They must not
+denounce the administration. What are the conditions of membership in
+this convention?"
+
+"Any one may be present, but it costs a fee of five dollars for the
+privilege of the floor."
+
+Mr. Hamilton turned to the desk and made out a check. He handed it to
+Miss Kirkman, saying, "Cash this, and pack that convention for the
+administration. I look to you and the people you may have behind you
+to check any rash resolutions they may attempt to pass. I want you to
+be there every day and take notes of the speeches made, and their
+character and tenor. I shall have Mr. Richardson there also to help
+you. The record of each man's speech will be sent to his central
+committee, and we shall know how to treat him in the future. You
+know, Miss Kirkman, it is our method to help our friends and to crush
+our enemies. I shall depend upon you to let me know which is which.
+Good-morning."
+
+"Good-morning, Mr. Hamilton."
+
+"And, oh, Miss Kirkman, just a moment. Frank," the secretary came in,
+"bring me that jewel case out of the safe. Here, Miss Kirkman, Mrs.
+Hamilton told me if you came in to ask if you would mind running past
+the safety deposit vaults and putting these in for her?"
+
+"Certainly not," said Miss Kirkman.
+
+This was one of the ways in which Miss Kirkman was made to remember
+her race. And the relation to that race, which nothing in her face
+showed, came out strongly in her willingness thus to serve. The
+confidence itself flattered her, and she was never tired of telling
+her acquaintances how she had put such and such a senator's wife's
+jewels away, or got a servant for a cabinet minister.
+
+When her other duties were done she went directly to a small dingy
+office building and entered a room, over which was the sign, "Joseph
+Aldrich, Counselor and Attorney at Law."
+
+"How do, Joe."
+
+"Why, Miss Kirkman, I'm glad to see you," said Mr. Aldrich, coming
+forward to meet her and setting a chair. He was a slender young man,
+of a complexion which among the varying shades bestowed among colored
+people is termed a light brown skin. A mustache and a short Vandyke
+beard partially covered a mouth inclined to weakness. Looking at them,
+an observer would have said that Miss Kirkman was the stronger man of
+the two.
+
+"What brings you out this way to-day?" questioned Aldrich.
+
+"I'll tell you. You've asked me to marry you, haven't you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, I'm going to do it."
+
+"Annie, you make me too happy."
+
+"That's enough," said Miss Kirkman, waving him away. "We haven't any
+time for romance now. I mean business. You're going to the convention
+next week."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you're going to speak?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"That's right. Let me see your speech."
+
+He drew a typewritten manuscript from the drawer and handed it to her.
+She ran her eyes over the pages, murmuring to herself. "Uh, huh,
+'wavering, weak, vaciliating adminstration, have not given us the
+protection our rights as citizens demanded--while our brothers were
+murdered in the South. Nero fiddled while Rome burned, while this
+modern'--uh, huh, oh, yes, just as I thought," and with a sudden twist
+Miss Kirkman tore the papers across and pitched them into the grate.
+
+"Miss Kirkman--Annie, what do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that if you're going to marry me, I'm not going to let you go
+to the convention and kill yourself."
+
+"But my convictions--"
+
+"Look here, don't talk to me about convictions. The colored man is the
+under dog, and the under dog has no right to have convictions. Listen,
+you're going to the convention next week and you're going to make a
+speech, but it won't be that speech. I have just come from Mr.
+Hamilton's. That convention is to be watched closely. He is to have
+his people there and they are to take down the words of every man who
+talks, and these words will be sent to his central committee. The man
+who goes there with an imprudent tongue goes down. You'd better get to
+work and see if you can't think of something good the administration
+has done and dwell on that."
+
+"Whew!"
+
+"Well, I'm off."
+
+"But Annie, about the wedding?"
+
+"Good-morning, we'll talk about the wedding after the convention."
+
+The door closed on her last words, and Joseph Aldrich sat there
+wondering and dazed at her manner. Then he began to think about the
+administration. There must be some good things to say for it, and he
+would find them. Yes, Annie was right--and wasn't she a hustler
+though?
+
+
+PART II
+
+
+It was on the morning of the 22d and near nine o'clock, the hour at
+which the convention was to be called to order. But Mr. Gray of Ohio
+had not yet gone in. He stood at the door of the convention hall in
+deep converse with another man. His companion was a young looking
+sort of person. His forehead was high and his eyes were keen and
+alert. The face was mobile and the mouth nervous. It was the face of
+an enthusiast, a man with deep and intense beliefs, and the boldness
+or, perhaps, rashness to uphold them.
+
+"I tell you, Gray," he was saying, "it's an outrage, nothing less.
+Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Bah! It's all twaddle.
+Why, we can't even be secure in the first two, how can we hope for the
+last?"
+
+"You're right, Elkins," said Gray, soberly, "and though I hold a
+position under the administration, when it comes to a consideration of
+the wrongs of my race, I cannot remain silent."
+
+"I cannot and will not. I hold nothing from them, and I owe them
+nothing. I am only a bookkeeper in a commercial house, where their
+spite cannot reach me, so you may rest assured that I shall not bite
+my tongue."
+
+"Nor shall I. We shall all be colored men here together, and talk, I
+hope, freely one to the other. Shall you introduce your resolution
+to-day?"
+
+"I won't have a chance unless things move more rapidly than I expect
+them to. It will have to come up under new business, I should think."
+
+"Hardly. Get yourself appointed on the committee on resolutions."
+
+"Good, but how can I?"
+
+"I'll see to that; I know the bishop pretty well. Ah, good-morning,
+Miss Kirkman. How do you do, Aldrich?" Gray pursued, turning to the
+newcomers, who returned his greeting, and passed into the hall.
+
+"That's Miss Kirkman. You've heard of her. She fetches and carries for
+Luther Hamilton and his colleagues, and has been suspected of doing
+some spying, also."
+
+"Who was that with her?"
+
+"Oh, that's her man Friday; otherwise Joseph Aldrich by name, a fellow
+she's trying to make something of before she marries him. She's got
+the pull to do it, too."
+
+"Why don't you turn them down?"
+
+"Ah, my boy, you're young, you're young; you show it. Don't you know
+that a wind strong enough to uproot an oak only ripples the leaves of
+a creeper against the wall? Outside of the race that woman is really
+considered one of the leaders, and she trades upon the fact."
+
+"But why do you allow this base deception to go?"
+
+"Because, Elkins, my child," Gray put his hand on the other's shoulder
+with mock tenderness, "because these seemingly sagacious whites among
+whom we live are really a very credulous people, and the first one who
+goes to them with a good front and says 'Look here, I am the leader of
+the colored people; I am their oracle and prophet,' they immediately
+exalt and say 'That's so.' Now do you see why Miss Kirkman has a
+pull?"
+
+"I see, but come on, let's go in; there goes the gavel."
+
+The convention hall was already crowded, and the air was full of the
+bustle of settling down. When the time came for the payment of their
+fees, by those who wanted the privilege of the floor, there was a
+perfect rush for the secretary's desk. Bank notes fluttered
+everywhere. Miss Kirkman had on a suspiciously new dress and bonnet,
+but she had done her work well, nevertheless. She looked up into the
+gallery in a corner that overlooked the stage and caught the eye of a
+young man who sat there notebook in hand. He smiled, and she smiled.
+Then she looked over at Mr. Aldrich, who was not sitting with her,
+and they both smiled complacently. There's nothing like being on the
+inside.
+
+After the appointment of committees, the genial bishop began his
+opening address, and a very careful, pretty address it was, too--well
+worded, well balanced, dealing in broad generalities and studiously
+saying nothing that would indicate that he had any intention of
+directing the policy of the meetings. Of course it brought forth all
+the applause that a bishop's address deserves, and the ladies in the
+back seats fluttered their fans, and said: "The dear man, how eloquent
+he is."
+
+Gray had succeeded in getting Elkins placed on the committee on
+resolutions, but when they came to report, the fiery resolution
+denouncing the administration for its policy toward the negro was laid
+on the table. The young man had succeeded in engineering it through
+the committee, but the chairman decided that its proper place was
+under the head of new business, where it might be taken up in the
+discussion of the administration's attitude toward the negro.
+
+    [Illustration: THE BISHOP'S ADDRESS.]
+
+"We are here, gentlemen," pursued the bland presiding officer, "to
+make public sentiment, but we must not try to make it too fast; so if
+our young friend from Ohio will only hold his resolution a little
+longer, it will be acted upon at the proper time. We must be moderate
+and conservative."
+
+Gray sprang to his feet and got the chairman's eye. His face was
+flushed and he almost shouted: "Conservatism be hanged! We have rolled
+that word under our tongues when we were being trampled upon; we have
+preached it in our churches when we were being shot down; we have
+taught it in our schools when the right to use our learning was denied
+us, until the very word has come to be a reproach upon a black man's
+tongue!"
+
+There were cries of "Order! Order!" and "Sit down!" and the gavel was
+rattling on the chairman's desk. Then some one rose to a point of
+order, so dear to the heart of the negro debater. The point was
+sustained and the Ohioan yielded the floor, but not until he had gazed
+straight into the eyes of Miss Kirkman as they rose from her notebook.
+She turned red. He curled his lip and sat down, but the blood burned
+in his face, and it was not the heat of shame, but of anger and
+contempt that flushed his cheeks.
+
+This outbreak was but the precursor of other storms to follow. Every
+one had come with an idea to exploit or some proposition to advance.
+Each one had his panacea for all the aches and pains of his race. Each
+man who had paid his five dollars wanted his full five dollars' worth
+of talk. The chairman allowed them five minutes apiece, and they
+thought time dear at a dollar a minute. But there were speeches to be
+made for buncombe, and they made the best of the seconds. They howled,
+they raged, they stormed. They waxed eloquent or pathetic. Jones of
+Georgia was swearing softly and feelingly into Shackelford's ear.
+Shackelford was sympathetic and nervous as he fingered a large bundle
+of manuscript in his back pocket. He got up several times and called
+"Mr. Chairman," but his voice had been drowned in the tumult. Amid it
+all, calm and impassive, sat the man, who of all others was expected
+to be in the heat of the fray.
+
+It had been rumored that Courtney of the _New York Beacon_ had come to
+Washington with blood in his eyes. But there he sat, silent and
+unmoved, his swarthy, eagle-like face, with its frame of iron-grey
+hair as unchanging as if he had never had a passionate thought.
+
+"I don't like Jim Courtney's silence," whispered Stowell to a
+colleague. "There's never so much devil in him as when he keeps still.
+You look out for him when he does open up."
+
+But all the details of the convention do not belong to this narrative.
+It is hardly relevant, even, to tell how Stowell's prediction came
+true, and at the second day's meeting Courtney's calm gave way, and he
+delivered one of the bitterest speeches of his life. It was in the
+morning, and he was down for a set speech on "The Negro in the Higher
+Walks of Life." He started calmly, but as he progressed, the memory of
+all the wrongs, personal and racial that he had suffered; the
+knowledge of the disabilities that he and his brethren had to suffer,
+and the vision of toil unrequited, love rejected, and loyalty ignored,
+swept him off his feet. He forgot his subject, forgot everything but
+that he was a crushed man in a crushed race.
+
+The auditors held their breath, and the reporters wrote much.
+
+Turning to them he said, "And to the press of Washington, to whom I
+have before paid my respects, let me say that I am not afraid to have
+them take any word that I may say. I came here to meet them on their
+own ground. I will meet them with pen. I will meet them with pistol,"
+and then raising his tall, spare form, he shouted, "Yes, even though
+there is but one hundred and thirty-five pounds of me, I will meet
+them with my fists!"
+
+This was all very rash of Courtney. His paper did not circulate
+largely, so his real speech, which he printed, was not widely read,
+while through the columns of the local press, a garbled and distorted
+version of it went to every corner of the country. Purposely
+distorted? Who shall say? He had insulted the press; and then Mr.
+Hamilton was a very wealthy man.
+
+When the time for the consideration of Elkins' resolution came,
+Courtney, Jones and Shackelford threw themselves body and soul into
+the fight with Gray and its author. There was a formidable array
+against them. All the men in office, and all of those who had received
+even a crumb of promise were for buttering over their wrongs, and
+making their address to the public a prophecy of better things.
+
+Jones suggested that they send an apology to lynchers for having
+negroes where they could be lynched. This called for reproof from the
+other side, and the discussion grew hot and acrimonious. Gray again
+got the floor, and surprised his colleagues by the plainness of his
+utterances. Elkins followed him with a biting speech that brought
+Aldrich to his feet.
+
+Mr. Aldrich had chosen well his time, and had carefully prepared his
+speech. He recited all the good things that the administration had
+done, hoped to do, tried to do, or wanted to do, and showed what a
+very respectable array it was. He counseled moderation and
+conservatism, and his peroration was a flowery panegyric of the "noble
+man whose hand is on the helm, guiding the grand old ship of state
+into safe harbor."
+
+The office-holders went wild with enthusiasm. No self-interest there.
+The opposition could not argue that this speech was made to keep a
+job, because the speaker had none. Then Jim Courtney got up and
+spoiled it all by saying that it may be that the speaker had no job
+but wanted one.
+
+Aldrich was not moved. He saw a fat salary and Annie Kirkman for him
+in the near future.
+
+The young lady had done her work well, and when the resolution came to
+a vote it was lost by a good majority. Aldrich was again on his feet
+and offering another. The forces of the opposition were discouraged
+and disorganized, and they made no effort to stop it when the rules
+were suspended, and it went through on the first reading. Then the
+convention shouted, that is, part of it did, and Miss Kirkman closed
+her notebook and glanced up at the gallery again. The young man had
+closed his book also. Their work was done. The administration had not
+been denounced, and they had their black-list for Mr. Hamilton's
+knife.
+
+There were some more speeches made, just so that the talkers should
+get their money's worth; but for the masses, the convention had lost
+its interest, and after a few feeble attempts to stir it into life
+again, a motion to adjourn was entertained. But, before a second
+appeared, Elkins arose and asked leave to make a statement. It was
+granted.
+
+"Gentlemen," he said, "we have all heard the resolution which goes to
+the public as the opinion of the negroes of the country. There are
+some of us who do not believe that this expresses the feelings of our
+race, and to us who believe this, Mr. Courtney has given the use of
+his press in New York, and we shall print our resolution and scatter
+it broadcast as the minority report of this convention, but the
+majority report of the race."
+
+Miss Kirkman opened her book again for a few minutes, and then the
+convention adjourned.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"I wish you'd find out, Miss Kirkman," said Hamilton a couple of days
+later, "just what firm that young Elkins works for."
+
+"I have already done that. I thought you'd want to know," and she
+handed him a card.
+
+"Ah, yes," he said. "I have some business relations with that firm. I
+know them very well. Miss Anderson," he called to his stenographer,
+"will you kindly take a letter for me. By the way, Miss Kirkman, I
+have placed Mr. Aldrich. He will have his appointment in a few days."
+
+"Oh, thank you, Mr. Hamilton; is there anything more I can do for
+you?"
+
+"Nothing. Good-morning."
+
+"Good-morning."
+
+A week later in his Ohio home William Elkins was surprised to be
+notified by his employers that they were cutting down forces, and
+would need his services no longer. He wrote at once to his friend
+Gray to know if there was any chance for him in Washington, and
+received the answer that Gray could hardly hold his own, as great
+pressure was being put upon him to force him to resign.
+
+"I think," wrote Gray, "that the same hand is at the bottom of all our
+misfortunes. This is Hamilton's method."
+
+Miss Kirkman and Mr. Aldrich were married two weeks from the day the
+convention adjourned. Mr. Gray was removed from his position on
+account of inefficiency. He is still trying to get back, but the very
+men to whom his case must go are in the hands of Mr. Hamilton.
+
+
+
+
+SILAS JACKSON
+
+
+I
+
+
+Silas Jackson was a young man to whom many opportunities had come. Had
+he been a less fortunate boy, as his little world looked at it, he
+might have spent all his days on the little farm where he was born,
+much as many of his fellows did. But no, Fortune had marked him for
+her own, and it was destined that he should be known to fame. He was
+to know a broader field than the few acres which he and his father
+worked together, and where he and several brothers and sisters had
+spent their youth.
+
+Mr. Harold Marston was the instrument of Fate in giving Silas his
+first introduction to the world. Marston, who prided himself on being,
+besides a man of leisure, something of a sportsman, was shooting over
+the fields in the vicinity of the Jackson farm. During the week he
+spent in the region, needing the services of a likely boy, he came to
+know and like Silas. Upon leaving, he said, "It's a pity for a boy as
+bright as you are to be tied down in this God-forsaken place. How'd
+you like to go up to the Springs, Si, and work in a hotel?"
+
+The very thought of going to such a place, and to such work, fired the
+boy's imagination, although the idea of it daunted him.
+
+"I'd like it powahful well, Mistah Ma'ston," he replied.
+
+"Well, I'm going up there, and the proprietor of one of the best
+hotels, the Fountain House, is a very good friend of mine, and I'll
+get him to speak to his head waiter in your behalf. You want to get
+out of here, and see something of the world, and not stay cooped up
+with nothing livelier than rabbits, squirrels, and quail."
+
+And so the work was done. The black boy's ambitions that had only
+needed an encouraging word had awakened into buoyant life. He looked
+his destiny squarely in the face, and saw that the great world outside
+beckoned to him. From that time his dreams were eagle-winged. The farm
+looked narrower to him, the cabin meaner, and the clods were harder to
+his feet. He learned to hate the plough that he had followed before in
+dumb content, and there was no longer joy in the woods he knew and
+loved. Once, out of pure joy of living, he had gone singing about his
+work; but now, when he sang, it was because his heart was longing for
+the city of his dreams, and hope inspired the song.
+
+However, after Mr. Marston had been gone for over two weeks, and
+nothing had been heard from the Springs, the hope died in Silas's
+heart, and he came to believe that his benefactor had forgotten him.
+And yet he could not return to the old contentment with his mode of
+life. Mr. Marston was right, and he was "cooped up there with nothing
+better than rabbits, squirrels, and quail." The idea had never
+occurred to him before, but now it struck him with disconcerting force
+that there was something in him above his surroundings and the labor
+at which he toiled day by day. He began to see that the cabin was not
+over clean, and for the first time recognized that his brothers and
+sisters were positively dirty. He had always looked on it with
+unconscious eyes before, but now he suddenly developed the capacity
+for disgust.
+
+When young 'Lishy, noticing his brother's moroseness, attributed it to
+his strong feeling for a certain damsel, Silas turned on him in a
+fury. Ambition had even driven out all other feelings, and Dely Manly
+seemed poor and commonplace to the dark swain, who a month before
+would have gone any length to gain a smile from her. He compared
+everything and everybody to the glory of what he dreamed the Springs
+and its inhabitants to be, and all seemed cheap beside.
+
+Then on a day when his spirits were at their lowest ebb, a passing
+neighbor handed him a letter which he had found at the little village
+post office. It was addressed to Mr. Si Jackson, and bore the Springs
+postmark. Silas was immediately converted from a raw backwoods boy to
+a man of the world. Save the little notes that had been passed back
+and forth from boy to girl at the little log schoolhouse where he had
+gone four fitful sessions, this was his first letter, and it was the
+first time he had ever been addressed as "Mr." He swelled with a pride
+that he could not conceal, as with trembling hands he tore the missive
+open.
+
+    [Illustration: HIS BROTHER AND SISTER.]
+
+He read it through with glowing eyes and a growing sense of his own
+importance. It was from the head waiter whom Mr. Marston had
+mentioned, and was couched in the most elegant and high-sounding
+language. It said that Mr. Marston had spoken for Silas, and that if
+he came to the Springs, and was quick to learn, "to acquire
+knowledge," was the head waiter's phrase, a situation would be
+provided for him. The family gathered around the fortunate son, and
+gazed on him with awe when he imparted the good news. He became, on
+the instant, a new being to them. It was as if he had only been loaned
+to them, and was now being lifted bodily out of their world.
+
+The elder Jackson was a bit doubtful about the matter.
+
+"Of co'se ef you wants to go, Silas, I ain't a-gwine to gainsay you,
+an' I hope it's all right, but sence freedom dis hyeah piece o'
+groun's been good enough fu' me, an' I reckon you mought a' got erlong
+on it."
+
+"But pap, you see it's diff'ent now. It's diff'ent, all I wanted was a
+chanst."
+
+"Well, I reckon you got it, Si, I reckon you got it."
+
+The younger children whispered long after they had gone to bed that
+night, wondering and guessing what the great place to which brother Si
+was going could be like, and they could only picture it as like the
+great white-domed city whose picture they had seen in the gaudy Bible
+foisted upon them by a passing agent.
+
+As for Silas, he read and reread the letter by the light of a tallow
+dip until he was too sleepy to see, and every word was graven on his
+memory; then he went to bed with the precious paper under his pillow.
+In spite of his drowsiness, he lay awake for some time, gazing with
+heavy eyes into the darkness, where he saw the great city and his
+future; then he went to sleep to dream of it.
+
+From then on, great were the preparations for the boy's departure. So
+little happened in that vicinity that the matter became a neighborhood
+event, and the black folk for three miles up and down the road
+manifested their interest in Silas's good fortune.
+
+"I hyeah you gwine up to de Springs," said old Hiram Jones, when he
+met the boy on the road a day or two before his departure.
+
+"Yes, suh, I's gwine up thaih to wo'k in a hotel. Mistah Ma'ston, he
+got me the job."
+
+The old man reined in his horse slowly, and deposited the liquid
+increase of a quid of tobacco before he said; "I hyeah tell it's
+powahful wicked up in dem big cities."
+
+"Oh, I reckon I ain't a-goin' to do nuffin wrong. I's goin' thaih to
+wo'k."
+
+"Well, you has been riz right," commented the old man doubtfully, "but
+den, boys will be boys."
+
+He drove on, and the prospect of a near view of wickedness did not
+make the Springs less desirable in the boy's eyes. Raised as he had
+been, almost away from civilization, he hardly knew the meaning of
+what the world called wickedness. Not that he was strong or good.
+There had been no occasion for either quality to develop; but that he
+was simple and primitive, and had been close to what was natural and
+elemental. His faults and sins were those of the gentle barbarian. He
+had not yet learned the subtler vices of a higher civilization.
+
+Silas, however, was not without the pride of his kind, and although
+his father protested that it was a useless extravagance, he insisted
+upon going to the nearest village and investing part of his small
+savings in a new suit of clothes. It was quaint and peculiar apparel,
+but it was the boy's first "store suit," and it filled him with
+unspeakable joy. His brothers and sisters regarded his new
+magnificence with envying admiration. It would be a long while before
+they got away from bagging, homespun, and copperas-colored cotton,
+whacked out into some semblance of garments by their "mammy." And so,
+armed with a light bundle, in which were his few other belongings, and
+fearfully and wonderfully arrayed, Silas Jackson set out for the
+Springs. His father's parting injunctions were ringing in his ears,
+and the memory of his mammy's wet eyes and sad face lingered in his
+memory. She had wanted him to take the gaudy Bible away, but it was
+too heavy to carry, especially as he was to walk the whole thirty
+miles to the land of promise. At the last, his feeling of exaltation
+gave way to one of sorrow, and as he went down the road, he turned
+often to look at the cabin, until it faded from sight around the bend.
+Then a lump rose in his throat, and he felt like turning and running
+back to it. He had never thought the old place could seem so dear. But
+he kept his face steadily forward and trudged on toward his destiny.
+
+The Springs was the fashionable resort of Virginia, where the
+aristocrats who thought they were ill went to recover their health and
+to dance. Compared with large cities of the North, it was but a small
+town, even including the transient population, but in the eyes of the
+rural blacks and the poor whites of the region, it was a place of
+large importance.
+
+Hither, on the morning after his departure from the home gate, came
+Silas Jackson, a little foot-sore and weary, but hopeful withal. In
+spite of the pains that he had put upon his dressing, he was a quaint
+figure on the city streets. Many an amused smile greeted him as he
+went his way, but he saw them not. Inquiring the direction, he kept
+on, until the many windows and broad veranda of the great hotel broke
+on his view, and he gasped in amazement and awe at the sight of it,
+and a sudden faintness seized him. He was reluctant to go on, but the
+broad grins with which some colored men who were working about the
+place regarded him, drove him forward, in spite of his embarrassment.
+
+He found his way to the kitchen, and asked in trembling tones for the
+head waiter. Breakfast being over, that individual had leisure to come
+to the kitchen. There, with the grinning waiters about him, he stopped
+and calmly surveyed Silas. He was a very pompous head waiter.
+
+Silas had never been self-conscious before, but now he became
+distressfully aware of himself--of his awkwardness, of his clumsy
+feet and dangling hands, of the difference between his clothes and the
+clothes of the men about him.
+
+After a survey, which seemed to the boy of endless duration, the head
+waiter spoke, and his tone was the undisputed child of his looks.
+
+"I pussoom," said Mr. Buckner, "that you are the pusson Mistah Ma'ston
+spoke to the p'op'ietor about?"
+
+"Yes, suh, I reckon I is. He p'omised to git me a job up hyeah, an' I
+got yo' lettah--" here Silas, who had set his bundle on the floor in
+coming into the Presence, began to fumble in his pockets for the
+letter. He searched long in vain, because his hands trembled, and he
+was nervous under the eyes of this great personage who stood unmoved
+and looked calmly at him.
+
+Finally the missive was found and produced, though not before the
+perspiration was standing thick on Silas's brow. The head waiter took
+the sheet.
+
+"Ve'y well, suh, ve'y well. You are evidently the p'oper pusson, as I
+reco'nize this as my own chirography."
+
+The up-country boy stood in awed silence. He thought he had never
+heard such fine language before.
+
+"I ca'culate that you have nevah had no experience in hotel work,"
+pursued Mr. Buckner somewhat more graciously.
+
+"I's nevah done nuffin' but wo'k on a farm; but evahbody 'lows I's
+right handy." The fear that he would be sent back home without
+employment gave him boldness.
+
+"I see, I see," said the head waiter. "Well, we'll endeavor to try an'
+see how soon you can learn. Mistah Smith, will you take this young man
+in charge, an' show him how to get about things until we are ready to
+try him in the dinin'-room?"
+
+A rather pleasant-faced yellow boy came over to Silas and showed him
+where to put his things and what to do.
+
+"I guess it'll be a little strange at first, if you've never been a
+hotel man, but you'll ketch on. Just you keep your eye on me."
+
+All that day as Silas blundered about slowly and awkwardly, he looked
+with wonder and admiration at the ease and facility with which his
+teacher and the other men did their work. They were so calm, so
+precise, and so self-sufficient. He wondered if he would ever be like
+them, and felt very hopeless as the question presented itself to him.
+
+They were a little prone to laugh at him, but he was so humble and so
+sensible that he thought he must be laughable; so he laughed a little
+shamefacedly at himself, and only tried the harder to imitate his
+companions. Once when he dropped a dish upon the floor, he held his
+breath in consternation, but when he found that no one paid any
+attention to it, he picked it up and went his way.
+
+He was tired that night, more tired than ploughing had ever made him,
+and was thankful when Smith proposed to show him at once to the rooms
+apportioned to the servants. Here he sank down and fell into a doze as
+soon as his companion left him with the remark that he had some
+studying to do. He found afterward that Smith was only a temporary
+employee at the Springs, coming there during the vacations of the
+school which he attended, in order to eke out the amount which it cost
+him for his education. Silas thought this a very wonderful thing at
+first, but when he grew wiser, as he did finally, he took the point of
+view of most of his fellows and thought that Smith was wasting both
+time and opportunities.
+
+It took a very short time for Silas's unfamiliarity with his
+surroundings to wear off, and for him to become acquainted with the
+duties of his position. He grew at ease with his work, and became a
+favorite both in dining-room and kitchen. Then began his acquaintance
+with other things, and there were many other things at the Springs
+which an unsophisticated young man might learn.
+
+Silas's social attainments were lamentably sparse, but being an apt
+youngster, he began to acquire them, quite as he acquired his new
+duties, and different forms of speech. He learned to dance--almost a
+natural gift of the negro--and he was introduced into the subtleties
+of flirtation. At first he was a bit timid with the nurse-girls and
+maids whom the wealthy travelers brought with them, but after a few
+lessons from very able teachers, he learned the manly art of ogling to
+his own satisfaction, and soon became as proficient as any of the
+other black coxcombs.
+
+If he ever thought of Dely Manly any more, it was with a smile that he
+had been able at one time to consider her seriously. The people at
+home, be it said to his credit, he did not forget. A part of his
+wages went back every month to help better the condition of the cabin.
+But Silas himself had no desire to return, and at the end of a year he
+shuddered at the thought of it. He was quite willing to help his
+father, whom he had now learned to call the "old man," but he was not
+willing to go back to him.
+
+
+II
+
+
+Early in his second year at the Springs Marston came for a stay at the
+hotel. When he saw his protégé, he exclaimed: "Why, that isn't Si, is
+it?"
+
+"Yes, suh," smiled Silas.
+
+"Well, well, well, what a change. Why, boy, you've developed into a
+regular fashion-plate. I hope you're not advertising for any of the
+Richmond tailors. They're terrible Jews, you know."
+
+"You see, a man has to be neat aroun' the hotel, Mistah Ma'ston."
+
+"Whew, and you've developed dignity, too. By the Lord Harry, if I'd
+have made that remark to you about a year and a half ago, there at the
+cabin, you'd have just grinned. Ah, Silas, I'm afraid for you. You've
+grown too fast. You've gained a certain poise and ease at the expense
+of--of--I don't know what, but something that I liked better. Down
+there at home you were just a plain darky. Up here you are trying to
+be like me, and you are colored."
+
+"Of co'se, Mistah Ma'ston," said Silas politely, but deprecatingly,
+"the worl' don't stan' still."
+
+"Platitudes--the last straw!" exclaimed Mr. Marston tragically.
+"There's an old darky preacher up at Richmond who says it does, and
+I'm sure I think more of his old fog-horn blasts than I do of your
+parrot tones. Ah! Si, this is the last time that I shall ever fool
+with good raw material. However, don't let this bother you. As I
+remember, you used to sing well. I'm going to have some of my friends
+up at my rooms to-night; get some of the boys together, and come and
+sing for us. And remember, nothing hifalutin; just the same old darky
+songs you used to sing."
+
+"All right, suh, we'll be up."
+
+Silas was very glad to be rid of his old friend, and he thought when
+Marston had gone that he was, after all, not such a great man as he
+had believed. But the decline in his estimation of Mr. Marston's
+importance did not deter him from going that night with three of his
+fellow-waiters to sing for that gentleman. Two of the quartet insisted
+upon singing fine music, in order to show their capabilities, but
+Silas had received his cue, and held out for the old songs. Silas
+Jackson's tenor voice rang out in the old plantation melodies with the
+force and feeling that old memories give. The concert was a great
+success, and when Marston pressed a generous-sized bank-note into his
+hand that night, he whispered, "Well, I'm glad there's one thing you
+haven't lost, and that's your voice."
+
+That was the beginning of Silas's supremacy as manager and first tenor
+of the Fountain Hotel Quartet, and he flourished in that capacity for
+two years longer; then came Mr. J. Robinson Frye, looking for talent,
+and Silas, by reason of his prominence, fell in this way.
+
+Mr. J. Robinson Frye was an educated and enthusiastic young mulatto
+gentleman, who, having studied music abroad, had made art his
+mistress. As well as he was able, he wore the shock of hair which was
+the sign manual of his profession. He was a plausible young man of
+large ideas, and had composed some things of which the critics had
+spoken well. But the chief trouble with his work was that his one aim
+was money. He did not love the people among whom American custom had
+placed him, but he had respect for their musical ability.
+
+"Why," he used to exclaim in the sudden bursts of enthusiasm to which
+he was subject, "why, these people are the greatest singers on earth.
+They've got more emotion and more passion than any other people, and
+they learn easier. I could take a chorus of forty of them, and with
+two months' training make them sing the roof off the Metropolitan
+Opera house."
+
+When Mr. Frye was in New York, he might be seen almost any day at the
+piano of one or the other of the negro clubs, either working at some
+new inspiration, or playing one of his own compositions, and all black
+clubdom looked on him as a genius.
+
+His latest scheme was the training of a colored company which should
+do a year's general singing throughout the country, and then having
+acquired poise and a reputation, produce his own opera.
+
+It was for this he wanted Silas, and in spite of the warning and
+protests of friends, Silas went with him to New York, for he saw his
+future loom large before him.
+
+The great city frightened him at first, but he found there some, like
+himself, drawn from the smaller towns of the South. Others in the
+company were the relics of the old days of negro minstrelsy, and still
+others recruited from the church choirs in the large cities. Silas was
+an adaptable fellow, but it seemed a little hard to fall in with the
+ways of his new associates. Most of them seemed as far away from him
+in their knowledge of worldly things as had the waiters at the Springs
+a few years before. He was half afraid of the chorus girls, because
+they seemed such different beings from the nurse girls down home.
+However, there was little time for moping or regrets. Mr. Frye was, it
+must be said, an indefatigable worker. They were rehearsing every day.
+Silas felt himself learning to sing. Meanwhile, he knew that he was
+learning other things--a few more elegancies and vices. He looked upon
+the "rounders" with admiration and determined to be one. So, after
+rehearsals were over other occupations held him. He came to be known
+at the clubs and was quite proud of it, and he grew bolder with the
+chorus girls, because he was to be a star.
+
+After three weeks of training, the company opened, and Silas, who had
+never sung anything heavier than "Bright Sparkles in the Churchyard,"
+was dressed in a Fauntleroy suit, and put on to sing in a scene from
+"Rigoletto."
+
+Every night he was applauded to the echo by "the unskilful," until he
+came to believe himself a great singer. This belief was strengthened
+when the girl who performed the Spanish dance bestowed her affections
+upon him. He was very happy and very vain, and for the first time he
+forgot the people down in a little old Virginia cabin. In fact, he had
+other uses for his money.
+
+For the rest of the season, either on the road or in and about New
+York, he sang steadily. Most of the things for which he had longed and
+had striven had come to him. He was known as a rounder, his highest
+ambition. His waistcoats were the loudest to be had. He was possessed
+of a factitious ease and self-possession that was almost aggression.
+The hot breath of the city had touched and scorched him, and had dried
+up within him whatever was good and fresh. The pity of it was that he
+was proud of himself, and utterly unconscious of his own degradation.
+He looked upon himself as a man of the world, a fine product of the
+large opportunities of a great city.
+
+Once in those days he heard of Smith, his old-time companion at the
+Springs. He was teaching at some small place in the South. Silas
+laughed contemptuously when he heard how his old friend was employed.
+"Poor fellow," he said, "what a pity he didn't come up here, and make
+something out of himself, instead of starving down there on little or
+nothing," and he mused on how much better his fate had been.
+
+The season ended. After a brief period of rest, the rehearsals for
+Frye's opera were begun. Silas confessed to himself that he was tired;
+he had a cough, too, but Mr. Frye was still enthusiastic, and this was
+to be the great triumph, both for the composer and the tenor.
+
+"Why, I tell you, man," said Frye, "it's going to be the greatest
+success of the year. I am the only man who has ever put grand-opera
+effects into comic opera with success. Just listen to the chords of
+this opening chorus." And so he inspired the singer with some of his
+own spirit. They went to work with a will. Silas might have been
+reluctant as he felt the strain upon him grow, but that he had spent
+all his money, and Frye, as he expressed it, was "putting up for him,"
+until the opening of the season.
+
+Then one day he was taken sick, and although Frye fumed, the
+rehearsals had to go on without him. For awhile his companions came to
+see him, and then they gradually ceased to come. So he lay for two
+months. Even Sadie, his dancing sweetheart, seemed to have forgotten
+him. One day he sent for her, but the messenger returned to say she
+could not come, she was busy. She had married the man with whom she
+did a turn at the roof-garden. The news came, too, that the opera had
+been abanboned, and that Mr. Frye had taken out a company with a new
+tenor, whom he pronounced far superior to the former one.
+
+Silas gazed blankly at the wall. The hollowness of his life all came
+suddenly before him. All his false ideals crumbled, and he lay there
+with nothing to hope for. Then came back the yearnings for home, for
+the cabin and the fields, and there was no disgust in his memory of
+them.
+
+When his strength partly returned, he sold some of the few things
+that remained to him from his prosperous days, and with the money
+purchased a ticket for home; then spent, broken, hopeless, all
+contentment and simplicity gone, he turned his face toward his native
+fields.
+
+
+
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+<html>
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Strength of Gideon and Other Stories, by Paul Laurence Dunbar</title>
+<style type="text/css">
+
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+<body>
+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Strength of Gideon and Other Stories, by
+Paul Laurence Dunbar, Illustrated by E. W. Kemble</h1>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: The Strength of Gideon and Other Stories</p>
+<p>       Strength of Gideon; Mammy Peggy's Pride; Viney's Free Papers; The Fruitful Sleeping of The Rev. Elisha Edwards; The Ingrate; The Case of 'Ca'line'; The Finish of Patsy Barnes; One Man's Fortunes; Jim's Probation; Uncle Simon's Sundays Out; Mr. Cornelius Johnson, Office-Seeker; An Old-Time Christmas; A Mess of Pottage; The Trustfulness of Polly; The Tragedy at Three Forks; The Finding of Zach; Johnsonham, Junior; The Faith Cure Man; A Council of State; Silas Jackson</p>
+<p>Author: Paul Laurence Dunbar</p>
+<p>Release Date: May 23, 2005  [eBook #15886]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STRENGTH OF GIDEON AND OTHER STORIES***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Pilar Somoza,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><br/></p>
+<h1>THE<br/>
+STRENGTH OF GIDEON</h1>
+<h2>AND OTHER STORIES</h2>
+<p><br/></p>
+
+<h2>Paul Laurence Dunbar</h2><p><br/></p>
+
+
+<h4>1900</h4>
+<p><br/></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h4>TO MY GOOD FRIEND AND TEACHER<br/>
+CAPTAIN CHARLES B. STIVERS</h4>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<p><br/></p>
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+<p><br/></p>
+<table summary="contents">
+<tr><td align="left"></td>
+  <td align="right">PAGE</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">THE STRENGTH OF GIDEON</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#1">1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">MAMMY PEGGY'S PRIDE</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#25">25</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">VINEY'S FREE PAPERS</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#51">51</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">THE FRUITFUL SLEEPING OF THE REV. ELISHA EDWARDS</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#73">73</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">THE INGRATE</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#87">87</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">THE CASE OF 'CA'LINE'</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#105">105</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">THE FINISH OF PATSY BARNES</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#113">113</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">ONE MAN'S FORTUNES</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#129">129</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">JIM'S PROBATION</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#163">163</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">UNCLE SIMON'S SUNDAYS OUT</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#177">177</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">MR. CORNELIUS JOHNSON, OFFICER-SEEKER</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#207">207</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">AN OLD-TIME CHRISTMAS</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#229">229</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">A MESS OF POTTAGE</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#239">239</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">THE TRUSTFULNESS OF POLLY</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#255">255</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">THE TRAGEDY AT THREE FORKS</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#267">267</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">THE FINDING OF ZACH</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#285">285</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">JOHNSONHAM, JUNIOR</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#295">295</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">THE FAITH CURE MAN</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#305">305</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">A COUNCIL OF STATE</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#315">315</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">SILAS JACKSON</td>
+  <td align="right"><a href="#339">339</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<p><br/></p>
+
+<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+<p><br/></p>
+<table summary="illustrations">
+<tr><td align="center"><a href="#imgp22">IT'S FREEDOM, GIDEON.</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center"><a href="#imgp32">MAMMY PEGGY CAME MARCHING IN LIKE
+  A GRENADIER.</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center"><a href="#imgp76">UNCLE ISHAM DYER EXHORTS.</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center"><a href="#imgp166">JIM.</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center"><a href="#imgp330">THE BISHOP'S ADDRESS.</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center"><a href="#imgp344">HIS BROTHER AND SISTER.</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<p><br/></p>
+<p><a name="1"></a><span class="pagenum">{1}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>THE STRENGTH<br />
+OF GIDEON</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+
+<!--Blank page <span class="pagenum">{2}</span></p> -->
+<p><span class="pagenum">{3}</span></p>
+
+<h3>THE STRENGTH OF GIDEON</h3>
+
+
+<p>Old Mam' Henry, and her word may be taken, said that it was &quot;De
+powerfulles' sehmont she ever had hyeahd in all huh bo'n days.&quot; That
+was saying a good deal, for the old woman had lived many years on the
+Stone place and had heard many sermons from preachers, white and
+black. She was a judge, too.</p>
+
+<p>It really must have been a powerful sermon that Brother Lucius
+preached, for Aunt Doshy Scott had fallen in a trance in the middle of
+the aisle, while &quot;Merlatter Mag,&quot; who was famed all over the place for
+having white folk's religion and never &quot;waking up,&quot; had broken through
+her reserve and shouted all over the camp ground.</p>
+
+<p>Several times Cassie had shown signs of giving way, but because
+she was frail some of the solicitous sisters held her with
+self-congratulatory care, relieving each other now and then, that each
+might have a turn in the rejoicings. But as the preacher waded out
+deeper and deeper into the spiritual stream, Cassie's efforts to make
+her feelings known became more and <span class="pagenum">{4}</span>more decided. He told them how the
+spears of the Midianites had &quot;clashed upon de shiels of de Gideonites,
+an' aftah while, wid de powah of de Lawd behin' him, de man Gideon
+triumphed mightily,&quot; and swaying then and wailing in the dark woods,
+with grim branches waving in the breath of their own excitement, they
+could hear above the tumult the clamor of the fight, the clashing of
+the spears, and the ringing of the shields. They could see the
+conqueror coming home in triumph. Then when he cried, &quot;A-who, I say,
+a-who is in Gideon's ahmy to-day?&quot; and the wailing chorus took up the
+note, &quot;A-who!&quot; it was too much even for frail Cassie, and, deserted by
+the solicitous sisters, in the words of Mam' Henry, &quot;she broke
+a-loose, and faihly tuk de place.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Gideon had certainly triumphed, and when a little boy baby came to
+Cassie two or three days later, she named him Gideon in honor of the
+great Hebrew warrior whose story had so wrought upon her. All the
+plantation knew the spiritual significance of the name, and from the
+day of his birth the child was as one set apart to a holy mission on
+earth.</p>
+
+<p>Say what you will of the influences which the <span class="pagenum">{5}</span>circumstances
+surrounding birth have upon a child, upon this one at least the effect
+was unmistakable. Even as a baby he seemed to realize the weight of
+responsibility which had been laid upon his little black shoulders,
+and there was a complacent dignity in the very way in which he drew
+upon the sweets of his dirty sugar-teat when the maternal breast was
+far off bending over the sheaves of the field.</p>
+
+<p>He was a child early destined to sacrifice and self-effacement, and as
+he grew older and other youngsters came to fill Cassie's cabin, he
+took up his lot with the meekness of an infantile Moses. Like a Moses
+he was, too, leading his little flock to the promised land, when he
+grew to the age at which, barefooted and one-shifted, he led or
+carried his little brothers and sisters about the quarters. But the
+&quot;promised land&quot; never took him into the direction of the stables,
+where the other pickaninnies worried the horses, or into the region of
+the hen-coops, where egg-sucking was a common crime.</p>
+
+<p>No boy ever rolled or tumbled in the dirt with a heartier glee than
+did Gideon, but no warrior, not even his illustrious prototype
+himself, ever kept sterner discipline in his ranks when his followers
+<span class="pagenum">{6}</span>seemed prone to overstep the bounds of right. At a very early age his
+shrill voice could be heard calling in admonitory tones, caught from
+his mother's very lips, &quot;You 'Nelius, don' you let me ketch you
+th'owin' at ol' mis' guinea-hens no mo'; you hyeah me?&quot; or &quot;Hi'am, you
+come offen de top er dat shed 'fo' you fall an' brek yo' naik all to
+pieces.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>It was a common sight in the evening to see him sitting upon the low
+rail fence which ran before the quarters, his shift blowing in the
+wind, and his black legs lean and bony against the whitewashed rails,
+as he swayed to and fro, rocking and singing one of his numerous
+brothers to sleep, and always his song was of war and victory, albeit
+crooned in a low, soothing voice. Sometimes it was &quot;Turn Back
+Pharaoh's Army,&quot; at others &quot;Jinin' Gideon's Band.&quot; The latter was a
+favorite, for he seemed to have a proprietary interest in it,
+although, despite the martial inspiration of his name, &quot;Gideon's band&quot;
+to him meant an aggregation of people with horns and fiddles.</p>
+
+<p>Steve, who was Cassie's man, declared that he had never seen such a
+child, and, being quite as religious as Cassie herself, early began to
+talk<span class="pagenum">{7}</span> Scripture and religion to the boy. He was aided in this when his
+master, Dudley Stone, a man of the faith, began a little Sunday class
+for the religiously inclined of the quarters, where the old familiar
+stories were told in simple language to the slaves and explained. At
+these meetings Gideon became a shining light. No one listened more
+eagerly to the teacher's words, or more readily answered his questions
+at review. No one was wider-mouthed or whiter-eyed. His admonitions to
+his family now took on a different complexion, and he could be heard
+calling across a lot to a mischievous sister, &quot;Bettah tek keer daih,
+Lucy Jane, Gawd's a-watchin' you; bettah tek keer.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The appointed man is always marked, and so Gideon was by always
+receiving his full name. No one ever shortened his scriptural
+appellation into Gid. He was always Gideon from the time he bore the
+name out of the heat of camp-meeting fervor until his master
+discovered his worthiness and filled Cassie's breast with pride by
+taking him into the house to learn &quot;mannahs and 'po'tment.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>As a house servant he was beyond reproach, and next to his religion
+his Mas' Dudley and Miss<span class="pagenum">{8}</span> Ellen claimed his devotion and fidelity. The
+young mistress and young master learned to depend fearlessly upon his
+faithfulness.</p>
+
+<p>It was good to hear old Dudley Stone going through the house in a mock
+fury, crying, &quot;Well, I never saw such a house; it seems as if there
+isn't a soul in it that can do without Gideon. Here I've got him up
+here to wait on me, and it's Gideon here and Gideon there, and every
+time I turn around some of you have sneaked him off. Gideon, come
+here!&quot; And the black boy smiled and came.</p>
+
+<p>But all his days were not days devoted to men's service, for there
+came a time when love claimed him for her own, when the clouds took on
+a new color, when the sough of the wind was music in his ears, and he
+saw heaven in Martha's eyes. It all came about in this way.</p>
+
+<p>Gideon was young when he got religion and joined the church, and he
+grew up strong in the faith. Almost by the time he had become a
+valuable house servant he had grown to be an invaluable servant of the
+Lord. He had a good, clear voice that could lead a hymn out of all the
+labyrinthian wanderings of an ignorant congregation, even when he had
+to improvise both words <span class="pagenum">{9}</span>and music; and he was a mighty man of prayer.
+It was thus he met Martha. Martha was brown and buxom and comely, and
+her rich contralto voice was loud and high on the sisters' side in
+meeting time. It was the voices that did it at first. There was no
+hymn or &quot;spiritual&quot; that Gideon could start to which Martha could not
+sing an easy blending second, and never did she open a tune that
+Gideon did not swing into it with a wonderfully sweet, flowing,
+natural bass. Often he did not know the piece, but that did not
+matter, he sang anyway. Perhaps when they were out he would go to her
+and ask, &quot;Sis' Martha, what was that hymn you stahrted to-day?&quot; and
+she would probably answer, &quot;Oh, dat was jes' one o' my mammy's ol'
+songs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, it sholy was mighty pretty. Indeed it was.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, thanky, Brothah Gidjon, thanky.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Then a little later they began to walk back to the master's house
+together, for Martha, too, was one of the favored ones, and served,
+not in the field, but in the big house.</p>
+
+<p>The old women looked on and conversed in whispers about the pair, for
+they were wise, and what their old eyes saw, they saw.<span class="pagenum"><span class="pagenum">{10}</span></span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oomph,&quot; said Mam' Henry, for she commented on everything, &quot;dem too is
+jes' natchelly singin' demse'ves togeddah.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dey's lak de mo'nin' stahs,&quot; interjected Aunt Sophy.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How 'bout dat?&quot; sniffed the older woman, for she objected to any
+one's alluding to subjects she did not understand.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, Mam' Henry, ain' you nevah hyeahd tell o' de mo'nin' stahs whut
+sung deyse'ves togeddah?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I ain't, an' I been livin' a mighty sight longah'n you, too. I
+knows all 'bout when de stahs fell, but dey ain' nevah done no singin'
+dat I knows 'bout.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do heish, Mam' Henry, you sho' su'prises me. W'y, dat ain'
+happenin's, dat's Scripter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Look hyeah, gal, don't you tell me dat's Scripter, an' me been
+a-settin' undah de Scripter fu' nigh onto sixty yeah.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Mam' Henry, I may 'a' been mistook, but sho' I took hit fu'
+Scripter. Mebbe de preachah I hyeahd was jes' inlinin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, wheddah hit's Scripter er not, dey's one t'ing su'tain, I tell
+you,&mdash;dem two is singin' deyse'ves togeddah.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{11}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hit's a fac', an' I believe it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An' it's a mighty good thing, too. Brothah Gidjon is de nicest house
+dahky dat I ever hyeahd tell on. Dey jes' de same diffunce 'twixt him
+an' de othah house-boys as dey is 'tween real quality an'
+strainers&mdash;he got mannahs, but he ain't got aihs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heish, ain't you right!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An' while de res' of dem ain' thinkin' 'bout nothin' but dancin' an'
+ca'in' on, he makin' his peace, callin', an' 'lection sho'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I tell you, Mam' Henry, dey ain' nothin' like a spichul named chile.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Humph! g'long, gal; 'tain't in de name; de biggest devil I evah
+knowed was named Moses Aaron. 'Tain't in de name, hit's all in de man
+hisse'f.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But notwithstanding what the gossips said of him, Gideon went on his
+way, and knew not that the one great power of earth had taken hold of
+him until they gave the great party down in the quarters, and he saw
+Martha in all her glory. Then love spoke to him with no uncertain
+sound.</p>
+
+<p>It was a dancing-party, and because neither he nor Martha dared
+countenance dancing, they had <span class="pagenum">{12}</span>strolled away together under the pines
+that lined the white road, whiter now in the soft moonlight. He had
+never known the pine-cones smell so sweet before in all his life. She
+had never known just how the moonlight flecked the road before. This
+was lovers' lane to them. He didn't understand why his heart kept
+throbbing so furiously, for they were walking slowly, and when a
+shadow thrown across the road from a by-standing bush frightened her
+into pressing close up to him, he could not have told why his arm
+stole round her waist and drew her slim form up to him, or why his
+lips found hers, as eye looked into eye. For their simple hearts
+love's mystery was too deep, as it is for wiser ones.</p>
+
+<p>Some few stammering words came to his lips, and she answered the best
+she could. Then why did the moonlight flood them so, and why were the
+heavens so full of stars? Out yonder in the black hedge a mocking-bird
+was singing, and he was translating&mdash;oh, so poorly&mdash;the song of their
+hearts. They forgot the dance, they forgot all but their love.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An' you won't ma'y nobody else but me, Martha?&quot;<span class="pagenum">{13}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;You know I won't, Gidjon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But I mus' wait de yeah out?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, an' den don't you think Mas' Stone'll let us have a little cabin
+of ouah own jest outside de quahtahs?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Won't it be blessid? Won't it be blessid?&quot; he cried, and then the
+kindly moon went under a cloud for a moment and came out smiling, for
+he had peeped through and had seen what passed. Then they walked back
+hand in hand to the dance along the transfigured road, and they found
+that the first part of the festivities were over, and all the people
+had sat down to supper. Every one laughed when they went in. Martha
+held back and perspired with embarrassment. But even though he saw
+some of the older heads whispering in a corner, Gideon was not
+ashamed. A new light was in his eyes, and a new boldness had come to
+him. He led Martha up to the grinning group, and said in his best
+singing voice, &quot;Whut you laughin' at? Yes, I's popped de question, an'
+she says 'Yes,' an' long 'bout a yeah f'om now you kin all 'spec' a'
+invitation.&quot; This was a formal announcement. A shout arose from the
+happy-go-lucky people, who sorrowed alike in each other's sorrows, and
+joyed in <span class="pagenum">{14}</span>each other's joys. They sat down at a table, and their
+health was drunk in cups of cider and persimmon beer.</p>
+
+<p>Over in the corner Mam' Henry mumbled over her pipe, &quot;Wha'd I tell
+you? wha'd I tell you?&quot; and Aunt Sophy replied, &quot;Hit's de pa'able of
+de mo'nin' stahs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don't talk to me 'bout no mo'nin' stahs,&quot; the mammy snorted; &quot;Gawd
+jes' fitted dey voices togeddah, an' den j'ined dey hea'ts. De mo'nin'
+stahs ain't got nothin' to do wid it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mam' Henry,&quot; said Aunt Sophy, impressively, &quot;you's a' oldah ooman den
+I is, an' I ain' sputin' hit; but I say dey done 'filled Scripter
+'bout de mo'nin' stahs; dey's done sung deyse'ves togeddah.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The old woman sniffed.</p>
+
+<p>The next Sunday at meeting some one got the start of Gideon, and began
+a new hymn. It ran:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span>&quot;At de ma'ige of de Lamb, oh Lawd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">God done gin His 'sent.<br /></span>
+<span>Dey dressed de Lamb all up in white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">God done gin His 'sent.<br /></span>
+<span>Oh, wasn't dat a happy day,<br /></span>
+<span>Oh, wasn't dat a happy day, Good Lawd,<br /></span>
+<span>Oh, wasn't dat a happy day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">De ma'ige of de Lamb!&quot;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<p><span class="pagenum">{15}</span></p>
+
+<p>The wailing minor of the beginning broke into a joyous chorus at the
+end, and Gideon wept and laughed in turn, for it was his wedding-song.</p>
+
+<p>The young man had a confidential chat with his master the next
+morning, and the happy secret was revealed.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What, you scamp!&quot; said Dudley Stone. &quot;Why, you've got even more sense
+than I gave you credit for; you've picked out the finest girl on the
+plantation, and the one best suited to you. You couldn't have done
+better if the match had been made for you. I reckon this must be one
+of the marriages that are made in heaven. Marry her, yes, and with a
+preacher. I don't see why you want to wait a year.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Gideon told him his hopes of a near cabin.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Better still,&quot; his master went on; &quot;with you two joined and up near
+the big house, I'll feel as safe for the folks as if an army was
+camped around, and, Gideon, my boy,&quot;&mdash;he put his arms on the black
+man's shoulders,&mdash;&quot;if I should slip away some day&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The slave looked up, startled.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I mean if I should die&mdash;I'm not going to run off, don't be alarmed&mdash;I
+want you to help your young Mas' Dud look after his mother and Miss<span class="pagenum">{16}</span>
+Ellen; you hear? Now that's the one promise I ask of you,&mdash;come what
+may, look after the women folks.&quot; And the man promised and went away
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>His year of engagement, the happiest time of a young man's life, began
+on golden wings. There came rumors of war, and the wings of the
+glad-hued year drooped sadly. Sadly they drooped, and seemed to fold,
+when one day, between the rumors and predictions of strife, Dudley
+Stone, the old master, slipped quietly away out into the unknown.</p>
+
+<p>There were wife, daughter, son, and faithful slaves about his bed, and
+they wept for him sincere tears, for he had been a good husband and
+father and a kind master. But he smiled, and, conscious to the last,
+whispered to them a cheery good-bye. Then, turning to Gideon, who
+stood there bowed with grief, he raised one weak finger, and his lips
+made the word, &quot;Remember!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>They laid him where they had laid one generation after another of the
+Stones and it seemed as if a pall of sorrow had fallen upon the whole
+place. Then, still grieving, they turned their long-distracted
+attention to the things that had been going <span class="pagenum">{17}</span>on around, and lo! the
+ominous mutterings were loud, and the cloud of war was black above
+them.</p>
+
+<p>It was on an April morning when the storm broke, and the plantation,
+master and man, stood dumb with consternation, for they had hoped,
+they had believed, it would pass. And now there was the buzz of men
+who talked in secret corners. There were hurried saddlings and
+feverish rides to town. Somewhere in the quarters was whispered the
+forbidden word &quot;freedom,&quot; and it was taken up and dropped breathlessly
+from the ends of a hundred tongues. Some of the older ones scouted it,
+but from some who held young children to their breasts there were
+deep-souled prayers in the dead of night. Over the meetings in the
+woods or in the log church a strange reserve brooded, and even the
+prayers took on a guarded tone. Even from the fulness of their hearts,
+which longed for liberty, no open word that could offend the mistress
+or the young master went up to the Almighty. He might know their
+hearts, but no tongue in meeting gave vent to what was in them, and
+even Gideon sang no more of the gospel army. He was sad because of
+this new trouble coming <span class="pagenum">{18}</span>hard upon the heels of the old, and Martha
+was grieved because he was.</p>
+
+<p>Finally the trips into town budded into something, and on a memorable
+evening when the sun looked peacefully through the pines, young Dudley
+Stone rode into the yard dressed in a suit of gray, and on his
+shoulders were the straps of office. The servants gathered around him
+with a sort of awe and followed him until he alighted at the porch.
+Only Mam' Henry, who had been nurse to both him and his sister, dared
+follow him in. It was a sad scene within, but such a one as any
+Southern home where there were sons might have shown that awful year.
+The mother tried to be brave, but her old hands shook, and her tears
+fell upon her son's brown head, tears of grief at parting, but through
+which shone the fire of a noble pride. The young Ellen hung about his
+neck with sobs and caresses.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Would you have me stay?&quot; he asked her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No! no! I know where your place is, but oh, my brother!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ellen,&quot; said the mother in a trembling voice, &quot;you are the sister of
+a soldier now.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The girl dried her tears and drew herself up.<span class="pagenum">{19}</span> &quot;We won't burden your
+heart, Dudley, with our tears, but we will weight you down with our
+love and prayers.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>It was not so easy with Mam' Henry. Without protest, she took him to
+her bosom and rocked to and fro, wailing &quot;My baby! my baby!&quot; and the
+tears that fell from the young man's eyes upon her grey old head cost
+his manhood nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Gideon was behind the door when his master called him. His sleeve was
+traveling down from his eyes as he emerged.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gideon,&quot; said his master, pointing to his uniform, &quot;you know what
+this means?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, suh.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wish I could take you along with me. But&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mas' Dud,&quot; Gideon threw out his arms in supplication.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You remember father's charge to you, take care of the women-folks.&quot;
+He took the servant's hand, and, black man and white, they looked into
+each other's eyes, and the compact was made. Then Gideon gulped and
+said &quot;Yes, suh&quot; again.</p>
+
+<p>Another boy held the master's horse and rode <span class="pagenum">{20}</span>away behind him when he
+vaulted into the saddle, and the man of battle-song and warrior name
+went back to mind the women-folks.</p>
+
+<p>Then began the disintegration of the plantation's population. First
+Yellow Bob slipped away, and no one pursued him. A few blamed him, but
+they soon followed as the year rolled away. More were missing every
+time a Union camp lay near, and great tales were told of the chances
+for young negroes who would go as body-servants to the Yankee
+officers. Gideon heard all and was silent.</p>
+
+<p>Then as the time of his marriage drew near he felt a greater strength,
+for there was one who would be with him to help him keep his promise
+and his faith.</p>
+
+<p>The spirit of freedom had grown strong in Martha as the days passed,
+and when her lover went to see her she had strange things to say. Was
+he going to stay? Was he going to be a slave when freedom and a
+livelihood lay right within his grasp? Would he keep her a slave? Yes,
+he would do it all&mdash;all.</p>
+
+<p>She asked him to wait.</p>
+
+<p>Another year began, and one day they brought Dudley Stone home to lay
+beside his father.<span class="pagenum">{21}</span> Then most of the remaining negroes went. There was
+no master now. The two bereaved women wept, and Gideon forgot that he
+wore the garb of manhood and wept with them.</p>
+
+<p>Martha came to him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gidjon,&quot; she said, &quot;I's waited a long while now. Mos' eve'ybody else
+is gone. Ain't you goin'?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But, Gidjon, I wants to be free. I know how good dey've been to us;
+but, oh, I wants to own myse'f. They're talkin' 'bout settin' us free
+every hour.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I can wait.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They's a camp right near here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I promised.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The of'cers wants body-servants, Gidjon&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go, Martha, if you want to, but I stay.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She went away from him, but she or some one else got word to young
+Captain Jack Griswold of the near camp that there was an excellent
+servant on the plantation who only needed a little persuading, and he
+came up to see him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Look here,&quot; he said, &quot;I want a body-servant. I'll give you ten
+dollars a month.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{22}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;I've got to stay here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But, you fool, what have you to gain by staying here?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm goin' to stay.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, you'll be free in a little while, anyway.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;All right.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of all fools,&quot; said the Captain. &quot;I'll give you fifteen dollars.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do' want it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, your girl's going, anyway. I don't blame her for leaving such a
+fool as you are.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Gideon turned and looked at him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The camp is going to be moved up on this plantation, and there will
+be a requisition for this house for officers' quarters, so I'll see
+you again,&quot; and Captain Griswold went his way.</p>
+
+<p>Martha going! Martha going! Gideon could not believe it. He would not.
+He saw her, and she confirmed it. She was going as an aid to the
+nurses. He gasped, and went back to mind the women-folks.</p>
+
+<p>They did move the camp up nearer, and Captain Griswold came to see
+Gideon again, but he could get no word from him, save &quot;I'm goin' to
+stay,&quot; and he went away in disgust, entirely unable to understand such
+obstinacy, as he called it.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 478px;">
+<a name="imgp22"></a>
+<a href="images/p22.jpg">
+<img src="images/p22.jpg" height="500"
+alt="&quot;&#39;IT&#39;S FREEDOM, GIDEON.&#39;&quot;" title="" /></a></div>
+<h5>&quot;&#39;IT&#39;S FREEDOM, GIDEON.&#39;&quot;</h5>
+<p><br /></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{23}</span></p>
+
+<p>But the slave had his moments alone, when the agony tore at his breast
+and rended him. Should he stay? The others were going. He would soon
+be free. Every one had said so, even his mistress one day. Then Martha
+was going. &quot;Martha! Martha!&quot; his heart called.</p>
+
+<p>The day came when the soldiers were to leave, and he went out sadly to
+watch them go. All the plantation, that had been white with tents, was
+dark again, and everywhere were moving, blue-coated figures.</p>
+
+<p>Once more his tempter came to him. &quot;I'll make it twenty dollars,&quot; he
+said, but Gideon shook his head. Then they started. The drums tapped.
+Away they went, the flag kissing the breeze. Martha stole up to say
+good-bye to him. Her eyes were overflowing, and she clung to him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come, Gidjon,&quot; she plead, &quot;fu' my sake. Oh, my God, won't you come
+with us&mdash;it's freedom.&quot; He kissed her, but shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hunt me up when you do come,&quot; she said, crying bitterly, &quot;fu' I do
+love you, Gidjon, but I must go. Out yonder is freedom,&quot; and she was
+gone with them.</p>
+
+<p>He drew out a pace after the troops, and then, <span class="pagenum">{24}</span>turning, looked back
+at the house. He went a step farther, and then a woman's gentle voice
+called him, &quot;Gideon!&quot; He stopped. He crushed his cap in his hands, and
+the tears came into his eyes. Then he answered, &quot;Yes, Mis' Ellen, I's
+a-comin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He stood and watched the dusty column until the last blue leg swung
+out of sight and over the grey hills the last drum-tap died away, and
+then turned and retraced his steps toward the house.</p>
+
+<p>Gideon had triumphed mightily.</p>
+
+<p><a name="25"></a><span class="pagenum">{25}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>MAMMY<br />
+PEGGY'S PRIDE</h2>
+
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{26}</span> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{27}</span></p>
+
+<h3>MAMMY PEGGY'S PRIDE</h3>
+
+
+<p>In the failing light of the midsummer evening, two women sat upon the
+broad veranda that ran round three sides of the old Virginia mansion.
+One was young and slender with the slightness of delicate girlhood.
+The other was old, black and ample,&mdash;a typical mammy of the old south.
+The girl was talking in low, subdued tones touched with a note of
+sadness that was strange in one of her apparent youth, but which
+seemed as if somehow in consonance with her sombre garments.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, no, Peggy,&quot; she was saying, &quot;we have done the best we could, as
+well as even papa could have expected of us if he had been here. It
+was of no use to keep struggling and straining along, trying to keep
+the old place from going, out of a sentiment, which, however honest it
+might have been, was neither common sense nor practical. Poor people,
+and we are poor, in spite of the little we got for the place, cannot
+afford to have feelings. Of course I hate to see strangers take
+possession of the homestead, and&mdash;and&mdash;papa's <span class="pagenum">{28}</span>and mamma's and brother
+Phil's graves are out there on the hillside. It is hard,&mdash;hard, but
+what was I to do? I couldn't plant and hoe and plow, and you couldn't,
+so I am beaten, beaten.&quot; The girl threw out her hands with a
+despairing gesture and burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>Mammy Peggy took the brown head in her lap and let her big hands
+wander softly over the girl's pale face. &quot;Sh,&mdash;sh,&quot; she said as if she
+were soothing a baby, &quot;don't go on lak dat. W'y whut's de mattah wid
+you, Miss Mime? 'Pears lak you done los' all yo' spe'it. Whut you
+reckon yo' pappy 'u'd t'ink ef he could see you ca'in' on dis away?
+Didn' he put his han' on yo' haid an' call you his own brave little
+gal, jes' befo', jes' befo'&mdash;he went?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The girl raised her head for a moment and looked at the old woman.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mammy, mammy,&quot; she cried, &quot;I have tried so hard to be brave&mdash;to
+be really my father's daughter, but I can't, I can't. Everything I
+turn my hand to fails. I've tried sewing, but here every one sews for
+herself now. I've even tried writing,&quot; and here a crimson glow burned
+in her cheeks, &quot;but oh, the awful regularity with which everything
+came back to me. Why, I even put <span class="pagenum">{29}</span>you in a story, Mammy Peggy, you
+dear old, good, unselfish thing, and the hard-hearted editor had the
+temerity to decline you with thanks.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wouldn't'a' nevah lef' you nohow, honey.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mima laughed through her tears. The strength of her first grief had
+passed, and she was viewing her situation with a whimsical enjoyment
+of its humorous points.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don't know,&quot; she went on, &quot;it seems to me that it's only in stories
+themselves that destitute young Southern girls get on and make fame
+and fortune with their pens. I'm sure I couldn't.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of course you couldn't. Whut else do you 'spect? Whut you know 'bout
+mekin' a fortune? Ain't you a Ha'ison? De Ha'isons nevah was no buyin'
+an' sellin', mekin' an' tradin' fambly. Dey was gent'men an' ladies
+f'om de ve'y fus' beginnin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh what a pity one cannot sell one's quality for daily bread, or
+trade off one's blue blood for black coffee.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Miss Mime, is you out o' yo' haid?&quot; asked Mammy Peggy in disgust and
+horror.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I'm not, Mammy Peggy, but I do wish that I could traffic in some
+of my too numerous <span class="pagenum">{30}</span>and too genteel ancestors instead of being
+compelled to dispose of my ancestral home and be turned out into the
+street like a pauper.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heish, honey, heish, I can' stan' to hyeah you talk dat-away. I's
+so'y to see dee ol' place go, but you got to go out of it wid yo' haid
+up, jes' ez ef you was gwine away fo' a visit an' could come back w'en
+evah you wanted to.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I shall slink out of it like a cur. I can't meet the eyes of the new
+owner; I shall hate him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;W'y, Miss Mime, whaih's yo' pride? Whaih's yo' Ha'ison pride?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gone, gone with the deed of this house and its furniture. Gone with
+the money I paid for the new cottage and its cheap chairs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gone, hit ain' gone, fu' ef you won't let on to have it, I will. I'll
+show dat new man how yo' pa would 'a' did ef he'd 'a' been hyeah.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What, you, Mammy Peggy?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, me, I ain' a-gwine to let him t'ink dat de Ha'isons didn' have
+no quality.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good, mammy, you make me remember who I am, and what my duty is. I
+shall see Mr. Northcope when he comes, and I'll try to make my
+Harrison pride sustain me when I give <span class="pagenum">{31}</span>up to him everything I have
+held dear. Oh, mammy, mammy!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heish, chile, sh, sh, er go on, dat's right, yo' eyes is open now an'
+you kin cry a little weenty bit. It'll do you good. But when dat new
+man comes I want mammy's lamb to look at him an' hol' huh haid lak'
+huh ma used to hol' hern, an' I reckon Mistah No'thcope gwine to
+withah away.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And so it happened that when Bartley Northcope came the next day to
+take possession of the old Virginia mansion he was welcomed at the
+door, and ushered into the broad parlor by Mammy Peggy, stiff and
+unbending in the faded finery of her family's better days.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Miss Mime'll be down in a minute,&quot; she told him, and as he sat in the
+great old room, and looked about him at the evidences of ancient
+affluence, his spirit was subdued by the silent tragedy which his
+possession of it evinced. But he could not but feel a thrill at the
+bit of comedy which is on the edge of every tragedy, as he thought of
+Mammy Peggy and her formal reception. &quot;She let me into my own house,&quot;
+he thought to himself, &quot;with the air of granting me a favor.&quot; And then
+there was a step on the <span class="pagenum">{32}</span>stair; the door opened, and Miss Mima stood
+before him, proud, cold, white, and beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>He found his feet, and went forward to meet her. &quot;Mr. Northcope,&quot; she
+said, and offered her hand daintily, hesitatingly. He took it, and
+thought, even in that flash of a second, what a soft, tiny hand it
+was.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes,&quot; he said, &quot;and I have been sitting here, overcome by the
+vastness of your fine old house.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The &quot;your&quot; was delicate, she thought, but she only said, &quot;Let me help
+you to recovery with some tea. Mammy will bring some,&quot; and then she
+blushed very red. &quot;My old nurse is the only servant I have with me,
+and she is always mammy to me.&quot; She remembered, and throwing up her
+proud little head rang for the old woman.</p>
+
+<p>Directly, Mammy Peggy came marching in like a grenadier. She bore a
+tray with the tea things on it, and after she had set it down hovered
+in the room as if to chaperon her mistress. Bartley felt decidedly
+uncomfortable. Mima's manners were all that politeness could require,
+but he felt as if she resented his coming even to his own, and he knew
+that mammy looked upon him as an interloper.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<a name="imgp32"></a>
+<a href="images/p32.jpg">
+<img src="images/p32.jpg" height="500" alt="&quot;MAMMY PEGGY
+CAME MARCHING IN LIKE A GRENADIER.&quot;" title="" /></a></div>
+<h5>&quot;MAMMY PEGGY CAME MARCHING IN LIKE A GRENADIER.&quot;</h5>
+<p><br/></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum">{33}</span></p>
+
+<p>Mima kept up well, only the paleness of her face showed what she felt
+at leaving her home. Her voice was calm and impassive, only once it
+trembled, when she wished that he would be as happy in the house as
+she had been.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I feel very much like an interloper,&quot; he said, &quot;but I hope you won't
+feel yourself entirely shut out from your beautiful home. My father,
+who comes on in a few days is an invalid, and gets about very little,
+and I am frequently from home, so pray make use of the grounds when
+you please, and as much of the house as you find convenient.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A cold &quot;thank you&quot; fell from Mima's lips, but then she went on,
+hesitatingly, &quot;I should like to come sometimes to the hill, out there
+behind the orchard.&quot; Her voice choked, but she went bravely on, &quot;Some
+of my dear ones are buried there.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go there, and elsewhere, as much as you please. That spot shall be
+sacred from invasion.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You are very kind,&quot; she said and rose to go. Mammy carried away the
+tea things, and then came and waited silently by the door.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hope you will believe me, Miss Harrison,&quot;<span class="pagenum">{34}</span> said Bartley, as Mima
+was starting, &quot;when I say that I do not come to your home as a vandal
+to destroy all that makes its recollection dear to you; for there are
+some associations about it that are almost as much to me as to you,
+since my eyes have been opened.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not understand you,&quot; she replied.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I can explain. For some years past my father's condition has kept me
+very closely bound to him, and both before and after the beginning of
+the war, we lived abroad. A few years ago, I came to know and love a
+man, who I am convinced now was your brother. Am I mistaken in
+thinking that you are a sister of Philip Harrison?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, no, he was my brother, my only brother.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I met him in Venice just before the war and we came to be dear
+friends. But in the events that followed so tumultuously, and from
+participation in which, I was cut off by my father's illness, I lost
+sight of him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But I don't believe I remember hearing my brother speak of you, and
+he was not usually reticent.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You would not remember me as Bartley<span class="pagenum">{35}</span> Northcope, unless you were
+familiar with the very undignified sobriquet with which your brother
+nicknamed me,&quot; said the young man smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nickname&mdash;what, you are not, you can't be 'Budge'?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am 'Budge' or 'old Budge' as Phil called me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mima had her hand on the door-knob, but she turned with an impulsive
+motion and went back to him. &quot;I am so glad to see you,&quot; she said,
+giving him her hand again, and &quot;Mammy,&quot; she called, &quot;Mr. Northcope is
+an old friend of brother Phil's!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The effect of this news on mammy was like that of the April sun on an
+icicle. She suddenly melted, and came overflowing back into the room,
+her smiles and grins and nods trickling everywhere under the genial
+warmth of this new friendliness. Before one who had been a friend of
+&quot;Mas' Phil's,&quot; Mammy Peggy needed no pride.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;La, chile,&quot; she exclaimed, settling and patting the cushions of the
+chair in which he had been sitting, &quot;w'y didn' you say so befo'?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wasn't sure that I was standing in the house <span class="pagenum">{36}</span>of my old friend. I
+only knew that he lived somewhere in Virginia.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He is among those out on the hill behind the orchard,&quot; said Mima,
+sadly. Mammy Peggy wiped her eyes, and went about trying to add some
+touches of comfort to the already perfect room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You have no reason to sorrow, Miss Harrison,&quot; said Northcope gently,
+&quot;for a brother who died bravely in battle for his principles. Had fate
+allowed me to be here I should have been upon the other side, but
+believe me, I both understand and appreciate your brother's heroism.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The young girl's eyes glistened with tears, through which glowed her
+sisterly pride.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Won't you come out and look at his grave?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is the desire that was in my mind.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Together they walked out, with mammy following, to the old burying
+plot. All her talk was of her brother's virtues, and he proved an
+appreciative listener. She pointed out favorite spots of her brother's
+childhood as they passed along, and indicated others which his boyish
+pranks had made memorable, though the eyes of the man were oftener on
+her face than on the landscape. But it was with real sympathy and
+reverence <span class="pagenum">{37}</span>that he stood with bared head beside the grave of his
+friend, and the tears that she left fall unchecked in his presence
+were not all tears of grief.</p>
+
+<p>They did not go away from him that afternoon until Mammy Peggy,
+seconded by Mima, had won his consent to let the old servant come over
+and &quot;do for him&quot; until he found suitable servants.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To think of his having known Philip,&quot; said Mima with shining eyes as
+they entered the new cottage, and somehow it looked pleasanter,
+brighter and less mean to her than it had ever before.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now s'posin' you'd 'a' run off widout seein' him, whaih would you
+been den? You wouldn' nevah knowed whut you knows.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You're right, Mammy Peggy, and I'm glad I stayed and faced him, for
+it doesn't seem now as if a stranger had the house, and it has given
+me a great pleasure. It seemed like having Phil back again to have him
+talked about so by one who lived so near to him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I tell you, chile,&quot; mammy supplemented in an oracular tone, &quot;de right
+kin' o' pride allus pays.&quot; Mima laughed heartily. The old woman
+<span class="pagenum">{38}</span>looked at her bright face. Then she put her big hand on the girl's
+small one. It was trembling. She shook her head. Mima blushed.</p>
+
+<p>Bartley went out and sat on the veranda a long time after they were
+gone. He took in the great expanse of lawn about the house, and the
+dark background of the pines in the woods beyond. He thought of the
+conditions through which the place had become his, and the thought
+saddened him, even in the first glow of the joy of possession. Then
+his mind went on to the old friend who was sleeping his last sleep
+back there on the sun-bathed hill. His recollection went fondly over
+the days of their comradeship in Venice, and colored them anew with
+glory.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;These Southerners,&quot; he mused aloud, &quot;cannot understand that we
+sympathize with their misfortunes. But we do. They forget how our
+sympathies have been trained. We were first taught to sympathize with
+the slave, and now that he is free, and needs less, perhaps, of our
+sympathy, this, by a transition, as easy as it is natural, is
+transferred to his master. Poor, poor Phil!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>There was a strange emotion, half-sad, half-pleasant tugging at his
+heart. A mist came before <span class="pagenum">{39}</span>his eyes and hid the landscape for a
+moment.</p>
+
+<p>And he, he referred it all to the memories of the brother. Yes, he
+thought he was thinking of the brother, and he did not notice or did
+not pretend to notice that a pair of appealing eyes looking out
+beneath waves of brown hair, that a soft, fair hand, pressed in his
+own, floated nebulously at the back of his consciousness.</p>
+
+<p>It was not until he had set out to furnish his house with a complement
+of servants against the coming of his father that Bartley came to
+realize the full worth of Mammy Peggy's offer to &quot;do for him.&quot; The old
+woman not only got his meals and kept him comfortable, trudging over
+and back every day from the little cottage, but she proved invaluable
+in the choice of domestic help. She knew her people thereabouts, just
+who was spry, and who was trifling, and with the latter she would have
+nothing whatever to do. She acted rather as if he were a guest in his
+own house, and what was more would take no pay for it. Of course there
+had to be some return for so much kindness, and it took the form of
+various gifts of flowers and fruit from the old place to the new
+cottage. And sometimes when<span class="pagenum">{40}</span> Bartley had forgotten to speak of it
+before mammy had left, he would arrange his baskets and carry his
+offering over himself. Mima thought it was very thoughtful and kind of
+him, and she wondered on these occasions if they ought not to keep Mr.
+Northcope to tea, and if mammy would not like to make some of those
+nice muffins of hers that he had liked so, and mammy always smiled on
+her charge, and said, &quot;Yes, honey, yes, but hit do 'pear lak' dat
+Mistah No'thcope do fu'git mo' an' mo' to sen' de t'ings ovah by me
+w'en I's daih.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But mammy found her special charge when the elder Northcope came. It
+seemed that she could never do enough for the pale, stooped old man,
+and he declared that he had never felt better in his life than he grew
+to feel under her touch. An injury to his spine had resulted in
+partially disabling him, but his mind was a rich store of knowledge,
+and his disposition was tender and cheerful. So it pleased his son
+sometimes to bring Mima over to see him.</p>
+
+<p>The warm, impulsive heart of the Southern girl went out to him, and
+they became friends at once. He found in her that soft, caressing,
+humoring quality that even his son's devotion could not supply, <span class="pagenum">{41}</span>and
+his superior age, knowledge and wisdom made up to her the lost
+father's care for which Peggy's love illy substituted. The tenderness
+grew between them. Through the long afternoons she would read to him
+from his favorite books, or would listen to him as he talked of the
+lands where he had been, and the things he had seen. Sometimes Mammy
+Peggy grumbled at the reading, and said it &quot;wuz jes' lak' doin' hiahed
+wo'k,&quot; but Mima only laughed and went on.</p>
+
+<p>Bartley saw the sympathy between them and did not obtrude his
+presence, but often in the twilight when she started away, he would
+slip out of some corner and walk home with her.</p>
+
+<p>These little walks together were very pleasant, and on one occasion he
+had asked her the question that made her pale and red by turns, and
+sent her heart beating with convulsive throbs that made her gasp.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Maybe I'm over soon in asking you, Mima dear,&quot; he faltered,
+&quot;but&mdash;but, I couldn't wait any longer. You've become a part of my
+life. I have no hope, no joy, no thought that you are not of. Won't
+you be my wife?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>They were pausing at her gate, and she was trembling from what emotion
+he only dared guess.<span class="pagenum">{42}</span> But she did not answer. She only returned the
+pressure of his hand, and drawing it away, rushed into the house. She
+durst not trust her voice. Bartley went home walking on air.</p>
+
+<p>Mima did not go directly to Mammy Peggy with her news. She must
+compose herself first. This was hard to do, so she went to her room
+and sat down to think it over.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He loves me, he loves me,&quot; she kept saying to herself and with each
+repetition of the words, the red came anew into her cheeks. They were
+still a suspicious hue when she went into the kitchen to find mammy
+who was slumbering over the waiting dinner. &quot;What meks you so long,
+honey,&quot; asked the old woman, coming wide awake out of her cat-nap.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh,&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;I don't know,&quot; answered the young girl, blushing
+furiously, &quot;I&mdash;I stopped to talk.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why dey ain no one in de house to talk to. I hyeahed you w'en you
+come home. You have been a powahful time sence you come in. Whut meks
+you so red?&quot; Then a look of intelligence came into mammy's fat face,
+&quot;Oomph,&quot; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh mammy, don't look that way, I couldn't <span class="pagenum">{43}</span>help it. Bartley&mdash;Mr.
+Northcope has asked me to be his wife.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Asked you to be his wife! Oomph! Whut did you tell him?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I didn't tell him anything. I was so ashamed I couldn't talk. I just
+ran away like a silly.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oomph,&quot; said mammy again, &quot;an' whut you gwine to tell him?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, I don't know. Don't you think he's a very nice young man, Mr.
+Northcope, mammy? And then his father's so nice.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mammy's face clouded. &quot;I doan' see whaih yo' Ha'ison pride is,&quot; she
+said; &quot;co'se, he may be nice enough, but does you want to tell him yes
+de fust t'ing, so's he'll t'ink dat you jumped at de chanst to git him
+an' git back in de homestid?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mammy,&quot; cried Mima; she had gone all white and cold.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You do' know nothin' 'bout his quality. You a Ha'ison yo'se'f. Who is
+he to be jumped at an' tuk at de fust axin'? Ef he wants you ve'y bad
+he'll ax mo' dan once.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You needn't have reminded me, mammy, of who I am,&quot; said Mima. &quot;I had
+no intention of telling Mr. Northcope yes. You needn't have <span class="pagenum">{44}</span>been
+afraid for me.&quot; She fibbed a little, it is to be feared.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now don't talk dat 'way, chile. I know you laks him, an' I do' want
+to stop you f'om tekin' him. Don't you say no, ez ef you wasn' nevah
+gwine to say nothin' else. You jes' say a hol'in' off no.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I like Mr. Northcope as a friend, and my no to him will be final.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The dinner did not go down very well with Mima that evening. It
+stopped in her throat, and when she swallowed, it brought the tears to
+her eyes. When it was done, she hurried away to her room.</p>
+
+<p>She was so disappointed, but she would not confess it to herself, and
+she would not weep. &quot;He proposed to me because he pitied me, oh, the
+shame of it! He turned me out of doors, and then thought I would be
+glad to come back at any price.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>When he read her cold formal note, Bartley knew that he had offended
+her, and the thought burned him like fire. He cursed himself for a
+blundering fool. &quot;She was only trying to be kind to father and me,&quot; he
+said, &quot;and I have taken advantage of her goodness.&quot; He would <span class="pagenum">{45}</span>never
+have confessed to himself before that he was a coward. But that
+morning when he got her note, he felt that he could not face her just
+yet, and commending his father to the tender mercies of Mammy Peggy
+and the servants, he took the first train to the north.</p>
+
+<p>It would be hard to say which of the two was the most disappointed
+when the truth was known. It might better be said which of the three,
+for Mima went no more to the house, and the elder Northcope fretted
+and was restless without her. He availed himself of an invalid's
+privilege to be disagreeable, and nothing Mammy Peggy could do now
+would satisfy him. Indeed, between the two, the old woman had a hard
+time of it, for Mima was tearful and morose, and would not speak to
+her except to blame her. As the days went on she wished to all the
+powers that she had left the Harrison pride in the keeping of the
+direct members of the family. It had proven a dangerous thing in her
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>Mammy soliloquized when she was about her work in the kitchen. &quot;Men
+ain' whut dey used to be,&quot; she said, &quot;who'd 'a' t'ought o' de young
+man a runnin' off dat away jes' 'cause a ooman tol' him no. He orter
+had sense enough to know <span class="pagenum">{46}</span>dat a ooman has sev'al kin's o' noes. Now ef
+dat 'ud 'a' been in my day he'd a jes' stayed away to let huh t'ink
+hit ovah an' den come back an' axed huh ag'in. Den she could 'a' said
+yes all right an' proper widout a belittlin' huhse'f. But 'stead o'
+dat he mus' go a ta'in' off jes' ez soon ez de fus' wo'ds come outen
+huh mouf. Put' nigh brekin' huh hea't. I clah to goodness, I nevah did
+see sich ca'in's on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Several weeks passed before Bartley returned to his home. Autumn was
+painting the trees about the place before the necessity of being at
+his father's side called him from his voluntary exile. And then he did
+not go to see Mima. He was still bowed with shame at what he thought
+his unmanly presumption, and he did not blame her that she avoided
+him.</p>
+
+<p>His attention was arrested one day about a week after his return by
+the peculiar actions of Mammy Peggy. She hung around him, and watched
+him, following him from place to place like a spaniel.</p>
+
+<p>Finally he broke into a laugh and said, &quot;Why, what's the matter, Aunt
+Peggy, are you afraid I'm going to run away?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I ain' afeared o' dat,&quot; said mammy, <span class="pagenum">{47}</span>meekly, &quot;but I been had
+somepn' to say to you dis long w'ile.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, go ahead, I'm listening.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mammy gulped and went on. &quot;Ask huh ag'in,&quot; she said, &quot;it were my fault
+she tol' you no. I 'minded huh o' huh fambly pride an' tol' huh to
+hol' you off less'n you'd t'ink she wan'ed to jump at you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Bartley was on his feet in a minute.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What does this mean,&quot; he cried. &quot;Is it true, didn't I offend her?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, you didn' 'fend huh. She's been pinin' fu' you, 'twell she's
+growed right peekid.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sh, auntie, do you mean to tell me that Mim&mdash;Miss Harrison cares for
+me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You go an' ax huh ag'in.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Bartley needed no second invitation. He flew to the cottage. Mima's
+heart gave a great throb when she saw him coming up the walk, and she
+tried to harden herself against him. But her lips would twitch, and
+her voice would tremble as she said, &quot;How do you do, Mr. Northcope?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He looked keenly into her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Have I been mistaken, Mima,&quot; he said, &quot;in believing that I greatly
+offended you by asking <span class="pagenum">{48}</span>you to be my wife? Do you&mdash;can you care for
+me, darling?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The words stuck in her throat, and he went on, &quot;I thought you were
+angry with me because I had taken advantage of your kindness to my
+father, or presumed upon any kindness that you may have felt for me
+out of respect to your brother's memory. Believe me, I was innocent of
+any such intention.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, it wasn't&mdash;it wasn't that!&quot; she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then won't you give me a different answer,&quot; he said, taking her hand.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I can't, I can't,&quot; she cried.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, Mima?&quot; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Because&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Because of the Harrison pride?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Bartley!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your Mammy Peggy has confessed all to me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mammy Peggy!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She tried hard to stiffen herself. &quot;Then it is all out of the
+question,&quot; she began.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don't let any little folly or pride stand between us,&quot; he broke in,
+drawing her to him.</p>
+
+<p>She gave up the struggle, and her head dropped <span class="pagenum">{49}</span>upon his shoulder for
+a moment. Then she lifted her eyes, shining with tears to his face,
+and said, &quot;Bartley, it wasn't my pride, it was Mammy Peggy's.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He cut off further remarks.</p>
+
+<p>When he was gone, and mammy came in after a while, Mima ran to her
+crying,</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, mammy, mammy, you bad, stupid, dear old goose!&quot; and she buried
+her head in the old woman's lap.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oomph,&quot; grunted mammy, &quot;I said de right kin' o' pride allus pays. But
+de wrong kin'&mdash;oomph, well, you'd bettah look out!&quot;</p>
+
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{50}</span> -->
+
+<p><a name="51"></a><span class="pagenum">{51}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>VINEY'S<br />
+FREE PAPERS</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{52}</span> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{53}</span></p>
+
+<h3>VINEY'S FREE PAPERS</h3>
+
+
+<h3>Part I</h3>
+
+
+<p>There was joy in the bosom of Ben Raymond. He sang as he hoed in the
+field. He cheerfully worked overtime and his labors did not make him
+tired. When the quitting horn blew he executed a double shuffle as he
+shouldered his hoe and started for his cabin. While the other men
+dragged wearily over the ground he sprang along as if all day long he
+had not been bending over the hoe in the hot sun, with the sweat
+streaming from his face in rivulets.</p>
+
+<p>And this had been going on for two months now&mdash;two happy months&mdash;ever
+since Viney had laid her hand in his, had answered with a coquettish
+&quot;Yes,&quot; and the master had given his consent, his blessing and a
+five-dollar bill.</p>
+
+<p>It had been a long and trying courtship&mdash;that is, it had been trying
+for Ben, because Viney loved pleasure and hungered for attention and
+the field was full of rivals. She was a merry girl and a pretty one.
+No one could dance better; <span class="pagenum">{54}</span>no girl on the place was better able to
+dress her dark charms to advantage or to show them off more
+temptingly. The toss of her head was an invitation and a challenge in
+one, and the way she smiled back at them over her shoulder, set the
+young men's heads dancing and their hearts throbbing. So her suitors
+were many. But through it all Ben was patient, unflinching and
+faithful, and finally, after leading him a life full of doubt and
+suspense, the coquette surrendered and gave herself into his keeping.</p>
+
+<p>She was maid to her mistress, but she had time, nevertheless, to take
+care of the newly whitewashed cabin in the quarters to which Ben took
+her. And it was very pleasant to lean over and watch him at work
+making things for the little house&mdash;a chair from a barrel and a
+wonderful box of shelves to stand in the corner. And she knew how to
+say merry things, and later outside his door Ben would pick his banjo
+and sing low and sweetly in the musical voice of his race. Altogether
+such another honeymoon there had never been.</p>
+
+<p>For once the old women hushed up their prophecies of evil, although in
+the beginning they had shaken their wise old turbaned heads and
+<span class="pagenum">{55}</span>predicted that marriage with such a flighty creature as Viney could
+come to no good. They had said among themselves that Ben would better
+marry some good, solid-minded, strong-armed girl who would think more
+about work than about pleasures and coquetting.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I 'low, honey,&quot; an old woman had said, &quot;she'll mek his heart ache
+many a time. She'll comb his haid wid a three-legged stool an' bresh
+it wid de broom. Uh, huh&mdash;putty, is she? You ma'y huh 'cause she
+putty. Ki-yi! She fix you! Putty women fu' putty tricks.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And the old hag smacked her lips over the spice of malevolence in her
+words. Some women&mdash;and they are not all black and ugly&mdash;never forgive
+the world for letting them grow old.</p>
+
+<p>But, in spite of all prophecies to the contrary, two months of
+unalloyed joy had passed for Ben and Viney, and to-night the climax
+seemed to have been reached. Ben hurried along, talking to himself as
+his hoe swung over his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Kin I do it?&quot; he was saying. &quot;Kin I do it?&quot; Then he would stop his
+walk and his cogitations would bloom into a mirthful chuckle.
+Something very pleasant was passing through his mind.<span class="pagenum">{56}</span></p>
+
+<p>As he approached, Viney was standing in the door of the little cabin,
+whose white sides with green Madeira clambering over them made a
+pretty frame for the dark girl in her print dress. The husband bent
+double at sight of her, stopped, took off his hat, slapped his knee,
+and relieved his feelings by a sounding &quot;Who-ee!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What's de mattah wid you, Ben? You ac' lak you mighty happy. Bettah
+come on in hyeah an' git yo' suppah fo' hit gits col'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>For answer, the big fellow dropped the hoe and, seizing the slight
+form in his arms, swung her around until she gasped for breath.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, Ben,&quot; she shrieked, &quot;you done tuk all my win'!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dah, now,&quot; he said, letting her down; &quot;dat's what you gits fu'
+talkin' sassy to me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nev' min'; I'm goin' to fix you fu' dat fus' time I gits de
+chanst&mdash;see ef I don't.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Whut you gwine do? Gwine to pizen me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Worse'n dat!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Wuss'n dat? Whut you gwine fin' any wuss'n pizenin' me, less'n you
+conjuh me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Huh uh&mdash;still worse'n dat. I'm goin' to leave you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Huh uh&mdash;no you ain', 'cause any place you'd <span class="pagenum">{57}</span>go you wouldn' no more'n
+git dah twell you'd tu'n erroun' all of er sudden an' say, 'Why, dah's
+Ben!' an' dah I'd be.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>They chattered on like children while she was putting the supper on
+the table and he was laving his hot face in the basin beside the door.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I got great news fu' you,&quot; he said, as they sat down.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I bet you ain' got nothin' of de kin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;All right. Den dey ain' no use in me a tryin' to 'vince you. I jes'
+be wastin' my bref.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Go on&mdash;tell me, Ben.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Huh uh&mdash;you bet I ain', an' ef I tell you you lose de bet.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don' keer. Ef you don' tell me, den I know you ain' got no news
+worth tellin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ain' go no news wuff tellin'! Who-ee!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He came near choking on a gulp of coffee, and again his knee suffered
+from the pounding of his great hands.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Huccume you so full of laugh to-night?&quot; she asked, laughing with him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How you 'spec' I gwine tell you dat less'n I tell you my sec'ut?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, den, go on&mdash;tell me yo' sec'ut.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Huh uh. You done bet it ain' wuff tellin'.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{58}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don't keer what I bet. I wan' to hyeah it now. Please, Ben,
+please!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Listen how she baig! Well, I gwine tell you now. I ain' gwine tease
+you no mo'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She bent her head forward expectantly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I had a talk wid Mas' Raymond to-day,&quot; resumed Ben.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An' he say he pay me all my back money fu' ovahtime.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An' all I gits right along he gwine he'p me save, an' when I git fo'
+hund'ed dollahs he gwine gin me de free papahs fu' you, my little
+gal.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, Ben, Ben! Hit ain' so, is it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, hit is. Den you'll be you own ooman&mdash;leas'ways less'n you wants
+to be mine.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She went and put her arms around his neck. Her eyes were sparkling and
+her lips quivering.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You don' mean, Ben, dat I'll be free?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, you'll be free, Viney. Den I's gwine to set to wo'k an' buy my
+free papahs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, kin you do it&mdash;kin you do it&mdash;kin you do it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Kin I do it?&quot; he repeated. He stretched out his arm, with the sleeve
+rolled to the shoulder, <span class="pagenum">{59}</span>and curved it upward till the muscles stood
+out like great knots of oak. Then he opened and shut his fingers,
+squeezing them together until the joints cracked. &quot;Kin I do it?&quot; He
+looked down on her calmly and smiled simply, happily.</p>
+
+<p>She threw her arms around his waist and sank on her knees at his feet
+sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ben, Ben! My Ben! I nevah even thought of it. Hit seemed so far away,
+but now we're goin' to be free&mdash;free, free!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He lifted her up gently.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It's gwine to tek a pow'ful long time,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don' keer,&quot; she cried gaily. &quot;We know it's comin' an' we kin wait.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The woman's serious mood had passed as quickly as it had come, and she
+spun around the cabin, executing a series of steps that set her
+husband a-grin with admiration and joy.</p>
+
+<p>And so Ben began to work with renewed vigor. He had found a purpose in
+life and there was something for him to look for beyond dinner, a
+dance and the end of the day. He had always been a good hand, but now
+he became a model&mdash;no shirking, no shiftlessness&mdash;and because he was
+so earnest his master did what he <span class="pagenum">{60}</span>could to help him. Numerous little
+plans were formulated whereby the slave could make or save a precious
+dollar.</p>
+
+<p>Viney, too, seemed inspired by a new hope, and if this little house
+had been pleasant to Ben, nothing now was wanting to make it a palace
+in his eyes. Only one sorrow he had, and that one wrung hard at his
+great heart&mdash;no baby came to them&mdash;but instead he made a great baby of
+his wife, and went on his way hiding his disappointment the best he
+could. The banjo was often silent now, for when he came home his
+fingers were too stiff to play; but sometimes, when his heart ached
+for the laughter of a child, he would take down his old friend and
+play low, soothing melodies until he found rest and comfort.</p>
+
+<p>Viney had once tried to console him by saying that had she had a child
+it would have taken her away from her work, but he had only answered,
+&quot;We could a' stood that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But Ben's patient work and frugality had their reward, and it was only
+a little over three years after he had set out to do it that he put in
+his master's hand the price of Viney's freedom, and there was sound of
+rejoicing in the land. A fat shoat, honestly come by&mdash;for it was the
+master's <span class="pagenum">{61}</span>gift&mdash;was killed and baked, great jugs of biting persimmon
+beer were brought forth, and the quarters held high carnival to
+celebrate Viney's new-found liberty.</p>
+
+<p>After the merrymakers had gone, and when the cabin was clear again,
+Ben held out the paper that had been on exhibition all evening to
+Viney.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hyeah, hyeah's de docyment dat meks you yo' own ooman. Tek it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>During all the time that it had been out for show that night the
+people had looked upon it with a sort of awe, as if it was possessed
+of some sort of miraculous power. Even now Viney did not take hold of
+it, but shrunk away with a sort of gasp.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, Ben, you keep it. I can't tek keer o' no sich precious thing ez
+dat. Put hit in yo' chist.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tek hit and feel of hit, anyhow, so's you'll know dat you's free.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She took it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. Ben suddenly
+let go.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dah, now,&quot; he said; &quot;you keep dat docyment. It's yo's. Keep hit undah
+yo' own 'sponsibility.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, no, Ben!&quot; she cried. &quot;I jes' can't!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You mus'. Dat's de way to git used to bein'<span class="pagenum">{62}</span> free. Whenevah you looks
+at yo'se'f an' feels lak you ain' no diff'ent f'om whut you been you
+tek dat papah out an' look at hit, an' say to yo'se'f, 'Dat means
+freedom.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Carefully, reverently, silently Viney put the paper into her bosom.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, de nex' t'ing fu' me to do is to set out to git one dem papahs
+fu' myse'f. Hit'll be a long try, 'cause I can't buy mine so cheap as
+I got yo's, dough de Lawd knows why a great big ol' hunk lak me should
+cos' mo'n a precious mossell lak you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hit's because dey's so much of you, Ben, an' evah bit of you's wo'th
+its weight in gol'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heish, chile! Don' put my valy so high, er I'll be twell jedgment day
+a-payin' hit off.&quot;</p>
+
+<p><br/></p>
+<h3>PART II</h3>
+
+
+<p>So Ben went forth to battle for his own freedom, undaunted by the task
+before him, while Viney took care of the cabin, doing what she could
+outside. Armed with her new dignity, she insisted upon her friends'
+recognizing the change in her condition.</p>
+
+<p>Thus, when Mandy so far forgot herself as to <span class="pagenum">{63}</span>address her as Viney
+Raymond, the new free woman's head went up and she said with withering
+emphasis:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mis' Viney Allen, if you please!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Viney Allen!&quot; exclaimed her visitor. &quot;Huccum you's Viney Allen now?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Cause I don' belong to de Raymonds no mo', an' I kin tek my own name
+now.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ben 'longs to de Raymonds, an' his name Ben Raymond an' you his wife.
+How you git aroun' dat, Mis' Viney Allen?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ben's name goin' to be Mistah Allen soon's he gits his free papahs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oomph! You done gone now! Yo' naik so stiff you can't ha'dly ben' it.
+I don' see how dat papah mek sich a change in anybody's actions. Yo'
+face ain' got no whitah.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, but I's free, an' I kin do as I please.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mandy went forth and spread the news that Viney had changed her name
+from Raymond to Allen. &quot;She's Mis' Viney Allen, if you please!&quot; was
+her comment. Great was the indignation among the older heads whose
+fathers and mothers and grandfathers before them had been Raymonds.
+The younger element was greatly amused and took no end of pleasure in
+repeating <span class="pagenum">{64}</span>the new name or addressing each other by fantastic
+cognomens. Viney's popularity did not increase.</p>
+
+<p>Some rumors of this state of things drifted to Ben's ears and he
+questioned his wife about them. She admitted what she had done.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But, Viney,&quot; said Ben, &quot;Raymond's good enough name fu' me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don' you see, Ben,&quot; she answered, &quot;dat I don' belong to de Raymonds
+no mo', so I ain' Viney Raymond. Ain' you goin' change w'en you git
+free?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don' know. I talk about dat when I's free, and freedom's a mighty
+long, weary way off yet.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Evahbody dat's free has dey own name, an' I ain' nevah goin' feel
+free's long ez I's a-totin' aroun' de Raymonds' name.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, change den,&quot; said Ben; &quot;but wait ontwell I kin change wid you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Viney tossed her head, and that night she took out her free papers and
+studied them long and carefully.</p>
+
+<p>She was incensed at her friends that they would not pay her the homage
+that she felt was due her. She was incensed at Ben because he would
+not <span class="pagenum">{65}</span>enter into her feelings about the matter. She brooded upon her
+fancied injuries, and when a chance for revenge came she seized upon
+it eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>There were two or three free negro families in the vicinity of the
+Raymond place, but there had been no intercourse between them and the
+neighboring slaves. It was to these people that Viney now turned in
+anger against her own friends. It first amounted to a few visits back
+and forth, and then, either because the association became more
+intimate or because she was instigated to it by her new companions,
+she refused to have anything more to do with the Raymond servants.
+Boldly and without concealment she shut the door in Mandy's face, and,
+hearing this, few of the others gave her a similar chance.</p>
+
+<p>Ben remonstrated with her, and she answered him:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, suh! I ain' goin' 'sociate wid slaves! I's free!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But you cuttin' out yo' own husban'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dat's diff'ent. I's jined to my husban'.&quot; And then petulantly: &quot;I do
+wish you'd hu'y up an' git yo' free papahs, Ben.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dey'll be a long time a-comin',&quot; he said;<span class="pagenum">{66}</span> &quot;yeahs f'om now. Mebbe I'd
+abettah got mine fust.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him with a quick, suspicious glance. When she was
+alone again she took her papers and carefully hid them.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I's free,&quot; she whispered to herself, &quot;an' I don' expec' to nevah be a
+slave no mo'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She was further excited by the moving North of one of the free
+families with which she had been associated. The emigrants had painted
+glowing pictures of the Eldorado to which they were going, and now
+Viney's only talk in the evening was of the glories of the North. Ben
+would listen to her unmoved, until one night she said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You ought to go North when you gits yo' papahs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Then he had answered her, with kindling eyes:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I won't go Nawth! I was bo'n an' raised in de Souf, an' in de
+Souf I stay ontwell I die. Ef I have to go Nawth to injoy my freedom I
+won't have it. I'll quit wo'kin fu' it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Ben was positive, but he felt uneasy, and the next day he told his
+master of the whole matter, and Mr. Raymond went down to talk to
+Viney.</p>
+
+<p>She met him with a determination that surprised <span class="pagenum">{67}</span>and angered him. To
+everything he said to her she made but one answer: &quot;I's got my free
+papahs an' I's a-goin' Nawth.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Finally her former master left her with the remark:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I don't care where you go, but I'm sorry for Ben. He was a fool
+for working for you. You don't half deserve such a man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I won' have him long,&quot; she flung after him, with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>The opposition with which she had met seemed to have made her more
+obstinate, and in spite of all Ben could do, she began to make
+preparations to leave him. The money for the chickens and eggs had
+been growing and was to have gone toward her husband's ransom, but she
+finally sold all her laying hens to increase the amount. Then she
+calmly announced to her husband:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I's got money enough an' I's a-goin' Nawth next week. You kin stay
+down hyeah an' be a slave ef you want to, but I's a-goin' Nawth.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Even ef I wanted to go Nawth you know I ain' half paid out yit.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I can't he'p it. I can't spen' all de bes' pa't o' my life down
+hyeah where dey ain' no 'vantages.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{68}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;I reckon dey's 'vantages everywhah fu' anybody dat wants to wu'k.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, but what kin' o' wages does yo' git? Why, de Johnsons say dey
+had a lettah f'om Miss Smiff an' dey's gettin' 'long fine in de
+Nawth.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;De Johnsons ain' gwine?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Si Johnson is&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Then the woman stopped suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, hit's Si Johnson? Huh!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He ain' goin' wid me. He's jes' goin' to see dat I git sta'ted right
+aftah I git thaih.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hit's Si Johnson?&quot; he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Tain't,&quot; said the woman. &quot;Hit's freedom.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Ben got up and went out of the cabin.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Men's so 'spicious,&quot; she said. &quot;I ain' goin' Nawth 'cause Si's
+a-goin'&mdash;I ain't.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>When Mr. Raymond found out how matters were really going he went to
+Ben where he was at work in the field.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, look here, Ben,&quot; he said. &quot;You're one of the best hands on my
+place and I'd be sorry to lose you. I never did believe in this buying
+business from the first, but you were so bent on it that I gave in.
+But before I'll see her cheat you out of your money I'll give you your
+free papers now. You can go North with her <span class="pagenum">{69}</span>and you can pay me back
+when you find work.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No,&quot; replied Ben doggedly. &quot;Ef she cain't wait fu' me she don' want
+me, an' I won't roller her erroun' an' be in de way.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You're a fool!&quot; said his master.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I loves huh,&quot; said the slave. And so this plan came to naught.</p>
+
+<p>Then came the night on which Viney was getting together her
+belongings. Ben sat in a corner of the cabin silent, his head bowed in
+his hands. Every once in a while the woman cast a half-frightened
+glance at him. He had never once tried to oppose her with force,
+though she saw that grief had worn lines into his face.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened and Si Johnson came in. He had just dropped in to see
+if everything was all right. He was not to go for a week.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Let me look at yo' free papahs,&quot; he said, for Si could read and liked
+to show off his accomplishment at every opportunity. He stumbled
+through the formal document to the end, reading at the last: &quot;This is
+a present from Ben to his beloved wife, Viney.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She held out her hand for the paper. When Si was gone she sat gazing
+at it, trying in her <span class="pagenum">{70}</span>ignorance to pick from the, to her, senseless
+scrawl those last words. Ben had not raised his head.</p>
+
+<p>Still she sat there, thinking, and without looking her mind began to
+take in the details of the cabin. That box of shelves there in the
+corner Ben had made in the first days they were together. Yes, and
+this chair on which she was sitting&mdash;she remembered how they had
+laughed over its funny shape before he had padded it with cotton and
+covered it with the piece of linsey &quot;old Mis'&quot; had given him. The very
+chest in which her things were packed he had made, and when the last
+nail was driven he had called it her trunk, and said she should put
+her finery in it when she went traveling like the white folks. She was
+going traveling now, and Ben&mdash;Ben? There he sat across from her in his
+chair, bowed and broken, his great shoulders heaving with suppressed
+grief.</p>
+
+<p>Then, before she knew it, Viney was sobbing, and had crept close to
+him and put her arms around his neck. He threw out his arms with a
+convulsive gesture and gathered her up to his breast, and the tears
+gushed from his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>When the first storm of weeping had passed<span class="pagenum">{71}</span> Viney rose and went to the
+fireplace. She raked forward the coals.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ben,&quot; she said, &quot;hit's been dese pleggoned free papahs. I want you to
+see em bu'n.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, no!&quot; he said. But the papers were already curling, and in a
+moment they were in a blaze.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thaih,&quot; she said, &quot;thaih, now, Viney Raymond!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Ben gave a great gasp, then sprang forward and took her in his arms
+and kicked the packed chest into the corner.</p>
+
+<p>And that night singing was heard from Ben's cabin and the sound of the
+banjo.</p>
+
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{72}</span> -->
+
+<p><a name="73"></a><span class="pagenum">{73}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>THE FRUITFUL SLEEPING<br/>
+OF THE REV. ELISHA EDWARDS</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{74}</span></p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{75}</span></p>
+
+<h3>THE FRUITFUL SLEEPING OF THE REV. ELISHA EDWARDS</h3>
+
+
+<p>There was great commotion in Zion Church, a body of Christian
+worshippers, usually noted for their harmony. But for the last six
+months, trouble had been brewing between the congregation and the
+pastor. The Rev. Elisha Edwards had come to them two years before, and
+he had given good satisfaction as to preaching and pastoral work. Only
+one thing had displeased his congregation in him, and that was his
+tendency to moments of meditative abstraction in the pulpit. However
+much fire he might have displayed before a brother minister arose to
+speak, and however much he might display in the exhortation after the
+brother was done with the labors of hurling phillipics against the
+devil, he sat between in the same way, with head bowed and eyes
+closed.</p>
+
+<p>There were some who held that it was a sign in him of deep
+thoughtfulness, and that he was using these moments for silent prayer
+and meditation. But others, less generous, said that he <span class="pagenum">{76}</span>was either
+jealous of or indifferent to other speakers. So the discussion rolled
+on about the Rev. Elisha, but it did not reach him and he went
+on in the same way until one hapless day, one tragic, one
+never-to-be-forgotten day. While Uncle Isham Dyer was exhorting the
+people to repent of their sins, the disclosure came. The old man had
+arisen on the wings of his eloquence and was painting hell for the
+sinners in the most terrible colors, when to the utter surprise of the
+whole congregation, a loud and penetrating snore broke from the throat
+of the pastor of the church. It rumbled down the silence and startled
+the congregation into sudden and indignant life like the surprising
+cannon of an invading host. Horror-stricken eyes looked into each
+other, hands were thrown into the air, and heavy lips made round O's
+of surprise and anger. This was his meditation. The Rev. Elisha
+Edwards was asleep!</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Isham Dyer turned around and looked down on his pastor in
+disgust, and then turned again to his exhortations, but he was
+disconcerted, and soon ended lamely.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 476px;">
+<a name="imgp76"></a>
+<a href="images/p76.jpg">
+<img src="images/p76.jpg" height="500"
+alt="UNCLE ISHAM DYER EXHORTS." title="" /></a></div>
+<h5>UNCLE ISHAM DYER EXHORTS.</h5>
+<p><br/></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum">{77}</span></p>
+
+<p>As for the Rev. Elisha himself, his snore rumbled on through the
+church, his head drooped lower, until with a jerk, he awakened
+himself. He sighed religiously, patted his foot upon the floor, rubbed
+his hands together, and looked complacently over the aggrieved
+congregation. Old ladies moaned and old men shivered, but the pastor
+did not know what they had discovered, and shouted Amen, because he
+thought something Uncle Isham had said was affecting them. Then, when
+he arose to put the cap sheaf on his local brother's exhortations, he
+was strong, fiery, eloquent, but it was of no use. Not a cry, not a
+moan, not an Amen could he gain from his congregation. Only the local
+preacher himself, thinking over the scene which had just been enacted,
+raised his voice, placed his hands before his eyes, and murmured,
+&quot;Lord he'p we po' sinnahs!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Brother Edwards could not understand this unresponsiveness on the part
+of his people. They had been wont to weave and moan and shout and sigh
+when he spoke to them, and when, in the midst of his sermon, he paused
+to break into spirited song, they would join with him until the church
+rang again. But this day, he sang alone, and ominous glances were
+flashed from pew to pew and from aisle to pulpit. The collection that
+morning was especially small. No one asked the minister home to
+dinner, an unusual thing, <span class="pagenum">{78}</span>and so he went his way, puzzled and
+wondering.</p>
+
+<p>Before church that night, the congregation met together for
+conference. The exhorter of the morning himself opened proceedings by
+saying, &quot;Brothahs an' sistahs, de Lawd has opened ouah eyes to
+wickedness in high places.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oom&mdash;oom&mdash;oom, he have opened ouah eyes,&quot; moaned an old sister.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We have been puhmitted to see de man who was intrusted wid de
+guidance of dis flock a-sleepin' in de houah of duty, an' we feels
+grieved ter-night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He sholy were asleep,&quot; sister Hannah Johnson broke in, &quot;dey ain't no
+way to 'spute dat, dat man sholy were asleep.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I kin testify to it,&quot; said another sister, &quot;I p'intly did hyeah him
+sno', an' I hyeahed him sno't w'en he waked up.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An' we been givin' him praise fu' meditation,&quot; pursued Brother Isham
+Dyer, who was only a local preacher, in fact, but who had designs on
+ordination, and the pastoring of Zion Church himself.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It ain't de sleepin' itse'f,&quot; he went on, &quot;ef you 'member in de
+Gyarden of Gethsemane, endurin'<span class="pagenum">{79}</span> de agony of ouah Lawd, dem what he
+tuk wid him fu' to watch while he prayed, went to sleep on his han's.
+But he fu'give 'em, fu' he said, 'De sperit is willin' but de flesh is
+weak.' We know dat dey is times w'en de eyes grow sandy, an' de haid
+grow heavy, an' we ain't accusin' ouah brothah, nor a-blamin' him fu'
+noddin'. But what we do blame him fu' is fu' 'ceivin' us, an' mekin'
+us believe he was prayin' an' meditatin', w'en he wasn' doin' a
+blessed thing but snoozin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dat's it, dat's it,&quot; broke in a chorus of voices. &quot;He 'ceived us,
+dat's what he did.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The meeting went stormily on, the accusation and the anger of the
+people against the minister growing more and more. One or two were for
+dismissing him then and there, but calmer counsel prevailed and it was
+decided to give him another trial. He was a good preacher they had to
+admit. He had visited them when they were sick, and brought sympathy
+to their afflictions, and a genial presence when they were well. They
+would not throw him over, without one more chance, at least, of
+vindicating himself.</p>
+
+<p>This was well for the Rev. Elisha, for with the knowledge that he was
+to be given another chance, one trembling little woman, who had
+<span class="pagenum">{80}</span>listened in silence and fear to the tirades against him, crept out of
+the church, and hastened over in the direction of the parsonage. She
+met the preacher coming toward the church, hymn-book in hand, and his
+Bible under his arm. With a gasp, she caught him by the arm, and
+turned him back.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Come hyeah,&quot; she said, &quot;come hyeah, dey been talkin' 'bout you, an' I
+want to tell you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, Sis' Dicey,&quot; said the minister complacently, &quot;what is the
+mattah? Is you troubled in sperit?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I's troubled in sperit now,&quot; she answered, &quot;but you'll be troubled in
+a minute. Dey done had a church meetin' befo' services. Dey foun' out
+you was sleepin' dis mornin' in de pulpit. You ain't only sno'ed, but
+you sno'ted, an' dey 'lowin' to give you one mo' trial, an' ef you
+falls f'om grace agin, dey gwine ax you fu' to 'sign f'om de
+pastorship.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The minister staggered under the blow, and his brow wrinkled. To leave
+Zion Church. It would be very hard. And to leave there in disgrace;
+where would he go? His career would be ruined. The story would go to
+every church of the connection in the country, and he would be <span class="pagenum">{81}</span>an
+outcast from his cloth and his kind. He felt that it was all a mistake
+after all. He loved his work, and he loved his people. He wanted to do
+the right thing, but oh, sometimes, the chapel was hot and the hours
+were long. Then his head would grow heavy, and his eyes would close,
+but it had been only for a minute or two. Then, this morning, he
+remembered how he had tried to shake himself awake, how gradually, the
+feeling had overcome him. Then&mdash;then&mdash;he had snored. He had not tried
+wantonly to deceive them, but the Book said, &quot;Let not thy right hand
+know what thy left hand doeth.&quot; He did not think it necessary to tell
+them that he dropped into an occasional nap in church. Now, however,
+they knew all.</p>
+
+<p>He turned and looked down at the little woman, who waited to hear what
+he had to say.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thankye, ma'am, Sis' Dicey,&quot; he said. &quot;Thankye, ma'am. I believe I'll
+go back an' pray ovah this subject.&quot; And he turned and went back into
+the parsonage.</p>
+
+<p>Whether he had prayed over it or whether he had merely thought over
+it, and made his plans accordingly, when the Rev. Elisha came into
+church that night, he walked with a new spirit.<span class="pagenum">{82}</span> There was a smile on
+his lips, and the light of triumph in his eyes. Throughout the
+Deacon's long prayer, his loud and insistent Amens precluded the
+possibility of any sleep on his part. His sermon was a masterpiece of
+fiery eloquence, and as Sister Green stepped out of the church door
+that night, she said, &quot;Well, ef Brothah Eddards slep' dis mornin', he
+sholy prached a wakenin' up sermon ter-night.&quot; The congregation hardly
+remembered that their pastor had ever been asleep. But the pastor knew
+when the first flush of enthusiasm was over that their minds would
+revert to the crime of the morning, and he made plans accordingly for
+the next Sunday which should again vindicate him in the eyes of his
+congregation.</p>
+
+<p>The Sunday came round, and as he ascended to the pulpit, their eyes
+were fastened upon him with suspicious glances. Uncle Isham Dyer had a
+smile of triumph on his face, because the day was a particularly hot
+and drowsy one. It was on this account, the old man thought, that the
+Rev. Elisha asked him to say a few words at the opening of the
+meeting. &quot;Shirkin' again,&quot; said the old man to himself, &quot;I reckon he
+wants to go to sleep again, but ef he don't sleep dis day to <span class="pagenum">{83}</span>his own
+confusion, I ain't hyeah.&quot; So he arose, and burst into a wonderful
+exhortation on the merits of a Christian life.</p>
+
+<p>He had scarcely been talking for five minutes, when the ever watchful
+congregation saw the pastor's head droop, and his eyes close. For the
+next fifteen minutes, little or no attention was paid to Brother
+Dyer's exhortation. The angry people were nudging each other,
+whispering, and casting indignant glances at the sleeping pastor. He
+awoke and sat up, just as the exhorter was finishing in a fiery
+period. If those who watched him, were expecting to see any
+embarrassed look on his face, or show of timidity in his eyes, they
+were mistaken. Instead, his appearance was one of sudden alertness,
+and his gaze that of a man in extreme exaltation. One would have said
+that it had been given to him as to the inspired prophets of old to
+see and to hear things far and beyond the ken of ordinary mortals. As
+Brother Dyer sat down, he arose quickly and went forward to the front
+of the pulpit with a firm step. Still, with the look of exaltation on
+his face, he announced his text, &quot;Ef he sleep he shell do well.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The congregation, which a moment before had <span class="pagenum">{84}</span>been all indignation,
+suddenly sprang into the most alert attention. There was a visible
+pricking up of ears as the preacher entered into his subject. He spoke
+first of the benefits of sleep, what it did for the worn human body
+and the weary human soul, then turning off into a half-humorous,
+half-quizzical strain, which was often in his sermons, he spoke of how
+many times he had to forgive some of those who sat before him to-day
+for nodding in their pews; then raising his voice, like a good
+preacher, he came back to his text, exclaiming, &quot;But ef he sleep, he
+shell do well.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He went on then, and told of Jacob's sleep, and how at night, in the
+midst of his slumbers the visions of angels had come to him, and he
+had left a testimony behind him that was still a solace to their
+hearts. Then he lowered his voice and said:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You all condemns a man when you sees him asleep, not knowin' what
+visions is a-goin' thoo his mind, nor what feelin's is a-goin thoo his
+heart. You ain't conside'in' that mebbe he's a-doin' mo' in the soul
+wo'k when he's asleep then when he's awake. Mebbe he sleep, w'en you
+think he ought to be up a-wo'kin'. Mebbe <span class="pagenum">{85}</span>he slumber w'en you think he
+ought to be up an' erbout. Mebbe he sno' an' mebbe he sno't, but I'm
+a-hyeah to tell you, in de wo'ds of the Book, that they ain't no
+'sputin' 'Ef he sleep, he shell do well!'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, Lawd!&quot; &quot;Amen!&quot; &quot;Sleep on Ed'ards!&quot; some one shouted. The church
+was in smiles of joy. They were rocking to and fro with the ecstasy of
+the sermon, but the Rev. Elisha had not yet put on the cap sheaf.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hol' on,&quot; he said, &quot;befo' you shouts er befo' you sanctions. Fu' you
+may yet have to tu'n yo' backs erpon me, an' say, 'Lawd he'p the man!'
+I's a-hyeah to tell you that many's the time in this very pulpit,
+right under yo' very eyes, I has gone f'om meditation into slumber.
+But what was the reason? Was I a-shirkin' er was I lazy?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Shouts of &quot;No! No!&quot; from the congregation.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, no,&quot; pursued the preacher, &quot;I wasn't a-shirkin' ner I wasn't
+a-lazy, but the soul within me was a wo'kin' wid the min', an' as we
+all gwine ter do some day befo' long, early in de mornin', I done
+fu'git this ol' body. My haid fall on my breas', my eyes close, an' I
+see visions of anothah day to come. I see visions of a new Heaven an'
+a new earth, when we shell all be <span class="pagenum">{86}</span>clothed in white raimen', an' we
+shell play ha'ps of gol', an' walk de golden streets of the New
+Jerusalem! That's what been a runnin' thoo my min', w'en I set up in
+the pulpit an' sleep under the Wo'd; but I want to ax you, was I
+wrong? I want to ax you, was I sinnin'? I want to p'int you right
+hyeah to the Wo'd, as it are read out in yo' hyeahin' ter-day, 'Ef he
+sleep, he shell do well.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The Rev. Elisha ended his sermon amid the smiles and nods and tears of
+his congregation. No one had a harsh word for him now, and even
+Brother Dyer wiped his eyes and whispered to his next neighbor, &quot;Dat
+man sholy did sleep to some pu'pose,&quot; although he knew that the dictum
+was a deathblow to his own pastoral hopes. The people thronged around
+the pastor as he descended from the pulpit, and held his hand as they
+had done of yore. One old woman went out, still mumbling under her
+breath, &quot;Sleep on, Ed'ards, sleep on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>There were no more church meetings after that, and no tendency to
+dismiss the pastor. On the contrary, they gave him a donation party
+next week, at which Sister Dicey helped him to receive his guests.</p>
+
+
+<p><a name="87"></a><span class="pagenum">{87}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>THE INGRATE</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <p><span class="pagenum">{88}</span></p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{89}</span></p>
+
+<h3>THE INGRATE</h3>
+
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Leckler was a man of high principle. Indeed, he himself had
+admitted it at times to Mrs. Leckler. She was often called into
+counsel with him. He was one of those large souled creatures with a
+hunger for unlimited advice, upon which he never acted. Mrs. Leckler
+knew this, but like the good, patient little wife that she was, she
+went on paying her poor tribute of advice and admiration. To-day her
+husband's mind was particularly troubled,&mdash;as usual, too, over a
+matter of principle. Mrs. Leckler came at his call.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mrs. Leckler,&quot; he said, &quot;I am troubled in my mind. I&mdash;in fact, I am
+puzzled over a matter that involves either the maintaining or
+relinquishing of a principle.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Mr. Leckler?&quot; said his wife, interrogatively.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If I had been a scheming, calculating Yankee, I should have been rich
+now; but all my life I have been too generous and confiding. I have
+<span class="pagenum">{90}</span>always let principle stand between me and my interests.&quot; Mr. Leckler
+took himself all too seriously to be conscious of his pun, and went
+on: &quot;Now this is a matter in which my duty and my principles seem to
+conflict. It stands thus: Josh has been doing a piece of plastering
+for Mr. Eckley over in Lexington, and from what he says, I think that
+city rascal has misrepresented the amount of work to me and so cut
+down the pay for it. Now, of course, I should not care, the matter of
+a dollar or two being nothing to me; but it is a very different matter
+when we consider poor Josh.&quot; There was deep pathos in Mr. Leckler's
+tone. &quot;You know Josh is anxious to buy his freedom, and I allow him a
+part of whatever he makes; so you see it's he that's affected. Every
+dollar that he is cheated out of cuts off just so much from his
+earnings, and puts further away his hope of emancipation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>If the thought occurred to Mrs. Leckler that, since Josh received only
+about one-tenth of what he earned, the advantage of just wages would
+be quite as much her husband's as the slave's, she did not betray it,
+but met the na&iuml;ve reasoning with the question, &quot;But where does the
+conflict come in, Mr. Leckler?&quot;<span class="pagenum">{91}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Just here. If Josh knew how to read and write and cipher&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. Leckler, are you crazy!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Listen to me, my dear, and give me the benefit of your judgment. This
+is a very momentous question. As I was about to say, if Josh knew
+these things, he could protect himself from cheating when his work is
+at too great a distance for me to look after it for him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But teaching a slave&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, that's just what is against my principles. I know how public
+opinion and the law look at it. But my conscience rises up in
+rebellion every time I think of that poor black man being cheated out
+of his earnings. Really, Mrs. Leckler, I think I may trust to Josh's
+discretion, and secretly give him such instructions as will permit him
+to protect himself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, of course, it's just as you think best,&quot; said his wife.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I knew you would agree with me,&quot; he returned. &quot;It's such a comfort to
+take counsel with you, my dear!&quot; And the generous man walked out on to
+the veranda, very well satisfied with himself and his wife, and
+prospectively <span class="pagenum">{92}</span>pleased with Josh. Once he murmured to himself, &quot;I'll
+lay for Eckley next time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Josh, the subject of Mr. Leckler's charitable solicitations, was the
+plantation plasterer. His master had given him his trade, in order
+that he might do whatever such work was needed about the place; but he
+became so proficient in his duties, having also no competition among
+the poor whites, that he had grown to be in great demand in the
+country thereabout. So Mr. Leckler found it profitable, instead of
+letting him do chores and field work in his idle time, to hire him out
+to neighboring farms and planters. Josh was a man of more than
+ordinary intelligence; and when he asked to be allowed to pay for
+himself by working overtime, his master readily agreed,&mdash;for it
+promised more work to be done, for which he could allow the slave just
+what he pleased. Of course, he knew now that when the black man began
+to cipher this state of affairs would be changed; but it would mean
+such an increase of profit from the outside, that he could afford to
+give up his own little peculations. Anyway, it would be many years
+before the slave could pay the two thousand dollars, which price he
+had set upon him. Should he approach<span class="pagenum">{93}</span> that figure, Mr. Leckler felt it
+just possible that the market in slaves would take a sudden rise.</p>
+
+<p>When Josh was told of his master's intention, his eyes gleamed with
+pleasure, and he went to his work with the zest of long hunger. He
+proved a remarkably apt pupil. He was indefatigable in doing the tasks
+assigned him. Even Mr. Leckler, who had great faith in his plasterer's
+ability, marveled at the speed which he had acquired the three R's. He
+did not know that on one of his many trips a free negro had given Josh
+the rudimentary tools of learning, and that since the slave had been
+adding to his store of learning by poring over signs and every bit of
+print that he could spell out. Neither was Josh so indiscreet as to
+intimate to his benefactor that he had been anticipated in his good
+intentions.</p>
+
+<p>It was in this way, working and learning, that a year passed away, and
+Mr. Leckler thought that his object had been accomplished. He could
+safely trust Josh to protect his own interests, and so he thought that
+it was quite time that his servant's education should cease.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You know, Josh,&quot; he said, &quot;I have already gone against my principles
+and against the law for your sake, and of course a man can't stretch
+<span class="pagenum">{94}</span>his conscience too far, even to help another who's being cheated; but
+I reckon you can take care of yourself now.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes, suh, I reckon I kin,&quot; said Josh.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And it wouldn't do for you to be seen with any books about you now.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, no, suh, su't'n'y not.&quot; He didn't intend to be seen with any
+books about him.</p>
+
+<p>It was just now that Mr. Leckler saw the good results of all he had
+done, and his heart was full of a great joy, for Eckley had been
+building some additions to his house, and sent for Josh to do the
+plastering for him. The owner admonished his slave, took him over a
+few examples to freshen his memory, and sent him forth with glee. When
+the job was done, there was a discrepancy of two dollars in what Mr.
+Eckley offered for it and the price which accrued from Josh's
+measurements. To the employer's surprise, the black man went over the
+figures with him and convinced him of the incorrectness of the
+payment,&mdash;and the additional two dollars were turned over.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Some o' Leckler's work,&quot; said Eckley, &quot;teaching a nigger to cipher!
+Close-fisted old reprobate,&mdash;I've a mind to have the law on him.&quot; <span class="pagenum">{95}</span>Mr.
+Leckler heard the story with great glee. &quot;I laid for him that
+time&mdash;the old fox.&quot; But to Mrs. Leckler he said: &quot;You see, my dear
+wife, my rashness in teaching Josh to figure for himself is
+vindicated. See what he has saved for himself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What did he save?&quot; asked the little woman indiscreetly.</p>
+
+<p>Her husband blushed and stammered for a moment, and then replied,
+&quot;Well, of course, it was only twenty cents saved to him, but to a man
+buying his freedom every cent counts; and after all, it is not the
+amount, Mrs. Leckler, it's the principle of the thing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes,&quot; said the lady meekly.</p>
+
+<p><br/></p>
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+
+<p>Unto the body it is easy for the master to say, &quot;Thus far shalt thou
+go, and no farther.&quot; Gyves, chains and fetters will enforce that
+command. But what master shall say unto the mind, &quot;Here do I set the
+limit of your acquisition. Pass it not&quot;? Who shall put gyves upon the
+intellect, or fetter the movement of thought? Joshua Leckler, as
+custom denominated him, had tasted of the forbidden fruit, and his
+appetite had grown <span class="pagenum">{96}</span>by what it fed on. Night after night he crouched
+in his lonely cabin, by the blaze of a fat pine brand, poring over the
+few books that he had been able to secure and smuggle in. His
+fellow-servants alternately laughed at him and wondered why he did not
+take a wife. But Joshua went on his way. He had no time for marrying
+or for love; other thoughts had taken possession of him. He was being
+swayed by ambitions other than the mere fathering of slaves for his
+master. To him his slavery was deep night. What wonder, then, that he
+should dream, and that through the ivory gate should come to him the
+forbidden vision of freedom? To own himself, to be master of his
+hands, feet, of his whole body&mdash;something would clutch at his heart as
+he thought of it; and the breath would come hard between his lips. But
+he met his master with an impassive face, always silent, always
+docile; and Mr. Leckler congratulated himself that so valuable and
+intelligent a slave should be at the same time so tractable. Usually
+intelligence in a slave meant discontent; but not so with Josh. Who
+more content than he? He remarked to his wife: &quot;You see, my dear, this
+is what comes of treating even a nigger right.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{97}</span></p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the white hills of the North were beckoning to the chattel,
+and the north winds were whispering to him to be a chattel no longer.
+Often the eyes that looked away to where freedom lay were filled with
+a wistful longing that was tragic in its intensity, for they saw the
+hardships and the difficulties between the slave and his goal and,
+worst of all, an iniquitous law,&mdash;liberty's compromise with bondage,
+that rose like a stone wall between him and hope,&mdash;a law that degraded
+every free-thinking man to the level of a slave-catcher. There it
+loomed up before him, formidable, impregnable, insurmountable. He
+measured it in all its terribleness, and paused. But on the other side
+there was liberty; and one day when he was away at work, a voice came
+out of the woods and whispered to him &quot;Courage!&quot;&mdash;and on that night
+the shadows beckoned him as the white hills had done, and the forest
+called to him, &quot;Follow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It seems to me that Josh might have been able to get home to-night,&quot;
+said Mr. Leckler, walking up and down his veranda; &quot;but I reckon it's
+just possible that he got through too late to catch a train.&quot; In the
+morning he said: &quot;Well, he's not here yet; he must have had to do some
+<span class="pagenum">{98}</span>extra work. If he doesn't get here by evening, I'll run up there.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>In the evening, he did take the train for Joshua's place of
+employment, where he learned that his slave had left the night before.
+But where could he have gone? That no one knew, and for the first time
+it dawned upon his master that Josh had run away. He raged; he fumed;
+but nothing could be done until morning, and all the time Leckler knew
+that the most valuable slave on his plantation was working his way
+toward the North and freedom. He did not go back home, but paced the
+floor all night long. In the early dawn he hurried out, and the hounds
+were put on the fugitive's track. After some nosing around they set
+off toward a stretch of woods. In a few minutes they came yelping
+back, pawing their noses and rubbing their heads against the ground.
+They had found the trail, but Josh had played the old slave trick of
+filling his tracks with cayenne pepper. The dogs were soothed, and
+taken deeper into the wood to find the trail. They soon took it up
+again, and dashed away with low bays. The scent led them directly to a
+little wayside station about six miles distant. Here it stopped.
+Burning with the chase, Mr.<span class="pagenum">{99}</span> Leckler hastened to the station agent.
+Had he seen such a negro? Yes, he had taken the northbound train two
+nights before.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But why did you let him go without a pass?&quot; almost screamed the
+owner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I didn't,&quot; replied the agent. &quot;He had a written pass, signed James
+Leckler, and I let him go on it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Forged, forged!&quot; yelled the master. &quot;He wrote it himself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Humph!&quot; said the agent, &quot;how was I to know that? Our niggers round
+here don't know how to write.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Leckler suddenly bethought him to hold his peace. Josh was
+probably now in the arms of some northern abolitionist, and there was
+nothing to be done now but advertise; and the disgusted master spread
+his notices broadcast before starting for home. As soon as he arrived
+at his house, he sought his wife and poured out his griefs to her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You see, Mrs. Leckler, this is what comes of my goodness of heart. I
+taught that nigger to read and write, so that he could protect
+himself,&mdash;and look how he uses his knowledge. Oh, the ingrate, the
+ingrate! The very weapon which I <span class="pagenum"><span class="pagenum">{100}</span></span>give him to defend himself against
+others he turns upon me. Oh, it's awful,&mdash;awful! I've always been too
+confiding. Here's the most valuable nigger on my plantation
+gone,&mdash;gone, I tell you,&mdash;and through my own kindness. It isn't his
+value, though, I'm thinking so much about. I could stand his loss, if
+it wasn't for the principle of the thing, the base ingratitude he has
+shown me. Oh, if I ever lay hands on him again!&quot; Mr. Leckler closed
+his lips and clenched his fist with an eloquence that laughed at
+words.</p>
+
+<p>Just at this time, in one of the underground railway stations, six
+miles north of the Ohio, an old Quaker was saying to Josh: &quot;Lie
+still,&mdash;thee'll be perfectly safe there. Here comes John Trader, our
+local slave catcher, but I will parley with him and send him away.
+Thee need not fear. None of thy brethren who have come to us have ever
+been taken back to bondage.&mdash;Good-evening, Friend Trader!&quot; and Josh
+heard the old Quaker's smooth voice roll on, while he lay back half
+smothering in a bag, among other bags of corn and potatoes.</p>
+
+<p>It was after ten o'clock that night when he was thrown carelessly into
+a wagon and driven away to the next station, twenty-five miles to the
+<span class="pagenum">{101}</span>northward. And by such stages, hiding by day and traveling by night,
+helped by a few of his own people who were blessed with freedom, and
+always by the good Quakers wherever found, he made his way into
+Canada. And on one never-to-be-forgotten morning he stood up,
+straightened himself, breathed God's blessed air, and knew himself
+free!</p>
+
+<p><br/></p>
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+
+<p>To Joshua Leckler this life in Canada was all new and strange. It was
+a new thing for him to feel himself a man and to have his manhood
+recognized by the whites with whom he came into free contact. It was
+new, too, this receiving the full measure of his worth in work. He
+went to his labor with a zest that he had never known before, and he
+took a pleasure in the very weariness it brought him. Ever and anon
+there came to his ears the cries of his brethren in the South.
+Frequently he met fugitives who, like himself, had escaped from
+bondage; and the harrowing tales that they told him made him burn to
+do something for those whom he had left behind him. But these
+fugitives and the papers he read told <span class="pagenum">{102}</span>him other things. They said
+that the spirit of freedom was working in the United States, and
+already men were speaking out boldly in behalf of the manumission of
+the slaves; already there was a growing army behind that noble
+vanguard, Sumner, Phillips, Douglass, Garrison. He heard the names of
+Lucretia Mott and Harriet Beecher Stowe, and his heart swelled, for on
+the dim horizon he saw the first faint streaks of dawn.</p>
+
+<p>So the years passed. Then from the surcharged clouds a flash of
+lightning broke, and there was the thunder of cannon and the rain of
+lead over the land. From his home in the North he watched the storm as
+it raged and wavered, now threatening the North with its awful power,
+now hanging dire and dreadful over the South. Then suddenly from out
+the fray came a voice like the trumpet tone of God to him: &quot;Thou and
+thy brothers are free!&quot; Free, free, with the freedom not cherished by
+the few alone, but for all that had been bound. Free, with the freedom
+not torn from the secret night, but open to the light of heaven.</p>
+
+<p>When the first call for colored soldiers came, Joshua Leckler hastened
+down to Boston, and enrolled himself among those who were willing to
+<span class="pagenum">{103}</span>fight to maintain their freedom. On account of his ability to read
+and write and his general intelligence, he was soon made an orderly
+sergeant. His regiment had already taken part in an engagement before
+the public roster of this band of Uncle Sam's niggers, as they were
+called, fell into Mr. Leckler's hands. He ran his eye down the column
+of names. It stopped at that of Joshua Leckler, Sergeant, Company F.
+He handed the paper to Mrs. Leckler with his finger on the place:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mrs. Leckler,&quot; he said, &quot;this is nothing less than a judgment on me
+for teaching a nigger to read and write. I disobeyed the law of my
+state and, as a result, not only lost my nigger, but furnished the
+Yankees with a smart officer to help them fight the South. Mrs.
+Leckler, I have sinned&mdash;and been punished. But I am content, Mrs.
+Leckler; it all came through my kindness of heart,&mdash;and your mistaken
+advice. But, oh, that ingrate, that ingrate!&quot;</p>
+
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{104}</span> -->
+
+<p><a name="105"></a><span class="pagenum">{105}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>THE CASE<br />
+OF 'CA'LINE'</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{106}</span></p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{107}</span></p>
+
+<h3>THE CASE OF 'CA'LINE'</h3>
+
+<h4>A KITCHEN MONOLOGUE</h4>
+
+
+<p>The man of the house is about to go into the dining-room when he hears
+voices that tell him that his wife has gone down to give the &quot;hired
+help&quot; a threatened going over. He quietly withdraws, closes the door
+noiselessly behind him and listens from a safe point of vantage.</p>
+
+<p>One voice is timid and hesitating; that is his wife. The other is
+fearlessly raised; that is her majesty, the queen who rules the
+kitchen, and from it the rest of the house.</p>
+
+<p>This is what he overhears:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Mis' Ma'tin, hit do seem lak you jes' bent an' boun' to be
+a-fin'in' fault wid me w'en de Lawd knows I's doin' de ve'y bes' I
+kin. What 'bout de brekfus'? De steak too done an' de 'taters ain't
+done enough! Now, Miss Ma'tin, I jes' want to show you I cooked dat
+steak an' dem 'taters de same lengt' o' time. Seems to me dey ought to
+be done de same. Dat uz a thick <span class="pagenum">{108}</span>steak, an' I jes' got hit browned
+thoo nice. What mo'd you want?</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You didn't want it fried at all? Now, Mis' Ma'tin, 'clah to goodness!
+Who evah hyeah de beat o' dat? Don't you know dat fried meat is de
+bes' kin' in de worl'? W'y, de las' fambly dat I lived wid&mdash;dat uz ol'
+Jedge Johnson&mdash;he said dat I beat anybody fryin' he evah seen; said I
+fried evahthing in sight, an' he said my fried food stayed by him
+longer than anything he evah e't. Even w'en he paid me off he said it
+was 'case he thought somebody else ought to have de benefit of my
+wunnerful powahs. Huh, ma'am, I's used to de bes'. De Jedge paid me de
+highes' kin' o' comperments. De las' thing he say to me was, 'Ca'line,
+Ca'line,' he say, 'yo' cookin' is a pa'dox. It is crim'nal, dey ain't
+no 'sputin' dat, but it ain't action'ble.' Co'se, I didn't unnerstan'
+his langidge, but I knowed hit was comperments, 'case his wife, Mis'
+Jedge Johnson, got right jealous an' told him to shet his mouf.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dah you goes. Now, who'd 'a' thought dat a lady of yo' raisin' an
+unnerstannin' would 'a' brung dat up. De mo'nin' you come an' ketch me
+settin' down an' de brekfus not ready, I was a-steadyin'. I's a mighty
+han' to steady, Mis'<span class="pagenum">{109}</span> Ma'tin. 'Deed I steadies mos' all de time. But
+dat mo'nin' I got to steadyin' an' aftah while I sot down an' all my
+troubles come to my min'. I sho' has a heap o' trouble. I jes' sot
+thaih a-steadyin' 'bout 'em an' a-steadyin' tell bime-by, hyeah you
+comes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, ma'am, I wasn't 'sleep. I's mighty apt to nod w'en I's
+a-thinkin'. It's a kin' o' keepin' time to my idees. But bless yo'
+soul I wasn't 'sleep. I shets my eyes so's to see to think bettah. An'
+aftah all, Mistah Ma'tin wasn't mo' 'n half an houah late dat mo'nin'
+nohow, 'case w'en I did git up I sholy flew. Ef you jes' 'membahs
+'bout my steadyin' we ain't nevah gwine have no trouble long's I stays
+hyeah.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You say dat one night I stayed out tell one o'clock. W'y&mdash;oh, yes.
+Dat uz Thu'sday night. W'y la! Mis' Ma'tin, dat's de night my s'ciety
+meets, de Af'Ame'ican Sons an' Daughtahs of Judah. We had to
+'nitianate a new can'date dat night, an' la! I wish you'd 'a' been
+thaih, you'd 'a' killed yo'self a-laffin'.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You nevah did see sich ca'in's on in all yo' bo'n days. It was
+pow'ful funny. Broth' Eph'am Davis, he's ouah Mos' Wusshipful Rabbi,
+he says hit uz de mos' s'cessful 'nitination we <span class="pagenum">{110}</span>evah had. Dat
+can'date pawed de groun' lak a hoss an' tried to git outen de winder.
+But I got to be mighty keerful how I talk: I do' know whethah you
+'long to any secut s'cieties er not. I wouldn't been so late even fu'
+dat, but Mistah Hi'am Smif, he gallanted me home an' you know a lady
+boun' to stan' at de gate an' talk to huh comp'ny a little while. You
+know how it is, Mis' Ma'tin.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I been en'tainin' my comp'ny in de pa'lor? Co'se I has; you wasn't
+usin' it. What you s'pose my frien's 'u'd think ef I'd ax 'em in de
+kitchen w'en dey wasn't no one in de front room? Co'se I ax 'em in de
+pa'lor. I do' want my frien's to think I's wo'kin' fu' no low-down
+people. W'y, Miss 'Liza Harris set down an' played mos' splendid on
+yo' pianna, an' she compermented you mos' high. S'pose I'd a tuck huh
+in de kitchen, whaih de comperments come in?</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yass'm, yass'm, I does tek home little things now an' den, dat I
+does, an' I ain't gwine to 'ny it. I jes' says to myse'f, I ain't
+wo'kin' fu' no strainers lak de people nex' do', what goes into
+tantrums ef de lady what cooks fu' 'em teks home a bit o' sugar. I
+'lows to myse'f I ain't wo'kin' fu' no sich folks; so sometimes I teks
+<span class="pagenum">{111}</span>home jes' a weenchy bit o' somep'n' dat nobody couldn't want nohow,
+an' I knows you ain't gwine 'ject to dat. You do 'ject, you do 'ject!
+Huh!</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I's got to come an' ax you, has I? Look a-hyeah, Mis' Ma'tin, I know
+I has to wo'k in yo' kitchen. I know I has to cook fu' you, but I want
+you to know dat even ef I does I's a lady. I's a lady, but I see you
+do' know how to 'preciate a lady w'en you meets one. You kin jes'
+light in an' git yo' own dinner. I wouldn't wo'k fu' you ef you uz
+made o' gol'. I nevah did lak to wo'k fu' strainers, nohow.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, ma'am, I cain't even stay an' git de dinner. I know w'en I been
+insulted. Seems lak ef I stay in hyeah another minute I'll bile all
+over dis kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who excited? Me excited? No, I ain't excited. I's mad. I do' lak
+nobody pesterin' 'roun' my kitchen, nohow, huh, uh, honey. Too many
+places in dis town waitin' fu' Ca'line Mason.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, indeed, you needn't 'pologize to me! needn't 'pologize to me. I
+b'lieve in people sayin' jes' what dey mean, I does.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Would I stay, ef you 'crease my wages?<span class="pagenum">{112}</span> Well&mdash;I reckon I could, but
+I&mdash;but I do' want no foolishness.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>(Sola.) &quot;Huh! Did she think she was gwine to come down hyeah an' skeer
+me, huh, uh? Whaih's dat fryin' pan?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The man of the house hears the rustle of his wife's skirts as she
+beats a retreat and he goes upstairs and into the library whistling,
+&quot;See, the Conquering Hero Comes.&quot;</p>
+
+
+<p><a name="113"></a><span class="pagenum">{113}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>THE FINISH OF<br />
+PATSY BARNES</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{114}</span></p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{115}</span></p>
+
+<h3>THE FINISH OF PATSY BARNES</h3>
+
+
+<p>His name was Patsy Barnes, and he was a denizen of Little Africa. In
+fact, he lived on Douglass Street. By all the laws governing the
+relations between people and their names, he should have been
+Irish&mdash;but he was not. He was colored, and very much so. That was the
+reason he lived on Douglass Street. The negro has very strong within
+him the instinct of colonization and it was in accordance with this
+that Patsy's mother had found her way to Little Africa when she had
+come North from Kentucky.</p>
+
+<p>Patsy was incorrigible. Even into the confines of Little Africa had
+penetrated the truant officer and the terrible penalty of the
+compulsory education law. Time and time again had poor Eliza Barnes
+been brought up on account of the shortcomings of that son of hers.
+She was a hard-working, honest woman, and day by day bent over her
+tub, scrubbing away to keep Patsy in shoes and jackets, that would
+wear out so much faster than they could be bought. But she never
+murmured, for she loved the boy with a deep <span class="pagenum">{116}</span>affection, though his
+misdeeds were a sore thorn in her side.</p>
+
+<p>She wanted him to go to school. She wanted him to learn. She had the
+notion that he might become something better, something higher than
+she had been. But for him school had no charms; his school was the
+cool stalls in the big livery stable near at hand; the arena of his
+pursuits its sawdust floor; the height of his ambition, to be a
+horseman. Either here or in the racing stables at the Fair-grounds he
+spent his truant hours. It was a school that taught much, and Patsy
+was as apt a pupil as he was a constant attendant. He learned strange
+things about horses, and fine, sonorous oaths that sounded eerie on
+his young lips, for he had only turned into his fourteenth year.</p>
+
+<p>A man goes where he is appreciated; then could this slim black boy be
+blamed for doing the same thing? He was a great favorite with the
+horsemen, and picked up many a dime or nickel for dancing or singing,
+or even a quarter for warming up a horse for its owner. He was not to
+be blamed for this, for, first of all, he was born in Kentucky, and
+had spent the very days of his infancy about the paddocks near
+Lexington, <span class="pagenum">{117}</span>where his father had sacrificed his life on account of his
+love for horses. The little fellow had shed no tears when he looked at
+his father's bleeding body, bruised and broken by the fiery young
+two-year-old he was trying to subdue. Patsy did not sob or whimper,
+though his heart ached, for over all the feeling of his grief was a
+mad, burning desire to ride that horse.</p>
+
+<p>His tears were shed, however, when, actuated by the idea that times
+would be easier up North, they moved to Dalesford. Then, when he
+learned that he must leave his old friends, the horses and their
+masters, whom he had known, he wept. The comparatively meagre
+appointments of the Fair-grounds at Dalesford proved a poor
+compensation for all these. For the first few weeks Patsy had dreams
+of running away&mdash;back to Kentucky and the horses and stables. Then
+after a while he settled himself with heroic resolution to make the
+best of what he had, and with a mighty effort took up the burden of
+life away from his beloved home.</p>
+
+<p>Eliza Barnes, older and more experienced though she was, took up her
+burden with a less cheerful philosophy than her son. She worked hard,
+and made a scanty livelihood, it is true, <span class="pagenum">{118}</span>but she did not make the
+best of what she had. Her complainings were loud in the land, and her
+wailings for her old home smote the ears of any who would listen to
+her.</p>
+
+<p>They had been living in Dalesford for a year nearly, when hard work
+and exposure brought the woman down to bed with pneumonia. They were
+very poor&mdash;too poor even to call in a doctor, so there was nothing to
+do but to call in the city physician. Now this medical man had too
+frequent calls into Little Africa, and he did not like to go there. So
+he was very gruff when any of its denizens called him, and it was even
+said that he was careless of his patients.</p>
+
+<p>Patsy's heart bled as he heard the doctor talking to his mother:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, there can't be any foolishness about this,&quot; he said. &quot;You've got
+to stay in bed and not get yourself damp.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How long you think I got to lay hyeah, doctah?&quot; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm a doctor, not a fortune-teller,&quot; was the reply. &quot;You'll lie there
+as long as the disease holds you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But I can't lay hyeah long, doctah, case I ain't got nuffin' to go
+on.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{119}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, take your choice: the bed or the boneyard.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Eliza began to cry.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You needn't sniffle,&quot; said the doctor; &quot;I don't see what you people
+want to come up here for anyhow. Why don't you stay down South where
+you belong? You come up here and you're just a burden and a trouble to
+the city. The South deals with all of you better, both in poverty and
+crime.&quot; He knew that these people did not understand him, but he
+wanted an outlet for the heat within him.</p>
+
+<p>There was another angry being in the room, and that was Patsy. His
+eyes were full of tears that scorched him and would not fall. The
+memory of many beautiful and appropriate oaths came to him; but he
+dared not let his mother hear him swear. Oh! to have a stone&mdash;to be
+across the street from that man!</p>
+
+<p>When the physician walked out, Patsy went to the bed, took his
+mother's hand, and bent over shamefacedly to kiss her. He did not know
+that with that act the Recording Angel blotted out many a curious damn
+of his.</p>
+
+<p>The little mark of affection comforted Eliza unspeakably. The
+mother-feeling overwhelmed <span class="pagenum">{120}</span>her in one burst of tears. Then she dried
+her eyes and smiled at him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Honey,&quot; she said; &quot;mammy ain' gwine lay hyeah long. She be all right
+putty soon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nevah you min',&quot; said Patsy with a choke in his voice. &quot;I can do
+somep'n', an' we'll have anothah doctah.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;La, listen at de chile; what kin you do?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm goin' down to McCarthy's stable and see if I kin git some horses
+to exercise.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A sad look came into Eliza's eyes as she said: &quot;You'd bettah not go,
+Patsy; dem hosses'll kill you yit, des lak dey did yo' pappy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But the boy, used to doing pretty much as he pleased, was obdurate,
+and even while she was talking, put on his ragged jacket and left the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>Patsy was not wise enough to be diplomatic. He went right to the point
+with McCarthy, the liveryman.</p>
+
+<p>The big red-faced fellow slapped him until he spun round and round.
+Then he said, &quot;Ye little devil, ye, I've a mind to knock the whole
+head off o' ye. Ye want harses to exercise, do ye? Well git on that
+'un, an' see what ye kin do with him.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{121}</span></p>
+
+<p>The boy's honest desire to be helpful had tickled the big, generous
+Irishman's peculiar sense of humor, and from now on, instead of giving
+Patsy a horse to ride now and then as he had formerly done, he put
+into his charge all the animals that needed exercise.</p>
+
+<p>It was with a king's pride that Patsy marched home with his first
+considerable earnings.</p>
+
+<p>They were small yet, and would go for food rather than a doctor, but
+Eliza was inordinately proud, and it was this pride that gave her
+strength and the desire of life to carry her through the days
+approaching the crisis of her disease.</p>
+
+<p>As Patsy saw his mother growing worse, saw her gasping for breath,
+heard the rattling as she drew in the little air that kept going her
+clogged lungs, felt the heat of her burning hands, and saw the pitiful
+appeal in her poor eyes, he became convinced that the city doctor was
+not helping her. She must have another. But the money?</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon, after his work with McCarthy, found him at the
+Fair-grounds. The spring races were on, and he thought he might get a
+job warming up the horse of some independent jockey. He hung around
+the stables, listening to the talk of men he knew and some he had
+never <span class="pagenum">{122}</span>seen before. Among the latter was a tall, lanky man, holding
+forth to a group of men.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, suh,&quot; he was saying to them generally, &quot;I'm goin' to withdraw my
+hoss, because thaih ain't nobody to ride him as he ought to be rode. I
+haven't brought a jockey along with me, so I've got to depend on
+pick-ups. Now, the talent's set agin my hoss, Black Boy, because he's
+been losin' regular, but that hoss has lost for the want of ridin',
+that's all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The crowd looked in at the slim-legged, raw-boned horse, and walked
+away laughing.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The fools!&quot; muttered the stranger. &quot;If I could ride myself I'd show
+'em!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Patsy was gazing into the stall at the horse.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What are you doing thaih,&quot; called the owner to him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Look hyeah, mistah,&quot; said Patsy, &quot;ain't that a bluegrass hoss?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of co'se it is, an' one o' the fastest that evah grazed.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'll ride that hoss, mistah.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What do you know 'bout ridin'?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I used to gin'ally be' roun' Mistah Boone's paddock in Lexington,
+an'&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aroun' Boone's paddock&mdash;what! Look here, <span class="pagenum">{123}</span>little nigger, if you can
+ride that hoss to a winnin' I'll give you more money than you ever
+seen before.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'll ride him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Patsy's heart was beating very wildly beneath his jacket. That horse.
+He knew that glossy coat. He knew that raw-boned frame and those
+flashing nostrils. That black horse there owed something to the orphan
+he had made.</p>
+
+<p>The horse was to ride in the race before the last. Somehow out of odds
+and ends, his owner scraped together a suit and colors for Patsy. The
+colors were maroon and green, a curious combination. But then it was a
+curious horse, a curious rider, and a more curious combination that
+brought the two together.</p>
+
+<p>Long before the time for the race Patsy went into the stall to become
+better acquainted with his horse. The animal turned its wild eyes upon
+him and neighed. He patted the long, slender head, and grinned as the
+horse stepped aside as gently as a lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He sholy is full o' ginger,&quot; he said to the owner, whose name he had
+found to be Brackett.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He'll show 'em a thing or two,&quot; laughed Brackett.<span class="pagenum">{124}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;His dam was a fast one,&quot; said Patsy, unconsciously.</p>
+
+<p>Brackett whirled on him in a flash. &quot;What do you know about his dam?&quot;
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>The boy would have retracted, but it was too late. Stammeringly he
+told the story of his father's death and the horse's connection
+therewith.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well,&quot; said Brackett, &quot;if you don't turn out a hoodoo, you're a
+winner, sure. But I'll be blessed if this don't sound like a story!
+But I've heard that story before. The man I got Black Boy from, no
+matter how I got him, you're too young to understand the ins and outs
+of poker, told it to me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>When the bell sounded and Patsy went out to warm up, he felt as if he
+were riding on air. Some of the jockeys laughed at his get-up, but
+there was something in him&mdash;or under him, maybe&mdash;that made him scorn
+their derision. He saw a sea of faces about him, then saw no more.
+Only a shining white track loomed ahead of him, and a restless steed
+was cantering with him around the curve. Then the bell called him back
+to the stand.</p>
+
+<p>They did not get away at first, and back they trooped. A second trial
+was a failure. But at <span class="pagenum">{125}</span>the third they were off in a line as straight
+as a chalk-mark. There were Essex and Firefly, Queen Bess and
+Mosquito, galloping away side by side, and Black Boy a neck ahead.
+Patsy knew the family reputation of his horse for endurance as well as
+fire, and began riding the race from the first. Black Boy came of
+blood that would not be passed, and to this his rider trusted. At the
+eighth the line was hardly broken, but as the quarter was reached
+Black Boy had forged a length ahead, and Mosquito was at his flank.
+Then, like a flash, Essex shot out ahead under whip and spur, his
+jockey standing straight in the stirrups.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd in the stand screamed; but Patsy smiled as he lay low over
+his horse's neck. He saw that Essex had made her best spurt. His only
+fear was for Mosquito, who hugged and hugged his flank. They were
+nearing the three-quarter post, and he was tightening his grip on the
+black. Essex fell back; his spurt was over. The whip fell unheeded on
+his sides. The spurs dug him in vain.</p>
+
+<p>Black Boy's breath touches the leader's ear. They are neck and
+neck&mdash;nose to nose. The black stallion passes him.<span class="pagenum">{126}</span></p>
+
+<p>Another cheer from the stand, and again Patsy smiles as they turn into
+the stretch. Mosquito has gained a head. The colored boy flashes one
+glance at the horse and rider who are so surely gaining upon him, and
+his lips close in a grim line. They are half-way down the stretch, and
+Mosquito's head is at the stallion's neck.</p>
+
+<p>For a single moment Patsy thinks of the sick woman at home and what
+that race will mean to her, and then his knees close against the
+horse's sides with a firmer dig. The spurs shoot deeper into the
+steaming flanks. Black Boy shall win; he must win. The horse that has
+taken away his father shall give him back his mother. The stallion
+leaps away like a flash, and goes under the wire&mdash;a length ahead.</p>
+
+<p>Then the band thundered, and Patsy was off his horse, very warm and
+very happy, following his mount to the stable. There, a little later,
+Brackett found him. He rushed to him, and flung his arms around him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You little devil,&quot; he cried, &quot;you rode like you were kin to that
+hoss! We've won! We've won!&quot; And he began sticking banknotes at the
+boy. At first Patsy's eyes bulged, <span class="pagenum">{127}</span>and then he seized the money and
+got into his clothes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Goin' out to spend it?&quot; asked Brackett.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm goin' for a doctah fu' my mother,&quot; said Patsy, &quot;she's sick.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don't let me lose sight of you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, I'll see you again. So long,&quot; said the boy.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later he walked into his mother's room with a very big doctor,
+the greatest the druggist could direct him to. The doctor left his
+medicines and his orders, but, when Patsy told his story, it was
+Eliza's pride that started her on the road to recovery. Patsy did not
+tell his horse's name.</p>
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{128}</span> -->
+
+
+<p><a name="129"></a><span class="pagenum">{129}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>ONE MAN'S<br />
+FORTUNES</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{130}</span></p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{131}</span></p>
+
+<h3>ONE MAN'S FORTUNES</h3>
+
+
+<h3>Part I</h3>
+
+
+<p>When Bertram Halliday left the institution which, in the particular
+part of the middle west where he was born, was called the state
+university, he did not believe, as young graduates are reputed to,
+that he had conquered the world and had only to come into his kingdom.
+He knew that the battle of life was, in reality, just beginning and,
+with a common sense unusual to his twenty-three years but born out of
+the exigencies of a none-too-easy life, he recognized that for him the
+battle would be harder than for his white comrades.</p>
+
+<p>Looking at his own position, he saw himself the member of a race
+dragged from complacent savagery into the very heat and turmoil of a
+civilization for which it was in nowise prepared; bowed beneath a yoke
+to which its shoulders were not fitted, and then, without warning,
+thrust forth into a freedom as absurd as it was startling and
+overwhelming. And yet, he felt, as most young men must feel, an
+individual strength that <span class="pagenum">{132}</span>would exempt him from the workings of the
+general law. His outlook on life was calm and unfrightened. Because he
+knew the dangers that beset his way, he feared them less. He felt
+assured because with so clear an eye he saw the weak places in his
+armor which the world he was going to meet would attack, and these he
+was prepared to strengthen. Was it not the fault of youth and
+self-confessed weakness, he thought, to go into the world always
+thinking of it as a foe? Was not this great Cosmopolis, this dragon of
+a thousand talons kind as well as cruel? Had it not friends as well as
+enemies? Yes. That was it: the outlook of young men, of colored young
+men in particular, was all wrong,&mdash;they had gone at the world in the
+wrong spirit. They had looked upon it as a terrible foeman and forced
+it to be one. He would do it, oh, so differently. He would take the
+world as a friend. He would even take the old, old world under his
+wing.</p>
+
+<p>They sat in the room talking that night, he and Webb Davis and Charlie
+McLean. It was the last night they were to be together in so close a
+relation. The commencement was over. They had their sheepskins. They
+were pitched there on the bed very carelessly to be the important
+<span class="pagenum">{133}</span>things they were,&mdash;the reward of four years digging in Greek and
+Mathematics.</p>
+
+<p>They had stayed after the exercises of the day just where they had
+first stopped. This was at McLean's rooms, dismantled and topsy-turvy
+with the business of packing. The pipes were going and the talk kept
+pace. Old men smoke slowly and in great whiffs with long intervals of
+silence between their observations. Young men draw fast and say many
+and bright things, for young men are wise,&mdash;while they are young.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, it's just like this,&quot; Davis was saying to McLean, &quot;Here we are,
+all three of us turned out into the world like a lot of little
+sparrows pitched out of the nest, and what are we going to do? Of
+course it's easy enough for you, McLean, but what are my grave friend
+with the nasty black briar, and I, your humble servant, to do? In what
+wilderness are we to pitch our tents and where is our manna coming
+from?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, well, the world owes us all a living,&quot; said McLean.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hackneyed, but true. Of course it does; but every time a colored man
+goes around to collect, the world throws up its hands and yells
+'insolvent'&mdash;eh, Halliday?&quot;<span class="pagenum">{134}</span></p>
+
+<p>Halliday took his pipe from his mouth as if he were going to say
+something. Then he put it back without speaking and looked
+meditatively through the blue smoke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm right,&quot; Davis went on, &quot;to begin with, we colored people haven't
+any show here. Now, if we could go to Central or South America, or
+some place like that,&mdash;but hang it all, who wants to go thousands of
+miles away from home to earn a little bread and butter?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There's India and the young Englishmen, if I remember rightly,&quot; said
+McLean.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes, that's all right, with the Cabots and Drake and Sir John
+Franklin behind them. Their traditions, their blood, all that they
+know makes them willing to go 'where there ain't no ten commandments
+and a man can raise a thirst,' but for me, home, if I can call it
+home.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, then, stick it out.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's easy enough to say, McLean; but ten to one you've got some
+snap picked out for you already, now 'fess up, ain't you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, of course I'm going in with my father, I can't help that, but
+I've got&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To be sure,&quot; broke in Davis, &quot;you go in with your father. Well, if
+all I had to do was to <span class="pagenum">{135}</span>step right out of college into my father's
+business with an assured salary, however small, I shouldn't be falling
+on my own neck and weeping to-night. But that's just the trouble with
+us; we haven't got fathers before us or behind us, if you'd rather.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;More luck to you, you'll be a father before or behind some one else;
+you'll be an ancestor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It's more profitable being a descendant, I find.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A glow came into McLean's face and his eyes sparkled as he replied:
+&quot;Why, man, if I could, I'd change places with you. You don't deserve
+your fate. What is before you? Hardships, perhaps, and long waiting.
+But then, you have the zest of the fight, the joy of the action and
+the chance of conquering. Now what is before me,&mdash;me, whom you are
+envying? I go out of here into a dull counting-room. The way is
+prepared for me. Perhaps I shall have no hardships, but neither have I
+the joy that comes from pains endured. Perhaps I shall have no battle,
+but even so, I lose the pleasure of the fight and the glory of
+winning. Your fate is infinitely to be preferred to mine.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{136}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, now you talk with the voluminous voice of the centuries,&quot;
+bantered Davis. &quot;You are but echoing the breath of your Nelsons, your
+Cabots, your Drakes and your Franklins. Why, can't you see, you
+sentimental idiot, that it's all different and has to be different
+with us? The Anglo-Saxon race has been producing that fine frenzy in
+you for seven centuries and more. You come, with the blood of
+merchants, pioneers and heroes in your veins, to a normal battle. But
+for me, my forebears were savages two hundred years ago. My people
+learn to know civilization by the lowest and most degrading contact
+with it, and thus equipped or unequipped I tempt, an abnormal contest.
+Can't you see the disproportion?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If I do, I can also see the advantage of it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;For the sake of common sense, Halliday,&quot; said Davis, turning to his
+companion, &quot;don't sit there like a clam; open up and say something to
+convince this Don Quixote who, because he himself, sees only
+windmills, cannot be persuaded that we have real dragons to fight.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do you fellows know Henley?&quot; asked Halliday, with apparent
+irrelevance.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know him as a critic,&quot; said McLean.<span class="pagenum">{137}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know him as a name,&quot; echoed the worldly Davis, &quot;but&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I mean his poems,&quot; resumed Halliday, &quot;he is the most virile of the
+present-day poets. Kipling is virile, but he gives you the man in hot
+blood with the brute in him to the fore; but the strong masculinity of
+Henley is essentially intellectual. It is the mind that is conquering
+always.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, now that you have settled the relative place in English letters
+of Kipling and Henley, might I be allowed humbly to ask what in the
+name of all that is good has that to do with the question before the
+house?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don't know your man's poetry,&quot; said McLean, &quot;but I do believe that
+I can see what you are driving at.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Wonderful perspicacity, oh, youth!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If Webb will agree not to run, I'll spring on you the poem that seems
+to me to strike the keynote of the matter in hand.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, well, curiosity will keep me. I want to get your position, and I
+want to see McLean annihilated.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>In a low, even tone, but without attempt at dramatic effect, Halliday
+began to recite:<span class="pagenum">{138}</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span>&quot;Out of the night that covers me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Black as the pit from pole to pole,<br /></span>
+<span>I thank whatever gods there be<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For my unconquerable soul!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span>&quot;In the fell clutch of circumstance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I have not winced nor cried aloud.<br /></span>
+<span>Under the bludgeonings of chance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My head is bloody, but unbowed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span>&quot;Beyond this place of wrath and tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Looms but the horror of the shade,<br /></span>
+<span>And yet the menace of the years<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Finds, and shall find me unafraid.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span>&quot;It matters not how strait the gate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">How charged with punishments the scroll,<br /></span>
+<span>I am the master of my fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I am the captain of my soul.&quot;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&quot;That's it,&quot; exclaimed McLean, leaping to his feet, &quot;that's what I
+mean. That's the sort of a stand for a man to take.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Davis rose and knocked the ashes from his pipe against the
+window-sill. &quot;Well, for two poetry-spouting, poetry-consuming,
+sentimental idiots, commend me to you fellows. Master of my fate,
+captain of my soul, be dashed! Old Jujube, with his bone-pointed
+hunting spear, began determining a couple of hundred years ago what I
+should be in this year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and
+ninety-four.<span class="pagenum">{139}</span> J. Webb Davis, senior, added another brick to this
+structure, when he was picking cotton on his master's plantation forty
+years ago.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And now,&quot; said Halliday, also rising, &quot;don't you think it fair that
+you should start out with the idea of adding a few bricks of your own,
+and all of a better make than those of your remote ancestor, Jujube,
+or that nearer one, your father?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Spoken like a man,&quot; said McLean.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, you two are so hopelessly young,&quot; laughed Davis.</p>
+
+<p><br/></p>
+<h3>PART II</h3>
+
+
+<p>After the two weeks' rest which he thought he needed, and consequently
+promised himself, Halliday began to look about him for some means of
+making a start for that success in life which he felt so sure of
+winning.</p>
+
+<p>With this end in view he returned to the town where he was born. He
+had settled upon the law as a profession, and had studied it for a
+year or two while at college. He would go back to Broughton now to
+pursue his studies, but of course, he needed money. No difficulty,
+however, <span class="pagenum">{140}</span>presented itself in the getting of this for he knew several
+fellows who had been able to go into offices, and by collecting and
+similar duties make something while they studied. Webb Davis would
+have said, &quot;but they were white,&quot; but Halliday knew what his own reply
+would have been: &quot;What a white man can do, I can do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Even if he could not go to studying at once, he could go to work and
+save enough money to go on with his course in a year or two. He had
+lots of time before him, and he only needed a little start. What
+better place then, to go to than Broughton, where he had first seen
+the light? Broughton, that had known him, boy and man. Broughton that
+had watched him through the common school and the high school, and had
+seen him go off to college with some pride and a good deal of
+curiosity. For even in middle west towns of such a size, that is,
+between seventy and eighty thousand souls, a &quot;smart negro&quot; was still a
+freak.</p>
+
+<p>So Halliday went back home because the people knew him there and would
+respect his struggles and encourage his ambitions.</p>
+
+<p>He had been home two days, and the old town <span class="pagenum">{141}</span>had begun to take on its
+remembered aspect as he wandered through the streets and along the
+river banks. On this second day he was going up Main street deep in a
+brown study when he heard his name called by a young man who was
+approaching him, and saw an outstretched hand.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, how de do, Bert, how are you? Glad to see you back. I hear you
+have been astonishing them up at college.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Halliday's reverie had been so suddenly broken into that for a moment,
+the young fellow's identity wavered elusively before his mind and then
+it materialized, and his consciousness took hold of it. He remembered
+him, not as an intimate, but as an acquaintance whom he had often met
+upon the football and baseball fields.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How do you do? It's Bob Dickson,&quot; he said, shaking the proffered
+hand, which at the mention of the name, had grown unaccountably cold
+in his grasp.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I'm Mr. Dickson,&quot; said the young man, patronizingly. &quot;You seem
+to have developed wonderfully, you hardly seem like the same Bert
+Halliday I used to know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, but I'm the same Mr. Halliday.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh&mdash;ah&mdash;yes,&quot; said the young man, &quot;well,<span class="pagenum">{142}</span> I'm glad to have seen you.
+Ah&mdash;good-bye, Bert.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good-bye, Bob.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Presumptuous darky!&quot; murmured Mr. Dickson.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Insolent puppy!&quot; said Mr. Halliday to himself.</p>
+
+<p>But the incident made no impression on his mind as bearing upon his
+status in the public eye. He only thought the fellow a cad, and went
+hopefully on. He was rather amused than otherwise. In this frame of
+mind, he turned into one of the large office-buildings that lined the
+street and made his way to a business suite over whose door was the
+inscription, &quot;H.G. Featherton, Counsellor and Attorney-at-Law.&quot; Mr.
+Featherton had shown considerable interest in Bert in his school days,
+and he hoped much from him.</p>
+
+<p>As he entered the public office, a man sitting at the large desk in
+the centre of the room turned and faced him. He was a fair man of an
+indeterminate age, for you could not tell whether those were streaks
+of grey shining in his light hair, or only the glint which it took on
+in the sun. His face was dry, lean and intellectual.<span class="pagenum">{143}</span> He smiled now
+and then, and his smile was like a flash of winter lightning, so cold
+and quick it was. It went as suddenly as it came, leaving the face as
+marbly cold and impassive as ever. He rose and extended his hand,
+&quot;Why&mdash;why&mdash;ah&mdash;Bert, how de do, how are you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well, I thank you, Mr. Featherton.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hum, I'm glad to see you back, sit down. Going to stay with us, you
+think?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm not sure, Mr. Featherton; it all depends upon my getting
+something to do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You want to go to work, do you? Hum, well, that's right. It's work
+makes the man. What do you propose to do, now since you've graduated?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Bert warmed at the evident interest of his old friend. &quot;Well, in the
+first place, Mr. Featherton,&quot; he replied, &quot;I must get to work and make
+some money. I have heard of fellows studying and supporting themselves
+at the same time, but I musn't expect too much. I'm going to study
+law.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The attorney had schooled his face into hiding any emotion he might
+feel, and it did not betray him now. He only flashed one of his quick
+cold smiles and asked,<span class="pagenum">{144}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don't you think you've taken rather a hard profession to get on in?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No doubt. But anything I should take would be hard. It's just like
+this, Mr. Featherton,&quot; he went on, &quot;I am willing to work and to work
+hard, and I am not looking for any snap.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Featherton was so unresponsive to this outburst that Bert was
+ashamed of it the minute it left his lips. He wished this man would
+not be so cold and polite and he wished he would stop putting the ends
+of his white fingers together as carefully as if something depended
+upon it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I say the law is a hard profession to get on in, and as a friend I
+say that it will be harder for you. Your people have not the money to
+spend in litigation of any kind.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I should not cater for the patronage of my own people alone.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, but the time has not come when a white person will employ a
+colored attorney.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do you mean to say that the prejudice here at home is such that if I
+were as competent as a white lawyer a white person would not employ
+me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I say nothing about prejudice at all. It's nature.<span class="pagenum">{145}</span> They have their
+own lawyers; why should they go outside of their own to employ a
+colored man?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But I am of their own. I am an American citizen, there should be no
+thought of color about it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, my boy, that theory is very nice, but State University democracy
+doesn't obtain in real life.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;More's the pity, then, for real life.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Perhaps, but we must take things as we find them, not as we think
+they ought to be. You people are having and will have for the next ten
+or a dozen years the hardest fight of your lives. The sentiment of
+remorse and the desire for atoning which actuated so many white men to
+help negroes right after the war has passed off without being replaced
+by that sense of plain justice which gives a black man his due, not
+because of, nor in spite of, but without consideration of his color.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wonder if it can be true, as my friend Davis says, that a colored
+man must do twice as much and twice as well as a white man before he
+can hope for even equal chances with him? That white mediocrity
+demands black genius to cope with it?&quot;<span class="pagenum">{146}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am afraid your friend has philosophized the situation about right.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, we have dealt in generalities,&quot; said Bert, smiling, &quot;let us
+take up the particular and personal part of this matter. Is there any
+way you could help me to a situation?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well,&mdash;I should be glad to see you get on, Bert, but as you see, I
+have nothing in my office that you could do. Now, if you don't mind
+beginning at the bottom&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's just what I expected to do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;&mdash;Why I could speak to the head-waiter of the hotel where I stay.
+He's a very nice colored man and I have some influence with him. No
+doubt Charlie could give you a place.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But that's a work I abhor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, but you must begin at the bottom, you know. All young men must.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To be sure, but would you have recommended the same thing to your
+nephew on his leaving college?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah&mdash;ah&mdash;that's different.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes,&quot; said Halliday, rising, &quot;it is different. There's a different
+bottom at which black and white young men should begin, and by a
+logical sequence, a different top to which they should <span class="pagenum">{147}</span>aspire.
+However, Mr. Featherton, I'll ask you to hold your offer in abeyance.
+If I can find nothing else, I'll ask you to speak to the head-waiter.
+Good-morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'll do so with pleasure,&quot; said Mr. Featherton, &quot;and good-morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>As the young man went up the street, an announcement card in the
+window of a publishing house caught his eye. It was the announcement
+of the next Sunday's number in a series of addresses which the local
+business men were giving before the Y.M.C.A. It read, &quot;'How a
+Christian young man can get on in the law'&mdash;an address by a Christian
+lawyer&mdash;H.G. Featherton.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Bert laughed. &quot;I should like to hear that address,&quot; he said. &quot;I wonder
+if he'll recommend them to his head-waiter. No, 'that's different.'
+All the addresses and all the books written on how to get on, are
+written for white men. We blacks must solve the question for
+ourselves.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He had lost some of the ardor with which he had started out but he was
+still full of hope. He refused to accept Mr. Featherton's point of
+view as general or final. So he hailed a passing car that in the
+course of a half hour set him down at the door of the great factory
+which, with its improvements, <span class="pagenum">{148}</span>its army of clerks and employees, had
+built up one whole section of the town. He felt especially hopeful in
+attacking this citadel, because they were constantly advertising for
+clerks and their placards plainly stated that preference would be
+given to graduates of the local high school. The owners were
+philanthropists in their way. Well, what better chance could there be
+before him? He had graduated there and stood well in his classes, and
+besides, he knew that a number of his classmates were holding good
+positions in the factory. So his voice was cheerful as he asked to see
+Mr. Stockard, who had charge of the clerical department.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockard was a fat, wheezy young man, with a reputation for humor
+based entirely upon his size and his rubicund face, for he had really
+never said anything humorous in his life. He came panting into the
+room now with a &quot;Well, what can I do for you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wanted to see you about a situation&quot;&mdash;began Halliday.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, no, no, you don't want to see me,&quot; broke in Stockard, &quot;you want
+to see the head janitor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But I don't want to see the head janitor. I <span class="pagenum">{149}</span>want to see the head of
+the clerical department.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You want to see the head of the clerical department!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, sir, I see you are advertising for clerks with preference given
+to the high school boys. Well, I am an old high school boy, but have
+been away for a few years at college.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockard opened his eyes to their widest extent, and his jaw
+dropped. Evidently he had never come across such presumption before.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We have nothing for you,&quot; he wheezed after awhile.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well, I should be glad to drop in again and see you,&quot; said
+Halliday, moving to the door. &quot;I hope you will remember me if anything
+opens.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stockard did not reply to this or to Bert's good-bye. He stood in
+the middle of the floor and stared at the door through which the
+colored man had gone, then he dropped into a chair with a gasp.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I'm dumbed!&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p>A doubt had begun to arise in Bertram Halliday's mind that turned him
+cold and then hot with a burning indignation. He could try nothing
+<span class="pagenum">{150}</span>more that morning. It had brought him nothing but rebuffs. He
+hastened home and threw himself down on the sofa to try and think out
+his situation.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do they still require of us bricks without straw? I thought all that
+was over. Well, I suspect that I will have to ask Mr. Featherton to
+speak to his head-waiter in my behalf. I wonder if the head-waiter
+will demand my diploma. Webb Davis, you were nearer right than I
+thought.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He spent the day in the house thinking and planning.</p>
+
+<p><br/></p>
+<h3>PART III</h3>
+
+
+<p>Halliday was not a man to be discouraged easily, and for the next few
+weeks he kept up an unflagging search for work. He found that there
+were more Feathertons and Stockards than he had ever looked to find.
+Everywhere that he turned his face, anything but the most menial work
+was denied him. He thought once of going away from Broughton, but
+would he find it any better anywhere else, he asked himself? He
+determined to stay and fight it out there for two <span class="pagenum">{151}</span>reasons. First,
+because he held that it would be cowardice to run away, and secondly,
+because he felt that he was not fighting a local disease, but was
+bringing the force of his life to bear upon a national evil. Broughton
+was as good a place to begin curative measures as elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>There was one refuge which was open to him, and which he fought
+against with all his might. For years now, from as far back as he
+could remember, the colored graduates had &quot;gone South to teach.&quot; This
+course was now recommended to him. Indeed, his own family quite
+approved of it, and when he still stood out against the scheme, people
+began to say that Bertram Halliday did not want work; he wanted to be
+a gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>But Halliday knew that the South had plenty of material, and year by
+year was raising and training her own teachers. He knew that the time
+would come, if it were not present when it would be impossible to go
+South to teach, and he felt it to be essential that the North should
+be trained in a manner looking to the employment of her own negroes.
+So he stayed. But he was only human, and when the tide of talk anent
+his indolence began to ebb and flow about him, he <span class="pagenum">{152}</span>availed himself of
+the only expedient that could arrest it.</p>
+
+<p>When he went back to the great factory where he had seen and talked
+with Mr. Stockard, he went around to another door and this time asked
+for the head janitor. This individual, a genial Irishman, took stock
+of Halliday at a glance.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But what do ye want to be doin' sich wurruk for, whin ye've been
+through school?&quot; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am doing the only thing I can get to do,&quot; was the answer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well,&quot; said the Irishman, &quot;ye've got sinse, anyhow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Bert found himself employed as an under janitor at the factory at a
+wage of nine dollars a week. At this, he could pay his share to keep
+the house going, and save a little for the period of study he still
+looked forward to. The people who had accused him of laziness now made
+a martyr of him, and said what a pity it was for a man with such an
+education and with so much talent to be so employed menially.</p>
+
+<p>He did not neglect his studies, but read at night, whenever the day's
+work had not made both brain and body too weary for the task.</p>
+
+<p>In this way his life went along for over a year <span class="pagenum">{153}</span>when one morning a
+note from Mr. Featherton summoned him to that gentleman's office. It
+is true that Halliday read the note with some trepidation. His bitter
+experience had not yet taught him how not to dream. He was not yet old
+enough for that. &quot;Maybe,&quot; he thought, &quot;Mr. Featherton has relented,
+and is going to give me a chance anyway. Or perhaps he wanted me to
+prove my metal before he consented to take me up. Well, I've tried to
+do it, and if that's what he wanted, I hope he's satisfied.&quot; The note
+which seemed written all over with joyful tidings shook in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>The genial manner with which Mr. Featherton met him reaffirmed in his
+mind the belief that at last the lawyer had determined to give him a
+chance. He was almost deferential as he asked Bert into his private
+office, and shoved a chair forward for him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, you've been getting on, I see,&quot; he began.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes,&quot; replied Bert, &quot;I have been getting on by hook and crook.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hum, done any studying lately?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, but not as much as I wish to. Coke and Wharton aren't any
+clearer to a head grown <span class="pagenum">{154}</span>dizzy with bending over mops, brooms and
+heavy trucks all day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I should think not. Ah&mdash;oh&mdash;well, Bert, how should you like to
+come into my office and help around, do such errands as I need and
+help copy my papers?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I should be delighted.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It would only pay you five dollars a week, less than what you are
+getting now, I suppose, but it will be more genteel.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, now, that I have had to do it, I don't care so much about the
+lack of gentility of my present work, but I prefer what you offer
+because I shall have a greater chance to study.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, then, you may as well come in on Monday. The office will be
+often in your charge, as I am going to be away a great deal in the
+next few months. You know I am going to make the fight for nomination
+to the seat on the bench which is vacant this fall.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Indeed. I have not so far taken much interest in politics, but I will
+do all in my power to help you with both nomination and election.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thank you,&quot; said Mr. Featherton, &quot;I am sure you can be of great
+service to me as the vote of your people is pretty heavy in Broughton.
+I <span class="pagenum">{155}</span>have always been a friend to them, and I believe I can depend upon
+their support. I shall be glad of any good you can do me with them.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Bert laughed when he was out on the street again. &quot;For value
+received,&quot; he said. He thought less of Mr. Featherton's generosity
+since he saw it was actuated by self-interest alone, but that in no
+wise destroyed the real worth of the opportunity that was now given
+into his hands. Featherton, he believed, would make an excellent
+judge, and he was glad that in working for his nomination his
+convictions so aptly fell in with his inclinations.</p>
+
+<p>His work at the factory had put him in touch with a larger number of
+his people than he could have possibly met had he gone into the office
+at once. Over them, his naturally bright mind exerted some influence.
+As a simple laborer he had fellowshipped with them but they
+acknowledged and availed themselves of his leadership, because they
+felt instinctively in him a power which they did not have. Among them
+now he worked sedulously. He held that the greater part of the battle
+would be in the primaries, and on the night when they convened, he had
+his friends out in force in every ward which went to make <span class="pagenum">{156}</span>up the
+third judicial district. Men who had never seen the inside of a
+primary meeting before were there actively engaged in this.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Diurnal</i> said next morning that the active interest of the
+hard-working, church-going colored voters, who wanted to see a
+Christian judge on the bench had had much to do with the nomination of
+Mr. Featherton.</p>
+
+<p>The success at the primaries did not tempt Halliday to relinquish his
+efforts on his employer's behalf. He was indefatigable in his cause.
+On the west side where the colored population had largely colonized,
+he made speeches and held meetings clear up to election day. The fight
+had been between two factions of the party and after the nomination it
+was feared that the defection of the part defeated in the primaries
+might prevent the ratification of the nominee at the polls. But before
+the contest was half over all fears for him were laid. What he had
+lost in the districts where the skulking faction was strong, he made
+up in the wards where the colored vote was large. He was
+overwhelmingly elected.</p>
+
+<p>Halliday smiled as he sat in the office and heard the congratulations
+poured in upon Judge Featherton.<span class="pagenum">{157}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, it's wonderful,&quot; said one of his visitors, &quot;how the colored
+boys stood by you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I have been a friend to the colored people, and they know it,&quot;
+said Featherton.</p>
+
+<p>It would be some months before His Honor would take his seat on the
+bench, and during that time, Halliday hoped to finish his office
+course.</p>
+
+<p>He was surprised when Featherton came to him a couple of weeks after
+the election and said, &quot;Well, Bert, I guess I can get along now. I'll
+be shutting up this office pretty soon. Here are your wages and here
+is a little gift I wish to add out of respect to you for your kindness
+during my run for office.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Bert took the wages, but the added ten dollar note he waved aside.
+&quot;No, I thank you, Mr. Featherton,&quot; he said, &quot;what I did, I did from a
+belief in your fitness for the place, and out of loyalty to my
+employer. I don't want any money for it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then let us say that I have raised your wages to this amount.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, that would only be evasion. I want no more than you promised to
+give me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Very well, then accept my thanks, anyway.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{158}</span></p>
+
+<p>What things he had at the office Halliday took away that night. A
+couple of days later he remembered a book which he had failed to get
+and returned for it. The office was as usual. Mr. Featherton was a
+little embarrassed and nervous. At Halliday's desk sat a young white
+man about his own age. He was copying a deed for Mr. Featherton.</p>
+
+<p><br/></p>
+<h3>PART IV</h3>
+
+
+<p>Bertram Halliday went home, burning with indignation at the treatment
+he had received at the hands of the Christian judge.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He has used me as a housemaid would use a lemon,&quot; he said, &quot;squeezed
+all out of me he could get, and then flung me into the street. Well,
+Webb was nearer right than I thought.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He was now out of everything. His place at the factory had been
+filled, and no new door opened to him. He knew what reward a search
+for work brought a man of his color in Broughton so he did not bestir
+himself to go over the old track again. He thanked his stars that he,
+at least, had money enough to carry him away from the place and he
+determined to go. His spirit was quelled, but not broken.<span class="pagenum">{159}</span></p>
+
+<p>Just before leaving, he wrote to Davis.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;My dear Webb!&quot; the letter ran, &quot;you, after all, were right. We have
+little or no show in the fight for life among these people. I have
+struggled for two years here at Broughton, and now find myself back
+where I was when I first stepped out of school with a foolish faith in
+being equipped for something. One thing, my eyes have been opened
+anyway, and I no longer judge so harshly the shiftless and unambitious
+among my people. I hardly see how a people, who have so much to
+contend with and so little to hope for, can go on striving and
+aspiring. But the very fact that they do, breeds in me a respect for
+them. I now see why so many promising young men, class orators,
+valedictorians and the like fall by the wayside and are never heard
+from after commencement day. I now see why the sleeping and dining-car
+companies are supplied by men with better educations than half the
+passengers whom they serve. They get tired of swimming always against
+the tide, as who would not? and are content to drift.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know that a good many of my friends would say that I am whining.
+Well, suppose I am, that's the business of a whipped cur. The <span class="pagenum">{160}</span>dog on
+top can bark, but the under dog must howl.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nothing so breaks a man's spirit as defeat, constant, unaltering,
+hopeless defeat. That's what I've experienced. I am still studying law
+in a half-hearted way for I don't know what I am going to do with it
+when I have been admitted. Diplomas don't draw clients. We have been
+taught that merit wins. But I have learned that the adages, as well as
+the books and the formulas were made by and for others than us of the
+black race.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They say, too, that our brother Americans sympathize with us, and
+will help us when we help ourselves. Bah! The only sympathy that I
+have ever seen on the part of the white man was not for the negro
+himself, but for some portion of white blood that the colored man had
+got tangled up in his veins.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But there, perhaps my disappointment has made me sour, so think no
+more of what I have said. I am going now to do what I abhor. Going
+South to try to find a school. It's awful. But I don't want any one to
+pity me. There are several thousands of us in the same position.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am glad you are prospering. You were <span class="pagenum">{161}</span>better equipped than I was
+with a deal of materialism and a dearth of ideals. Give us a line when
+you are in good heart.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span>&quot;Yours, HALLIDAY.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&quot;P.S.&mdash;Just as I finished writing I had a note from Judge Featherton
+offering me the court messengership at five dollars a week. I am
+twenty-five. The place was held before by a white boy of fifteen. I
+declined. 'Southward Ho!'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Davis was not without sympathy as he read his friend's letter in a
+city some distance away. He had worked in a hotel, saved money enough
+to start a barber-shop and was prospering. His white customers joked
+with him and patted him on the back, and he was already known to have
+political influence. Yes, he sympathized with Bert, but he laughed
+over the letter and jingled the coins in his pockets.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thank heaven,&quot; he said, &quot;that I have no ideals to be knocked into a
+cocked hat. A colored man has no business with ideals&mdash;not in <i>this</i>
+nineteenth century!&quot;</p>
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{162}</span> -->
+
+<p><a name="163"></a><span class="pagenum">{163}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>JIM'S PROBATION</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{164}</span></p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{165}</span></p>
+
+<h3>JIM'S PROBATION</h3>
+
+
+<p>For so long a time had Jim been known as the hardest sinner on the
+plantation that no one had tried to reach the heart under his outward
+shell even in camp-meeting and revival times. Even good old Brother
+Parker, who was ever looking after the lost and straying sheep, gave
+him up as beyond recall.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dat Jim,&quot; he said, &quot;Oomph, de debbil done got his stamp on dat boy,
+an' dey ain' no use in tryin' to scratch hit off.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But Parker,&quot; said his master, &quot;that's the very sort of man you want
+to save. Don't you know it's your business as a man of the gospel to
+call sinners to repentance?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lawd, Mas' Mordaunt,&quot; exclaimed the old man, &quot;my v'ice done got
+hoa'se callin' Jim, too long ergo to talk erbout. You jes' got to let
+him go 'long, maybe some o' dese days he gwine slip up on de gospel
+an' fall plum' inter salvation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Even Mandy, Jim's wife, had attempted to urge the old man to some more
+active efforts in her husband's behalf. She was a pillar of the
+<span class="pagenum">{166}</span>church herself, and was woefully disturbed about the condition of
+Jim's soul. Indeed, it was said that half of the time it was Mandy's
+prayers and exhortations that drove Jim into the woods with his dog
+and his axe, or an old gun that he had come into possession of from
+one of the younger Mordaunts.</p>
+
+<p>Jim was unregenerate. He was a fighter, a hard drinker, fiddled on
+Sunday, and had been known to go out hunting on that sacred day. So it
+startled the whole place when Mandy announced one day to a few of her
+intimate friends that she believed &quot;Jim was under conviction.&quot; He had
+stolen out hunting one Sunday night and in passing through the swamp
+had gotten himself thoroughly wet and chilled, and this had brought on
+an attack of acute rheumatism, which Mandy had pointed out to him as a
+direct judgment of heaven. Jim scoffed at first, but Mandy grew more
+and more earnest, and finally, with the racking of the pain, he waxed
+serious and determined to look to the state of his soul as a means to
+the good of his body.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hit do seem,&quot; Mandy said, &quot;dat Jim feel de weight o' his sins mos'
+powahful.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I reckon hit's de rheumatics,&quot; said Dinah.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 467px;">
+<a name="imgp166"></a>
+<a href="images/p166.jpg">
+<img src="images/p166.jpg" height="500" alt="JIM." title="" /></a></div>
+<h5>JIM.</h5>
+<p><br/></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum">{167}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don' mek no diffunce what de inst'ument is,&quot; Mandy replied, &quot;hit's de
+'sult, hit's de 'sult.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>When the news reached Stuart Mordaunt's ears he became intensely
+interested. Anything that would convert Jim, and make a model
+Christian of him would be providential on that plantation. It would
+save the overseers many an hour's worry; his horses, many a secret
+ride; and the other servants, many a broken head. So he again went
+down to labor with Parker in the interest of the sinner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is he mou'nin' yit?&quot; said Parker.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, not yet, but I think now is a good time to sow the seeds in his
+mind.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oomph,&quot; said the old man, &quot;reckon you bettah let Jim alone twell dem
+sins o' his'n git him to tossin' an' cryin' an' a mou'nin'. Den'll be
+time enough to strive wid him. I's allus willin' to do my pa't, Mas'
+Stuart, but w'en hit comes to ol' time sinnahs lak Jim, I believe in
+layin' off, an' lettin' de sperit do de strivin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But Parker,&quot; said his master, &quot;you yourself know that the Bible says
+that the spirit will not always strive.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, la den, mas', you don' spec' I gwine outdo de sperit.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{168}</span></p>
+
+<p>But Stuart Mordaunt was particularly anxious that Jim's steps might be
+turned in the right direction. He knew just what a strong hold over
+their minds the Negroes' own emotional religion had, and he felt that
+could he once get Jim inside the pale of the church, and put him on
+guard of his salvation, it would mean the loss of fewer of his shoats
+and pullets. So he approached the old preacher, and said in a
+confidential tone.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now look here, Parker, I've got a fine lot of that good old tobacco
+you like so up to the big house, and I'll tell you what I'll do. If
+you'll just try to work on Jim, and get his feet in the right path,
+you can come up and take all you want.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oom-oomph,&quot; said the old man, &quot;dat sho' is monst'ous fine terbaccer,
+Mas' Stua't.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, it is, and you shall have all you want of it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I'll have a little wisit wid Jim, an' des' see how much he
+'fected, an' if dey any stroke to be put in fu' de gospel ahmy, you
+des' count on me ez a mighty strong wa'ior. Dat boy been layin' heavy
+on my mind fu' lo, dese many days.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>As a result of this agreement, the old man went down to Jim's cabin on
+a night when that <span class="pagenum">{169}</span>interesting sinner was suffering particularly from
+his rheumatic pains.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Jim,&quot; the preacher said, &quot;how you come on?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Po'ly, po'ly,&quot; said Jim, &quot;I des' plum' racked an' 'stracted f'om haid
+to foot.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Uh, huh, hit do seem lak to me de Bible don' tell nuffin' else but de
+trufe.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What de Bible been sayin' now?&quot; asked Jim suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Des' what it been sayin' all de res' o' de time. 'Yo' sins will fin'
+you out'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Jim groaned and turned uneasily in his chair. The old man saw that he
+had made a point and pursued it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don' you reckon now, Jim, ef you was a bettah man dat you wouldn'
+suffah so?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do' know, I do' know nuffin' 'bout hit.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now des' look at me. I ben a-trompin' erlong in dis low groun' o'
+sorrer fu' mo' den seventy yeahs, an' I hain't got a ache ner a pain.
+Nevah had no rheumatics in my life, an' yere you is, a young man, in a
+mannah o' speakin', all twinged up wid rheumatics. Now what dat p'int
+to? Hit mean de Lawd tek keer o' dem dat's his'n. Now Jim, you bettah
+come ovah on <span class="pagenum">{170}</span>de Lawd's side, an' git erway f'om yo' ebil doin's.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Jim groaned again, and lifted his swollen leg with an effort just as
+Brother Parker said, &quot;Let us pray.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The prayer itself was less effective than the request was just at that
+time for Jim was so stiff that it made him fairly howl with pain to
+get down on his knees. The old man's supplication was loud, deep, and
+diplomatic, and when they arose from their knees there were tears in
+Jim's eyes, but whether from cramp or contrition it is not safe to
+say. But a day or two after, the visit bore fruit in the appearance of
+Jim at meeting where he sat on one of the very last benches, his
+shoulders hunched, and his head bowed, unmistakable signs of the
+convicted sinner.</p>
+
+<p>The usual term of mourning passed, and Jim was converted, much to
+Mandy's joy, and Brother Parker's delight. The old man called early on
+his master after the meeting, and announced the success of his labors.
+Stuart Mordaunt himself was no less pleased than the preacher. He
+shook Parker warmly by the hand, patted him on the shoulder, and
+called him a &quot;sly old fox.&quot; And then he took him to <span class="pagenum">{171}</span>the cupboard, and
+gave him of his store of good tobacco, enough to last him for months.
+Something else, too, he must have given him, for the old man came away
+from the cupboard grinning broadly, and ostentatiously wiping his
+mouth with the back of his hand.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Great work you've done, Parker, a great work.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, yes, Mas',&quot; grinned the old man, &quot;now ef Jim can des' stan' out
+his p'obation, hit'll be montrous fine.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;His probation!&quot; exclaimed the master.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh yes suh, yes suh, we has all de young convu'ts stan' a p'obation
+o' six months, fo' we teks 'em reg'lar inter de chu'ch. Now ef Jim
+will des' stan' strong in de faif&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Parker,&quot; said Mordaunt, &quot;you're an old wretch, and I've got a mind to
+take every bit of that tobacco away from you. No. I'll tell you what
+I'll do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He went back to the cupboard and got as much again as he had given
+Parker, and handed it to him saying,</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I think it will be better for all concerned if Jim's probation only
+lasts two months. Get him into the fold, Parker, get him into the
+fold!&quot;<span class="pagenum">{172}</span> And he shoved the ancient exhorter out of the door.</p>
+
+<p>It grieved Jim that he could not go 'possum hunting on Sundays any
+more, but shortly after he got religion, his rheumatism seemed to take
+a turn for the better and he felt that the result was worth the
+sacrifice. But as the pain decreased in his legs and arms, the longing
+for his old wicked pleasures became stronger and stronger upon him
+though Mandy thought that he was living out the period of his
+probation in the most exemplary manner, and inwardly rejoiced.</p>
+
+<p>It was two weeks before he was to be regularly admitted to church
+fellowship. His industrious spouse had decked him out in a bleached
+cotton shirt in which to attend divine service. In the morning Jim was
+there. The sermon which Brother Parker preached was powerful, but
+somehow it failed to reach this new convert. His gaze roved out of the
+window toward the dark line of the woods beyond, where the frost still
+glistened on the trees and where he knew the persimmons were hanging
+ripe. Jim was present at the afternoon service also, for it was a
+great day; and again, he was preoccupied. He started and clasped his
+hands together until the <span class="pagenum">{173}</span>bones cracked, when a dog barked somewhere
+out on the hill. The sun was going down over the tops of the woodland
+trees, throwing the forest into gloom, as they came out of the log
+meeting-house. Jim paused and looked lovingly at the scene, and sighed
+as he turned his steps back toward the cabin.</p>
+
+<p>That night Mandy went to church alone. Jim had disappeared. Nowhere
+around was his axe, and Spot, his dog, was gone. Mandy looked over
+toward the woods whose tops were feathered against the frosty sky, and
+away off, she heard a dog bark.</p>
+
+<p>Brother Parker was feeling his way home from meeting late that night,
+when all of a sudden, he came upon a man creeping toward the quarters.
+The man had an axe and a dog, and over his shoulders hung a bag in
+which the outlines of a 'possum could be seen.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hi, oh, Brothah Jim, at it agin?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Jim did not reply. &quot;Well, des' heish up an' go 'long. We got to mek
+some 'lowances fu' you young convu'ts. Wen you gwine cook dat 'possum,
+Brothah Jim?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do' know, Brothah Pahkah. He so po', I 'low I haveter keep him and
+fatten him fu' awhile.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{174}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Uh, huh! well, so long, Jim.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;So long, Brothah Pahkah.&quot; Jim chuckled as he went away. &quot;I 'low I
+fool dat ol' fox. Wanter come down an' eat up my one little 'possum,
+do he? huh, uh!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>So that very night Jim scraped his possum, and hung it out-of-doors,
+and the next day, brown as the forest whence it came, it lay on a
+great platter on Jim's table. It was a fat possum too. Jim had just
+whetted his knife, and Mandy had just finished the blessing when the
+latch was lifted and Brother Parker stepped in.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hi, oh, Brothah Jim, I's des' in time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Jim sat with his mouth open. &quot;Draw up a cheer, Brothah Pahkah,&quot; said
+Mandy. Her husband rose, and put his hand over the possum.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Wha&mdash;wha'd you come hyeah fu'?&quot; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I thought I'd des' come in an' tek a bite wid you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ain' gwine tek no bite wid me,&quot; said Jim.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heish,&quot; said Mandy, &quot;wha' kin' o' way is dat to talk to de preachah?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Preachah er no preachah, you hyeah what I say,&quot; and he took the
+possum, and put it on the highest shelf.<span class="pagenum">{175}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Wha's de mattah wid you, Jim; dat's one o' de' 'quiahments o' de
+chu'ch.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The angry man turned to the preacher.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is it one o' de 'quiahments o' de chu'ch dat you eat hyeah
+ter-night?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hit sholy am usual fu' de shepherd to sup wherevah he stop,&quot; said
+Parker suavely.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ve'y well, ve'y well,&quot; said Jim, &quot;I wants you to know dat I 'specs to
+stay out o' yo' chu'ch. I's got two weeks mo' p'obation. You tek hit
+back, an' gin hit to de nex' niggah you ketches wid a 'possum.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mandy was horrified. The preacher looked longingly at the possum, and
+took up his hat to go.</p>
+
+<p>There were two disappointed men on the plantation when he told his
+master the next day the outcome of Jim's probation.</p>
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{176}</span> -->
+
+<p><a name="177"></a><span class="pagenum">{177}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>UNCLE SIMON'S<br/>
+SUNDAYS OUT</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{178}</span></p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{179}</span></p>
+
+<h3>UNCLE SIMON'S SUNDAYS OUT</h3>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Marston sat upon his wide veranda in the cool of the summer
+Sabbath morning. His hat was off, the soft breeze was playing with his
+brown hair, and a fragrant cigar was rolled lazily between his lips.
+He was taking his ease after the fashion of a true gentleman. But his
+eyes roamed widely, and his glance rested now on the blue-green sweep
+of the great lawn, again on the bright blades of the growing corn, and
+anon on the waving fields of tobacco, and he sighed a sigh of
+ineffable content. The breath had hardly died on his lips when the
+figure of an old man appeared before him, and, hat in hand, shuffled
+up the wide steps of the porch.</p>
+
+<p>It was a funny old figure, stooped and so one-sided that the tail of
+the long and shabby coat he wore dragged on the ground. The face was
+black and shrewd, and little patches of snow-white hair fringed the
+shiny pate.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good-morning, Uncle Simon,&quot; said Mr. Marston, heartily.<span class="pagenum">{180}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mornin' Mas' Gawge. How you come on?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm first-rate. How are you? How are your rheumatics coming on?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, my, dey's mos' nigh well. Dey don' trouble me no mo'!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Most nigh well, don't trouble you any more?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dat is none to speak of.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, Uncle Simon, who ever heard tell of a man being cured of his
+aches and pains at your age?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I ain' so powahful ol', Mas', I ain' so powahful ol'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You're not so powerful old! Why, Uncle Simon, what's taken hold of
+you? You're eighty if a day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sh&mdash;sh, talk dat kin' o' low, Mastah, don' 'spress yo'se'f so loud!&quot;
+and the old man looked fearfully around as if he feared some one might
+hear the words.</p>
+
+<p>The master fell back in his seat in utter surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And, why, I should like to know, may I not speak of your age aloud?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Simon showed his two or three remaining teeth in a broad grin as
+he answered:<span class="pagenum">{181}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Mastah, I's 'fraid ol' man Time mought hyeah you an' t'ink he
+done let me run too long.&quot; He chuckled, and his master joined him with
+a merry peal of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;All right, then, Simon,&quot; he said, &quot;I'll try not to give away any of
+your secrets to old man Time. But isn't your age written down
+somewhere?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I reckon it's in dat ol' Bible yo' pa gin me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, let it alone then, even Time won't find it there.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The old man shifted the weight of his body from one leg to the other
+and stood embarrassedly twirling his ancient hat in his hands. There
+was evidently something more that he wanted to say. He had not come to
+exchange commonplaces with his master about age or its ailments.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, what is it now, Uncle Simon?&quot; the master asked, heeding the
+servant's embarrassment, &quot;I know you've come up to ask or tell me
+something. Have any of your converts been backsliding, or has Buck
+been misbehaving again?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, suh, de converts all seem to be stan'in' strong in de faif, and
+Buck, he actin' right good now.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{182}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Doesn't Lize bring your meals regular, and cook them good?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes, suh, Lize ain' done nuffin'. Dey ain' nuffin' de mattah at
+de quahtahs, nuffin' 't'al.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, what on earth then&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hol' on, Mas', hol' on! I done tol' you dey ain' nuffin' de mattah
+'mong de people, an' I ain' come to 'plain 'bout nuffin'; but&mdash;but&mdash;I
+wants to speak to you 'bout somefin' mighty partic'ler.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, go on, because it will soon be time for you to be getting down
+to the meeting-house to exhort the hands.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dat's jes' what I want to speak 'bout, dat 'zortin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, you've been doing it for a good many years now.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dat's de very idee, dat's in my haid now. Mas' Gawge, huccume you
+read me so nigh right?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, that's not reading anything, that's just truth. But what do you
+mean, Uncle Simon, you don't mean to say that you want to resign. Why
+what would your old wife think if she was living?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, no, Mas' Gawge, I don't ezzactly want <span class="pagenum">{183}</span>to 'sign, but I'd jes' lak
+to have a few Sundays off.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A few Sundays off! Well, now, I do believe that you are crazy. What
+on earth put that into your head?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nuffin', Mas' Gawge, I wants to be away f'om my Sabbaf labohs fu' a
+little while, dat's all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, what are the hands going to do for some one to exhort them on
+Sunday. You know they've got to shout or burst, and it used to be your
+delight to get them stirred up until all the back field was ringing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do' say dat I ain' gwine try an' do dat some mo', Mastah, min' I
+do' say dat. But in de mean time I's got somebody else to tek my
+place, one dat I trained up in de wo'k right undah my own han'. Mebbe
+he ain' endowed wif de sperrit as I is, all men cain't be gifted de
+same way, but dey ain't no sputin' he is powahful. Why, he can handle
+de Scriptures wif bof han's, an' you kin hyeah him prayin' fu' two
+miles.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And you want to put this wonder in your place?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, suh, fu' a while, anyhow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Uncle Simon, aren't you losing your religion?&quot;<span class="pagenum">{184}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Losin' my u'ligion? Who, me losin' my u'ligion! No, suh.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, aren't you afraid you'll lose it on the Sundays that you spend
+out of your meeting-house?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, Mas' Gawge, you a white man, an' you my mastah, an' you got
+larnin'. But what kin' o' argyment is dat? Is dat good jedgment?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, now if it isn't, you show me why, you're a logician.&quot; There was
+a twinkle in the eye of George Marston as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, I ain' no 'gician, Mastah,&quot; the old man contended. &quot;But what kin'
+o' u'ligion you spec' I got anyhow? Hyeah me been sto'in' it up fu'
+lo, dese many yeahs an' ain' got enough to las' ovah a few Sundays.
+What kin' o' u'ligion is dat?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The master laughed, &quot;I believe you've got me there, Uncle Simon; well
+go along, but see that your flock is well tended.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Thanky, Mas' Gawge, thanky. I'll put a shepherd in my place dat'll
+put de food down so low dat de littles' lambs kin enjoy it, but'll mek
+it strong enough fu' de oldes' ewes.&quot; And with a profound bow the old
+man went down the steps and hobbled away.<span class="pagenum">{185}</span></p>
+
+<p>As soon as Uncle Simon was out of sight, George Marston threw back his
+head and gave a long shout of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wonder,&quot; he mused, &quot;what crotchet that old darkey has got into his
+head now. He comes with all the air of a white divine to ask for a
+vacation. Well, I reckon he deserves it. He had me on the religious
+argument, too. He's got his grace stored.&quot; And another peal of her
+husband's laughter brought Mrs. Marston from the house.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;George, George, what is the matter. What amuses you so that you
+forget that this is the Sabbath day?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, don't talk to me about Sunday any more, when it comes to the pass
+that the Reverend Simon Marston wants a vacation. It seems that the
+cares of his parish have been too pressing upon him and he wishes to
+be away for some time. He does not say whether he will visit Europe or
+the Holy Land, however, we shall expect him to come back with much new
+and interesting material for the edification of his numerous
+congregation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wish you would tell me what you mean by all this.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{186}</span></p>
+
+<p>Thus adjured, George Marston curbed his amusement long enough to
+recount to his wife the particulars of his interview with Uncle Simon.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, well, and you carry on so, only because one of the servants
+wishes his Sundays to himself for awhile? Shame on you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mrs. Marston,&quot; said her husband, solemnly, &quot;you are
+hopeless&mdash;positively, undeniably, hopeless. I do not object to your
+failing to see the humor in the situation, for you are a woman; but
+that you should not be curious as to the motives which actuate Uncle
+Simon, that you should be unmoved by a burning desire to know why this
+staunch old servant who has for so many years pictured hell each
+Sunday to his fellow-servants should wish a vacation&mdash;that I can
+neither understand nor forgive.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, I can see why easily enough, and so could you, if you were not so
+intent on laughing at everything. The poor old man is tired and wants
+rest, that's all.&quot; And Mrs. Marston turned into the house with a
+stately step, for she was a proud and dignified lady.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And that reason satisfies you? Ah, Mrs. Marston, Mrs. Marston, you
+discredit your sex!&quot; her husband sighed, mockingly after her.<span class="pagenum">{187}</span></p>
+
+<p>There was perhaps some ground for George Marston's perplexity as to
+Uncle Simon's intentions. His request for &quot;Sundays off&quot; was so
+entirely out of the usual order of things. The old man, with the other
+servants on the plantation had been bequeathed to Marston by his
+father. Even then, Uncle Simon was an old man, and for many years in
+the elder Marston's time had been the plantation exhorter. In this
+position he continued, and as his age increased, did little of
+anything else. He had a little log house built in a stretch of woods
+convenient to the quarters, where Sunday after Sunday he held forth to
+as many of the hands as could be encouraged to attend.</p>
+
+<p>With time, the importance of his situation grew upon him. He would
+have thought as soon of giving up his life as his pulpit to any one
+else. He was never absent a single meeting day in all that time.
+Sunday after Sunday he was in his place expounding his doctrine. He
+had grown officious, too, and if any of his congregation were away
+from service, Monday morning found him early at their cabins to find
+out the reason why.</p>
+
+<p>After a life, then, of such punctilious rigidity, it is no wonder that
+his master could not accept<span class="pagenum">{188}</span> Mrs. Marston's simple excuse for Uncle
+Simon's dereliction, &quot;that the old man needed rest.&quot; For the time
+being, the good lady might have her way, as all good ladies should,
+but as for him, he chose to watch and wait and speculate.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Marston, however, as well as her husband, was destined to hear
+more that day of Uncle Simon's strange move, for there was one other
+person on the place who was not satisfied with Uncle Simon's
+explanation of his conduct, and yet could not as easily as the
+mistress formulate an opinion of her own. This was Lize, who did about
+the quarters and cooked the meals of the older servants who were no
+longer in active service.</p>
+
+<p>It was just at the dinner hour that she came hurrying up to the &quot;big
+house,&quot; and with the freedom of an old and privileged retainer went
+directly to the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Look hyeah, Mis' M'ree,&quot; she exclaimed, without the formality of
+prefacing her remarks, &quot;I wants to know whut's de mattah wif Brothah
+Simon&mdash;what mek him ac' de way he do?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, I do not know, Eliza, what has Uncle Simon been doing?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, some o' you all mus' know, lessn' he <span class="pagenum">{189}</span>couldn' 'a' done hit. Ain'
+he ax you nuffin', Marse Gawge?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, he did have some talk with me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Some talk! I reckon he did have some talk wif somebody!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tell us, Lize,&quot; Mr. Marston said, &quot;what has Uncle Simon done?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He done brung somebody else, dat young Merrit darky, to oc'py his
+pu'pit. He in'juce him, an' 'en he say dat he gwine be absent a few
+Sundays, an' 'en he tek hissef off, outen de chu'ch, widout even
+waitin' fu' de sehmont.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, didn't you have a good sermon?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It mought 'a' been a good sehmont, but dat ain' whut I ax you. I want
+to know whut de mattah wif Brothah Simon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, he told me that the man he put over you was one of the most
+powerful kind, warranted to make you shout until the last bench was
+turned over.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, some o' dem, dey shouted enough, dey shouted dey fill. But dat
+ain' whut I's drivin' at yit. Whut I wan' 'o know, whut mek Brothah
+Simon do dat?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I'll tell you, Lize,&quot; Marston began, but his wife cut him off.<span class="pagenum">{190}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, George,&quot; she said, &quot;you shall not trifle with Eliza in that
+manner.&quot; Then turning to the old servant, she said: &quot;Eliza, it means
+nothing. Do not trouble yourself about it. You know Uncle Simon is
+old; he has been exhorting for you now for many years, and he needs a
+little rest these Sundays. It is getting toward midsummer, and it is
+warm and wearing work to preach as Uncle Simon does.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Lize stood still, with an incredulous and unsatisfied look on her
+face. After a while she said, dubiously shaking her head:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Huh uh! Miss M'ree, dat may 'splain t'ings to you, but hit ain' mek
+'em light to me yit.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now, Mrs. Marston&quot;&mdash;began her husband, chuckling.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hush, I tell you, George. It's really just as I tell you, Eliza, the
+old man is tired and needs rest!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Again the old woman shook her head, &quot;Huh uh,&quot; she said, &quot;ef you'd' a'
+seen him gwine lickety split outen de meetin'-house you wouldn' a
+thought he was so tiahed.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Marston laughed loud and long at this. &quot;Well, Mrs. Marston,&quot; he
+bantered, &quot;even Lize is showing a keener perception of the fitness of
+things than you.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{191}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;There are some things I can afford to be excelled in by my husband
+and my servants. For my part, I have no suspicion of Uncle Simon, and
+no concern about him either one way or the other.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Scuse me, Miss M'ree,&quot; said Lize, &quot;I didn' mean no ha'm to you, but
+I ain' a trustin' ol' Brothah Simon, I tell you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm not blaming you, Eliza; you are sensible as far as you know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ahem,&quot; said Mr. Marston.</p>
+
+<p>Eliza went out mumbling to herself, and Mr. Marston confined his
+attentions to his dinner; he chuckled just once, but Mrs. Marston met
+his levity with something like a sniff.</p>
+
+<p>On the first two Sundays that Uncle Simon was away from his
+congregation nothing was known about his whereabouts. On the third
+Sunday he was reported to have been seen making his way toward the
+west plantation. Now what did this old man want there? The west
+plantation, so called, was a part of the Marston domain, but the land
+there was worked by a number of slaves which Mrs. Marston had brought
+with her from Louisiana, where she had given up her father's gorgeous
+home on the Bayou Lafourche, <span class="pagenum">{192}</span>together with her proud name of Marie
+St. Pierre for George Marston's love. There had been so many
+bickerings between the Marston servants and the contingent from
+Louisiana that the two sets had been separated, the old remaining on
+the east side and the new ones going to the west. So, to those who had
+been born on the soil the name of the west plantation became a
+reproach. It was a synonym for all that was worldly, wicked and
+unregenerate. The east plantation did not visit with the west. The
+east gave a dance, the west did not attend. The Marstons and St.
+Pierres in black did not intermarry. If a Marston died, a St. Pierre
+did not sit up with him. And so the division had kept up for years.</p>
+
+<p>It was hardly to be believed then that Uncle Simon Marston, the very
+patriarch of the Marston flock, was visiting over the border. But on
+another Sunday he was seen to go straight to the west plantation.</p>
+
+<p>At her first opportunity Lize accosted him:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Look a-hyeah, Brothah Simon, whut's dis I been hyeahin' 'bout you,
+huh?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, sis' Lize, I reckon you'll have to tell me dat yo' se'f, 'case
+I do' know. Whut you been hyeahin'?&quot;<span class="pagenum">{193}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Brothah Simon, you's a ol' man, you's ol'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, sis' Lize, dah was Methusalem.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I ain' jokin', Brothah Simon, I ain' jokin', I's a talkin' right
+straightfo'wa'd. Yo' conduc' don' look right. Hit ain' becomin' to you
+as de shepherd of a flock.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But whut I been doin', sistah, whut I been doin'?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I reckon I do, but I wan' see whethah you does er not.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You been gwine ovah to de wes' plantation, dat's whut you been doin'.
+You can' 'ny dat, you's been seed!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do' wan' 'ny it. Is dat all?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is dat all!&quot; Lize stood aghast. Then she said slowly and wonderingly,
+&quot;Brothah Simon, is you losin' yo' senses er yo' grace?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I ain' losin' one ner 'tothah, but I do' see no ha'm in gwine ovah to
+de wes' plantation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You do' see no ha'm in gwine ovah to de wes' plantation! You stan'
+hyeah in sight o' Gawd an' say dat?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don't git so 'cited, sis' Lize, you mus' membah dat dey's souls on de
+wes' plantation, jes' same as dey is on de eas'.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{194}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, an' dey's souls in hell, too,&quot; the old woman fired back.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Cose dey is, but dey's already damned; but dey's souls on de wes'
+plantation to be saved.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oomph, uh, uh, uh!&quot; grunted Lize.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You done called me de shepherd, ain't you, sistah? Well, sayin' I is,
+when dey's little lambs out in de col' an' dey ain' got sense 'nough
+to come in, er dey do' know de way, whut do de shepherd do? Why, he go
+out, an' he hunt up de po' shiverin', bleatin' lambs and brings 'em
+into de fol'. Don't you bothah 'bout de wes' plantation, sis' Lize.&quot;
+And Uncle Simon hobbled off down the road with surprising alacrity,
+leaving his interlocutor standing with mouth and eyes wide open.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I nevah!&quot; she exclaimed when she could get her lips together,
+&quot;I do believe de day of jedgmen' is at han'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Of course this conversation was duly reported to the master and
+mistress, and called forth some strictures from Mrs. Marston on Lize's
+attempted interference with the old man's good work.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Eliza, that you ought. After the
+estrangement of all this time if Uncle Simon can effect a
+reconciliation <span class="pagenum">{195}</span>between the west and the east plantations, you ought
+not to lay a straw in his way. I am sure there is more of a real
+Christian spirit in that than in shouting and singing for hours, and
+then coming out with your heart full of malice. You need not laugh,
+Mr. Marston, you need not laugh at all. I am very much in earnest, and
+I do hope that Uncle Simon will continue his ministrations on the
+other side. If he wants to, he can have a room built in which to lead
+their worship.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But you do' want him to leave us altogethah?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;If you do not care to share your meeting-house with them, they can
+have one of their own.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But, look hyeah, Missy, dem Lousiany people, dey bad&mdash;an' dey hoodoo
+folks, an' dey Cath'lics&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Eliza!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Scuse me, Missy, chile, bless yo' hea't, you know I do' mean no ha'm
+to you. But somehow I do' feel right in my hea't 'bout Brothah Simon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Never mind, Eliza, it is only evil that needs to be watched, the good
+will take care of itself.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{196}</span></p>
+
+<p>It was not one, nor two, nor three Sundays that Brother Simon was away
+from his congregation, but six passed before he was there again. He
+was seen to be very busy tinkering around during the week, and then
+one Sunday he appeared suddenly in his pulpit. The church nodded and
+smiled a welcome to him. There was no change in him. If anything he
+was more fiery than ever. But, there was a change. Lize, who was
+news-gatherer and carrier extraordinary, bore the tidings to her
+owners. She burst into the big house with the cry of &quot;Whut I tell you!
+Whut I tell you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, what now,&quot; exclaimed both Mr. and Mrs. Marston.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Didn' I tell you ol' Simon was up to some'p'n?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Out with it,&quot; exclaimed her master, &quot;out with it, I knew he was up to
+something, too.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;George, try to remember who you are.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Brothah Simon come in chu'ch dis mo'nin' an' he 'scended up de
+pulpit&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, what of that, are you not glad he is back?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hol' on, lemme tell you&mdash;he 'scended up de pu'pit, an' 'menced his
+disco'se. Well, he hadn't <span class="pagenum">{197}</span>no sooner got sta'ted when in walked one o'
+dem brazen Lousiany wenches&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Eliza!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hol' on, Miss M'ree, she walked in lak she owned de place, an'
+flopped huhse'f down on de front seat.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, what if she did,&quot; burst in Mrs. Marston, &quot;she had a right. I
+want you to understand, you and the rest of your kind, that that
+meeting-house is for any of the hands that care to attend it. The
+woman did right. I hope she'll come again.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hadn' got done yit, Missy. Jes' ez soon ez de sehmont was ovah,
+whut mus' Brothah Simon, de 'zortah, min' you, whut mus' he do but
+come hoppin' down f'om de pu'pit, an' beau dat wench home! 'Scorted
+huh clah 'crost de plantation befo' evahbody's face. Now whut you call
+dat?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I call it politeness, that is what I call it. What are you laughing
+at, Mr. Marston? I have no doubt that the old man was merely trying to
+set an example of courtesy to some of the younger men, or to protect
+the woman from the insults that the other members of the congregation
+would heap upon her. Mr. Marston, I do <span class="pagenum">{198}</span>wish you would keep your face
+serious. There is nothing to laugh at in this matter. A worthy old man
+tries to do a worthy work, his fellow-servants cavil at him, and his
+master, who should encourage him, laughs at him for his pains.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I assure you, my dear, I'm not laughing at Uncle Simon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then at me, perhaps; that is infinitely better.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And not at you, either; I'm amused at the situation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Manette ca'ied him off dis mo'nin',&quot; resumed Eliza.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Manette!&quot; exclaimed Mrs. Marston.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It was Manette he was a beauin'. Evahbody say he likin' huh moughty
+well, an' dat he look at huh all th'oo preachin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh my! Manette's one of the nicest girls I brought from St. Pierre. I
+hope&mdash;oh, but then she is a young woman, she would not think of being
+foolish over an old man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do' know, Miss M'ree. De ol' men is de wuss kin'. De young oomans
+knows how to tek de young mans, 'case dey de same age, an' dey been
+lu'nin' dey tricks right along wif dem'; but de ol' men, dey got sich
+a long sta't ahaid, <span class="pagenum">{199}</span>dey been lu'nin' so long. Ef I had a darter, I
+wouldn' be afeard to let huh tek keer o' huhse'f wif a young man, but
+ef a ol' man come a cou'tin' huh, I'd keep my own two eyes open.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Eliza, you're a philosopher,&quot; said Mr. Marston. &quot;You're one of the
+few reasoners of your sex.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is all nonsense,&quot; said his wife. &quot;Why Uncle Simon is old enough to
+be Manette's grandfather.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Love laughs at years.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And you laugh at everything.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's the difference between love and me, my dear Mrs. Marston.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Do not pay any attention to your master, Eliza, and do not be so
+suspicious of every one. It is all right. Uncle Simon had Manette
+over, because he thought the service would do her good.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes'm, I 'low she's one o' de young lambs dat he gone out in de col'
+to fotch in. Well, he tek'n' moughty good keer o' dat lamb.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Marston was compelled to laugh in spite of herself. But when
+Eliza was gone, she turned to her husband, and said:<span class="pagenum">{200}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;George, dear, do you really think there is anything in it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I thoroughly agree with you, Mrs. Marston, in the opinion that Uncle
+Simon needed rest, and I may add on my own behalf, recreation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Pshaw! I do not believe it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>All doubts, however, were soon dispelled. The afternoon sun drove Mr.
+Marston to the back veranda where he was sitting when Uncle Simon
+again approached and greeted him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Uncle Simon, I hear that you're back in your pulpit again?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, suh, I's done 'sumed my labohs in de Mastah's vineya'd.&quot;'</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Have you had a good rest of it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I ain' ezzackly been restin',&quot; said the aged man, scratching
+his head. &quot;I's been pu'su'in' othah 'ployments.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes, but change of work is rest. And how's the rheumatism, now,
+any better?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Bettah? Why, Mawse Gawge, I ain' got a smidgeon of hit. I's jes'
+limpin' a leetle bit on 'count o' habit.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, it's good if one can get well, even if his days are nearly
+spent.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{201}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heish, Mas' Gawge. I ain' t'inkin' 'bout dyin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Aren't you ready yet, in all these years?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hope I's ready, but I hope to be spaihed a good many yeahs yit.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To do good, I suppose?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, suh; yes, suh. Fac' is, Mawse Gawge, I jes' hop up to ax you
+some'p'n.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, here I am.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I want to ax you&mdash;I want to ax you&mdash;er&mdash;er&mdash;I want&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, speak out. I haven't time to be bothering here all day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, you know, Mawse Gawge, some o' us ain' nigh ez ol' ez dey
+looks.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's true. A person, now, would take you for ninety, and to my
+positive knowledge, you're not more than eighty-five.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, Lawd. Mastah, do heish.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm not flattering you, that's the truth.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, now, Mawse Gawge, couldn' you mek me' look lak eighty-fo', an'
+be a little youngah?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, what do you want to be younger for?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You see, hit's jes' lak dis, Mawse Gawge. I <span class="pagenum">{202}</span>come up hyeah to ax
+you&mdash;I want&mdash;dat is&mdash;me an' Manette, we wants to git ma'ied.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Get married!&quot; thundered Marston. &quot;What you, you old scarecrow, with
+one foot in the grave!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heish, Mastah, 'buse me kin' o' low. Don't th'ow yo' words 'roun' so
+keerless.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;This is what you wanted your Sundays off for, to go sparking
+around&mdash;you an exhorter, too.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But I's been missin' my po' ol' wife so much hyeah lately.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You've been missing her, oh, yes, and so you want to get a woman
+young enough to be your granddaughter to fill her place.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Mas' Gawge, you know, ef I is ol' an' feeble, ez you say, I
+need a strong young han' to he'p me down de hill, an' ef Manette don'
+min' spa'in' a few mont's er yeahs&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That'll do, I'll see what your mistress says. Come back in an hour.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A little touched, and a good deal amused, Marston went to see his
+wife. He kept his face straight as he addressed her. &quot;Mrs. Marston,
+Manette's hand has been proposed for.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;George!&quot;<span class="pagenum">{203}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;The Rev. Simon Marston has this moment come and solemnly laid his
+heart at my feet as proxy for Manette.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He shall not have her, he shall not have her!&quot; exclaimed the lady,
+rising angrily.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But remember, Mrs. Marston, it will keep her coming to meeting.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do not care; he is an old hypocrite, that is what he is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Think, too, of what a noble work he is doing. It brings about a
+reconciliation between the east and west plantations, for which we
+have been hoping for years. You really oughtn't to lay a straw in his
+way.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He's a sneaking, insidious, old scoundrel.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Such poor encouragement from his mistress for a worthy old man, who
+only needs rest!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;George!&quot; cried Mrs. Marston, and she sank down in tears, which turned
+to convulsive laughter as her husband put his arm about her and
+whispered, &quot;He is showing the true Christian spirit. Don't you think
+we'd better call Manette and see if she consents? She is one of his
+lambs, you know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, George, George, do as you please. If <span class="pagenum">{204}</span>the horrid girl consents, I
+wash my hands of the whole affair.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You know these old men have been learning such a long while.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>By this time Mrs. Marston was as much amused as her husband. Manette
+was accordingly called and questioned. The information was elicited
+from her that she loved &quot;Brothah Simon&quot; and wished to marry him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Love laughs at age,'&quot; quoted Mr. Marston again when the girl had
+been dismissed. Mrs. Marston was laughingly angry, but speechless for
+a moment. Finally she said: &quot;Well, Manette seems willing, so there is
+nothing for us to do but to consent, although, mind you, I do not
+approve of this foolish marriage, do you hear?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>After a while the old man returned for his verdict. He took it calmly.
+He had expected it. The disparity in the years of him and his
+betrothed did not seem to strike his consciousness at all. He only
+grinned.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now look here, Uncle Simon,&quot; said his master, &quot;I want you to tell me
+how you, an old, bad-looking, half-dead darky won that likely young
+girl.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The old man closed one eye and smiled.<span class="pagenum">{205}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mastah, I don' b'lieve you looks erroun' you,&quot; he said. &quot;Now, 'mongst
+white folks, you knows a preachah 'mongst de ladies is mos' nigh
+i'sistible, but 'mongst col'ed dey ain't no pos'ble way to git erroun'
+de gospel man w'en he go ahuntin' fu' anything.&quot;</p>
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{206}</span> -->
+
+<p><a name="207"></a><span class="pagenum">{207}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>MR. CORNELIUS JOHNSON,<br />
+OFFICE-SEEKER</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{208}</span> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{209}</span></p>
+
+<h3>MR. CORNELIUS JOHNSON, OFFICE-SEEKER</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was a beautiful day in balmy May and the sun shone pleasantly on
+Mr. Cornelius Johnson's very spruce Prince Albert suit of grey as he
+alighted from the train in Washington. He cast his eyes about him, and
+then gave a sigh of relief and satisfaction as he took his bag from
+the porter and started for the gate. As he went along, he looked with
+splendid complacency upon the less fortunate mortals who were
+streaming out of the day coaches. It was a Pullman sleeper on which he
+had come in. Out on the pavement he hailed a cab, and giving the
+driver the address of a hotel, stepped in and was rolled away. Be it
+said that he had cautiously inquired about the hotel first and found
+that he could be accommodated there.</p>
+
+<p>As he leaned back in the vehicle and allowed his eyes to roam over the
+streets, there was an air of distinct prosperity about him. It was in
+evidence from the tips of his ample patent-leather shoes to the crown
+of the soft felt hat that sat <span class="pagenum">{210}</span>rakishly upon his head. His entrance
+into Washington had been long premeditated, and he had got himself up
+accordingly.</p>
+
+<p>It was not such an imposing structure as he had fondly imagined,
+before which the cab stopped and set Mr. Johnson down. But then he
+reflected that it was about the only house where he could find
+accommodation at all, and he was content. In Alabama one learns to be
+philosophical. It is good to be philosophical in a place where the
+proprietor of a caf&eacute; fumbles vaguely around in the region of his hip
+pocket and insinuates that he doesn't want one's custom. But the
+visitor's ardor was not cooled for all that. He signed the register
+with a flourish, and bestowed a liberal fee upon the shabby boy who
+carried his bag to his room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Look here, boy,&quot; he said, &quot;I am expecting some callers soon. If they
+come, just send them right up to my room. You take good care of me and
+look sharp when I ring and you'll not lose anything.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Cornelius Johnson always spoke in a large and important tone. He
+said the simplest thing with an air so impressive as to give it the
+character of a pronouncement. Indeed, his voice <span class="pagenum">{211}</span>naturally was round,
+mellifluous and persuasive. He carried himself always as if he were
+passing under his own triumphal arch. Perhaps, more than anything
+else, it was these qualities of speech and bearing that had made him
+invaluable on the stump in the recent campaign in Alabama. Whatever it
+was that held the secret of his power, the man and principles for
+which he had labored triumphed, and he had come to Washington to reap
+his reward. He had been assured that his services would not be
+forgotten, and it was no intention of his that they should be.</p>
+
+<p>After a while he left his room and went out, returning later with
+several gentlemen from the South and a Washington man. There is some
+freemasonry among these office-seekers in Washington that throws them
+inevitably together. The men with whom he returned were such
+characters as the press would designate as &quot;old wheel-horses&quot; or
+&quot;pillars of the party.&quot; They all adjourned to the bar, where they had
+something at their host's expense. Then they repaired to his room,
+whence for the ensuing two hours the bell and the bell-boy were kept
+briskly going.</p>
+
+<p>The gentleman from Alabama was in his glory. His gestures as he held
+forth were those of a <span class="pagenum">{212}</span>gracious and condescending prince. It was his
+first visit to the city, and he said to the Washington man: &quot;I tell
+you, sir, you've got a mighty fine town here. Of course, there's no
+opportunity for anything like local pride, because it's the outsiders,
+or the whole country, rather, that makes it what it is, but that's
+nothing. It's a fine town, and I'm right sorry that I can't stay
+longer.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How long do you expect to be with us, Professor?&quot; inquired Col.
+Mason, the horse who had bent his force to the party wheel in the
+Georgia ruts.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, about ten days, I reckon, at the furthest. I want to spend some
+time sight-seeing. I'll drop in on the Congressman from my district
+to-morrow, and call a little later on the President.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Uh, huh!&quot; said Col. Mason. He had been in the city for some time.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, sir, I want to get through with my little matter and get back
+home. I'm not asking for much, and I don't anticipate any trouble in
+securing what I desire. You see, it's just like this, there's no way
+for them to refuse us. And if any one deserves the good things at the
+hands of the administration, who more than we old campaigners, <span class="pagenum">{213}</span>who
+have been helping the party through its fights from the time that we
+had our first votes?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who, indeed?&quot; said the Washington man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I tell you, gentlemen, the administration is no fool. It knows that
+we hold the colored vote down there in our vest pockets and it ain't
+going to turn us down.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No, of course not, but sometimes there are delays&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Delays, to be sure, where a man doesn't know how to go about the
+matter. The thing to do, is to go right to the centre of authority at
+once. Don't you see?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly, certainly,&quot; chorused the other gentlemen.</p>
+
+<p>Before going, the Washington man suggested that the newcomer join them
+that evening and see something of society at the capital. &quot;You know,&quot;
+he said, &quot;that outside of New Orleans, Washington is the only town in
+the country that has any colored society to speak of, and I feel that
+you distinguished men from different sections of the country owe it to
+our people that they should be allowed to see you. It would be an
+inspiration to them.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{214}</span></p>
+
+<p>So the matter was settled, and promptly at 8:30 o'clock Mr. Cornelius
+Johnson joined his friends at the door of his hotel. The grey Prince
+Albert was scrupulously buttoned about his form, and a shiny top hat
+replaced the felt of the afternoon. Thus clad, he went forth into
+society, where he need be followed only long enough to note the
+magnificence of his manners and the enthusiasm of his reception when
+he was introduced as Prof. Cornelius Johnson, of Alabama, in a tone
+which insinuated that he was the only really great man his state had
+produced.</p>
+
+<p>It might also be stated as an effect of this excursion into Vanity
+Fair, that when he woke the next morning he was in some doubt as to
+whether he should visit his Congressman or send for that individual to
+call upon him. He had felt the subtle flattery of attention from that
+section of colored society which imitates&mdash;only imitates, it is true,
+but better than any other, copies&mdash;the kindnesses and cruelties, the
+niceties and deceits, of its white prototype. And for the time, like a
+man in a fog, he had lost his sense of proportion and perspective. But
+habit finally triumphed, and he called upon the Congressman, only to
+be met by an under-secretary who told him <span class="pagenum">{215}</span>that his superior was too
+busy to see him that morning.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Too busy,&quot; repeated the secretary.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Johnson drew himself up and said: &quot;Tell Congressman Barker that
+Mr. Johnson, Mr. Cornelius Johnson, of Alabama, desires to see him. I
+think he will see me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I can take your message,&quot; said the clerk, doggedly, &quot;but I tell
+you now it won't do you any good. He won't see any one.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But, in a few moments an inner door opened, and the young man came out
+followed by the desired one. Mr. Johnson couldn't resist the
+temptation to let his eyes rest on the underling in a momentary glance
+of triumph as Congressman Barker hurried up to him, saying: &quot;Why, why,
+Cornelius, how'do? how'do? Ah, you came about that little matter,
+didn't you? Well, well, I haven't forgotten you; I haven't forgotten
+you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The colored man opened his mouth to speak, but the other checked him
+and went on: &quot;I'm sorry, but I'm in a great hurry now. I'm compelled
+to leave town to-day, much against my will, but I shall be back in a
+week; come around <span class="pagenum">{216}</span>and see me then. Always glad to see you, you know.
+Sorry I'm so busy now; good-morning, good-morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Johnson allowed himself to be guided politely, but decidedly, to
+the door. The triumph died out of his face as the reluctant
+good-morning fell from his lips. As he walked away, he tried to look
+upon the matter philosophically. He tried to reason with himself&mdash;to
+prove to his own consciousness that the Congressman was very busy and
+could not give the time that morning. He wanted to make himself
+believe that he had not been slighted or treated with scant ceremony.
+But, try as he would, he continued to feel an obstinate, nasty sting
+that would not let him rest, nor forget his reception. His pride was
+hurt. The thought came to him to go at once to the President, but he
+had experience enough to know that such a visit would be vain until he
+had seen the dispenser of patronage for his district. Thus, there was
+nothing for him to do but to wait the necessary week. A whole week!
+His brow knitted as he thought of it.</p>
+
+<p>In the course of these cogitations, his walk brought him to his hotel,
+where he found his friends of the night before awaiting him. He <span class="pagenum">{217}</span>tried
+to put on a cheerful face. But his disappointment and humiliation
+showed through his smile, as the hollows and bones through the skin of
+a cadaver.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, what luck?&quot; asked Col. Mason, cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Are we to congratulate you?&quot; put in Mr. Perry.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Not yet, not yet, gentlemen. I have not seen the President yet. The
+fact is&mdash;ahem&mdash;my Congressman is out of town.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He was not used to evasions of this kind, and he stammered slightly
+and his yellow face turned brick-red with shame.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It is most annoying,&quot; he went on, &quot;most annoying. Mr. Barker won't be
+back for a week, and I don't want to call on the President until I
+have had a talk with him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly not,&quot; said Col. Mason, blandly. &quot;There will be delays.&quot;
+This was not his first pilgrimage to Mecca.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Johnson looked at him gratefully. &quot;Oh, yes; of course, delays,&quot; he
+assented; &quot;most natural. Have something.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the appointed time, the office-seeker went again to see
+the Congressman. This <span class="pagenum">{218}</span>time he was admitted without question, and got
+the chance to state his wants. But somehow, there seemed to be
+innumerable obstacles in the way. There were certain other men whose
+wishes had to be consulted; the leader of one of the party factions,
+who, for the sake of harmony, had to be appeased. Of course, Mr.
+Johnson's worth was fully recognized, and he would be rewarded
+according to his deserts. His interests would be looked after. He
+should drop in again in a day or two. It took time, of course, it took
+time.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Johnson left the office unnerved by his disappointment. He had
+thought it would be easy to come up to Washington, claim and get what
+he wanted, and, after a glance at the town, hurry back to his home and
+his honors. It had all seemed so easy&mdash;before election; but now&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>A vague doubt began to creep into his mind that turned him sick at
+heart. He knew how they had treated Davis, of Louisiana. He had heard
+how they had once kept Brotherton, of Texas&mdash;a man who had spent all
+his life in the service of his party&mdash;waiting clear through a whole
+administration, at the end of which the <span class="pagenum">{219}</span>opposite party had come into
+power. All the stories of disappointment and disaster that he had ever
+heard came back to him, and he began to wonder if some one of these
+things was going to happen to him.</p>
+
+<p>Every other day for the next two weeks, he called upon Barker, but
+always with the same result. Nothing was clear yet, until one day the
+bland legislator told him that considerations of expediency had
+compelled them to give the place he was asking for to another man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But what am I to do?&quot; asked the helpless man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, you just bide your time. I'll look out for you. Never fear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Until now, Johnson had ignored the gentle hints of his friend, Col.
+Mason, about a boarding-house being more convenient than a hotel. Now,
+he asked him if there was a room vacant where he was staying, and
+finding that there was, he had his things moved thither at once. He
+felt the change keenly, and although no one really paid any attention
+to it, he believed that all Washington must have seen it, and hailed
+it as the first step in his degradation.</p>
+
+<p>For a while the two together made occasional <span class="pagenum">{220}</span>excursions to a
+glittering palace down the street, but when the money had grown lower
+and lower Col. Mason had the knack of bringing &quot;a little something&quot; to
+their rooms without a loss of dignity. In fact, it was in these hours
+with the old man, over a pipe and a bit of something, that Johnson was
+most nearly cheerful. Hitch after hitch had occurred in his plans, and
+day after day he had come home unsuccessful and discouraged. The
+crowning disappointment, though, came when, after a long session that
+lasted even up into the hot days of summer, Congress adjourned and his
+one hope went away. Johnson saw him just before his departure, and
+listened ruefully as he said: &quot;I tell you, Cornelius, now, you'd
+better go on home, get back to your business and come again next year.
+The clouds of battle will be somewhat dispelled by then and we can see
+clearer what to do. It was too early this year. We were too near the
+fight still, and there were party wounds to be bound up and little
+factional sores that had to be healed. But next year, Cornelius, next
+year we'll see what we can do for you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>His constituent did not tell him that even if his pride would let him
+go back home a disappointed <span class="pagenum">{221}</span>applicant, he had not the means wherewith
+to go. He did not tell him that he was trying to keep up appearances
+and hide the truth from his wife, who, with their two children, waited
+and hoped for him at home.</p>
+
+<p>When he went home that night, Col. Mason saw instantly that things had
+gone wrong with him. But here the tact and delicacy of the old
+politician came uppermost and, without trying to draw his story from
+him&mdash;for he already divined the situation too well&mdash;he sat for a long
+time telling the younger man stories of the ups and downs of men whom
+he had known in his long and active life.</p>
+
+<p>They were stories of hardship, deprivation and discouragement. But the
+old man told them ever with the touch of cheeriness and the note of
+humor that took away the ghastly hopelessness of some of the pictures.
+He told them with such feeling and sympathy that Johnson was moved to
+frankness and told him his own pitiful tale.</p>
+
+<p>Now that he had some one to whom he could open his heart, Johnson
+himself was no less willing to look the matter in the face, and even
+during the long summer days, when he had begun <span class="pagenum">{222}</span>to live upon his
+wardrobe, piece by piece, he still kept up; although some of his
+pomposity went, along with the Prince Albert coat and the shiny hat.
+He now wore a shiny coat, and less showy head-gear. For a couple of
+weeks, too, he disappeared, and as he returned with some money, it was
+fair to presume that he had been at work somewhere, but he could not
+stay away from the city long.</p>
+
+<p>It was nearing the middle of autumn when Col. Mason came home to their
+rooms one day to find his colleague more disheartened and depressed
+than he had ever seen him before. He was lying with his head upon his
+folded arm, and when he looked up there were traces of tears upon his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, why, what's the matter now?&quot; asked the old man. &quot;No bad news, I
+hope.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nothing worse than I should have expected,&quot; was the choking answer.
+&quot;It's a letter from my wife. She's sick and one of the babies is down,
+but&quot;&mdash;his voice broke&mdash;&quot;she tells me to stay and fight it out. My God,
+Mason, I could stand it if she whined or accused me or begged me to
+come home, but her patient, long-suffering bravery breaks me all up.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{223}</span></p>
+
+<p>Col. Mason stood up and folded his arms across his big chest. &quot;She's a
+brave little woman,&quot; he said, gravely. &quot;I wish her husband was as
+brave a man.&quot; Johnson raised his head and arms from the table where
+they were sprawled, as the old man went on: &quot;The hard conditions of
+life in our race have taught our women a patience and fortitude which
+the women of no other race have ever displayed. They have taught the
+men less, and I am sorry, very sorry. The thing, that as much as
+anything else, made the blacks such excellent soldiers in the civil
+war was their patient endurance of hardship. The softer education of
+more prosperous days seems to have weakened this quality. The man who
+quails or weakens in this fight of ours against adverse circumstances
+would have quailed before&mdash;no, he would have run from an enemy on the
+field.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, Mason, your mood inspires me. I feel as if I could go forth to
+battle cheerfully.&quot; For the moment, Johnson's old pomposity had
+returned to him, but in the next, a wave of despondency bore it down.
+&quot;But that's just it; a body feels as if he could fight if he only had
+something to fight. But here you strike out and <span class="pagenum">{224}</span>hit&mdash;nothing. It's
+only a contest with time. It's waiting&mdash;waiting&mdash;waiting!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In this case, waiting is fighting.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, even that granted, it matters not how grand his cause, the
+soldier needs his rations.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Forage,&quot; shot forth the answer like a command.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, Mason, that's well enough in good country; but the army of
+office-seekers has devastated Washington. It has left a track as bare
+as lay behind Sherman's troopers.&quot; Johnson rose more cheerfully. &quot;I'm
+going to the telegraph office,&quot; he said as he went out.</p>
+
+<p>A few days after this, he was again in the best of spirits, for there
+was money in his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What have you been doing?&quot; asked Mr. Toliver.</p>
+
+<p>His friend laughed like a boy. &quot;Something very imprudent, I'm sure you
+will say. I've mortgaged my little place down home. It did not bring
+much, but I had to have money for the wife and the children, and to
+keep me until Congress assembles; then I believe that everything will
+be all right.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Col. Mason's brow clouded and he sighed.<span class="pagenum">{225}</span></p>
+
+<p>On the reassembling of the two Houses, Congressman Barker was one of
+the first men in his seat. Mr. Cornelius Johnson went to see him soon.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What, you here already, Cornelius?&quot; asked the legislator.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I haven't been away,&quot; was the answer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, you've got the hang-on, and that's what an officer-seeker
+needs. Well, I'll attend to your matter among the very first. I'll
+visit the President in a day or two.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The listener's heart throbbed hard. After all his waiting, triumph was
+his at last.</p>
+
+<p>He went home walking on air, and Col. Mason rejoiced with him. In a
+few days came word from Barker: &quot;Your appointment was sent in to-day.
+I'll rush it through on the other side. Come up to-morrow afternoon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius and Mr. Toliver hugged each other.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It came just in time,&quot; said the younger man; &quot;the last of my money
+was about gone, and I should have had to begin paying off that
+mortgage with no prospect of ever doing it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The two had suffered together, and it was fitting that they should be
+together to receive the news of the long-desired happiness; so arm in
+<span class="pagenum">{226}</span>arm they sauntered down to the Congressman's office about five
+o'clock the next afternoon. In honor of the occasion, Mr. Johnson had
+spent his last dollar in redeeming the grey Prince Albert and the
+shiny hat. A smile flashed across Barker's face as he noted the
+change.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Cornelius,&quot; he said, &quot;I'm glad to see you still
+prosperous-looking, for there were some alleged irregularities in your
+methods down in Alabama, and the Senate has refused to confirm you. I
+did all I could for you, but&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The rest of the sentence was lost, as Col. Mason's arms received his
+friend's fainting form.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Poor devil!&quot; said the Congressman. &quot;I should have broken it more
+gently.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Somehow Col. Mason got him home and to bed, where for nine weeks he
+lay wasting under a complete nervous give-down. The little wife and
+the children came up to nurse him, and the woman's ready industry
+helped him to such creature comforts as his sickness demanded. Never
+once did she murmur; never once did her faith in him waver. And when
+he was well enough to be moved back, it was money that she had earned,
+increased by what Col. Mason, in his generosity of spirit, took from
+his own <span class="pagenum">{227}</span>narrow means, that paid their second-class fare back to the
+South.</p>
+
+<p>During the fever-fits of his illness, the wasted politician first
+begged piteously that they would not send him home unplaced, and then
+he would break out in the most extravagant and pompous boasts about
+his position, his Congressman and his influence. When he came to
+himself, he was silent, morose, and bitter. Only once did he melt. It
+was when he held Col. Mason's hand and bade him good-bye. Then the
+tears came into his eyes, and what he would have said was lost among
+his broken words.</p>
+
+<p>As he stood upon the platform of the car as it moved out, and gazed at
+the white dome and feathery spires of the city, growing into grey
+indefiniteness, he ground his teeth, and raising his spent hand, shook
+it at the receding view. &quot;Damn you! damn you!&quot; he cried. &quot;Damn your
+deceit, your fair cruelties; damn you, you hard, white liar!&quot;</p>
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{228}</span> -->
+
+<p><a name="229"></a><span class="pagenum">{229}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>AN OLD-TIME<br />
+CHRISTMAS</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{230}</span></p> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{231}</span></p>
+
+<h3>AN OLD-TIME CHRISTMAS</h3>
+
+
+<p>When the holidays came round the thoughts of 'Liza Ann Lewis always
+turned to the good times that she used to have at home when, following
+the precedent of anti-bellum days, Christmas lasted all the week and
+good cheer held sway. She remembered with regret the gifts that were
+given, the songs that were sung to the tinkling of the banjo and the
+dances with which they beguiled the night hours. And the eating! Could
+she forget it? The great turkey, with the fat literally bursting from
+him; the yellow yam melting into deliciousness in the mouth; or in
+some more fortunate season, even the juicy 'possum grinning in brown
+and greasy death from the great platter.</p>
+
+<p>In the ten years she had lived in New York, she had known no such
+feast-day. Food was strangely dear in the Metropolis, and then there
+was always the weekly rental of the poor room to be paid. But she had
+kept the memory of the old times green in her heart, and ever turned
+to <span class="pagenum">{232}</span>it with the fondness of one for something irretrievably lost.</p>
+
+<p>That is how Jimmy came to know about it. Jimmy was thirteen and small
+for his age, and he could not remember any such times as his mother
+told him about. Although he said with great pride to his partner and
+rival, Blinky Scott, &quot;Chee, Blink, you ought to hear my ol' lady talk
+about de times dey have down w'ere we come from at Christmas; N'Yoick
+ain't in it wid dem, you kin jist bet.&quot; And Blinky, who was a New
+Yorker clear through with a New Yorker's contempt for anything outside
+of the city, had promptly replied with a downward spreading of his
+right hand, &quot;Aw fu'git it!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Jimmy felt a little crest-fallen for a minute, but he lifted himself
+in his own estimation by threatening to &quot;do&quot; Blinky and the cloud
+rolled by.</p>
+
+<p>'Liza Ann knew that Jimmy couldn't ever understand what she meant by
+an old-time Christmas unless she could show him by some faint approach
+to its merrymaking, and it had been the dream of her life to do this.
+But every year she had failed, until now she was a little ahead.</p>
+
+<p>Her plan was too good to keep, and when<span class="pagenum">{233}</span> Jimmy went out that Christmas
+eve morning to sell his papers, she had disclosed it to him and bade
+him hurry home as soon as he was done, for they were to have a real
+old-time Christmas.</p>
+
+<p>Jimmy exhibited as much pleasure as he deemed consistent with his
+dignity and promised to be back early to add his earnings to the fund
+for celebration.</p>
+
+<p>When he was gone, 'Liza Ann counted over her savings lovingly and
+dreamed of what she would buy her boy, and what she would have for
+dinner on the next day. Then a voice, a colored man's voice, she knew,
+floated up to her. Some one in the alley below her window was singing
+&quot;The Old Folks at Home.&quot;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span>&quot;All up an' down the whole creation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Sadly I roam,<br /></span>
+<span>Still longing for the old plantation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' for the old folks at home.&quot;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>She leaned out of the window and listened and when the song had ceased
+and she drew her head in again, there were tears in her eyes&mdash;the
+tears of memory and longing. But she crushed them away, and laughed
+tremulously to herself as she said, &quot;What a reg'lar ol' fool I'm
+a-gittin' to be.&quot; Then she went out into the cold, snow-covered
+<span class="pagenum">{234}</span>streets, for she had work to do that day that would add a mite to her
+little Christmas store.</p>
+
+<p>Down in the street, Jimmy was calling out the morning papers and
+racing with Blinky Scott for prospective customers; these were only
+transients, of course, for each had his regular buyers whose
+preferences were scrupulously respected by both in agreement with a
+strange silent compact.</p>
+
+<p>The electric cars went clanging to and fro, the streets were full of
+shoppers with bundles and bunches of holly, and all the sights and
+sounds were pregnant with the message of the joyous time. People were
+full of the holiday spirit. The papers were going fast, and the little
+colored boy's pockets were filling with the desired coins. It would
+have been all right with Jimmy if the policeman hadn't come up on him
+just as he was about to toss the &quot;bones,&quot; and when Blinky Scott had
+him &quot;faded&quot; to the amount of five hard-earned pennies.</p>
+
+<p>Well, they were trying to suppress youthful gambling in New York, and
+the officer had to do his duty. The others scuttled away, but Jimmy
+was so absorbed in the game that he didn't see <span class="pagenum">{235}</span>the &quot;cop&quot; until he was
+right on him, so he was &quot;pinched.&quot; He blubbered a little and wiped his
+grimy face with his grimier sleeve until it was one long, brown smear.
+You know this was Jimmy's first time.</p>
+
+<p>The big blue-coat looked a little bit ashamed as he marched him down
+the street, followed at a distance by a few hooting boys. Some of the
+holiday shoppers turned to look at them as they passed and murmured,
+&quot;Poor little chap; I wonder what he's been up to now.&quot; Others said
+sarcastically, &quot;It seems strange that 'copper' didn't call for help.&quot;
+A few of his brother officers grinned at him as he passed, and he
+blushed, but the dignity of the law must be upheld and the crime of
+gambling among the newsboys was a growing evil.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, the dignity of the law must be upheld, and though Jimmy was only
+a small boy, it would be well to make an example of him. So his name
+and age were put down on the blotter, and over against them the
+offence with which he was charged. Then he was locked up to await
+trial the next morning.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It's shameful,&quot; the bearded sergeant said, &quot;how the kids are carryin'
+on these days. People <span class="pagenum">{236}</span>are feelin' pretty generous, an' they'll toss
+'em a nickel er a dime fur their paper an' tell 'em to keep the change
+fur Christmas, an' foist thing you know the little beggars are
+shootin' craps er pitchin' pennies. We've got to make an example of
+some of 'em.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>'Liza Ann Lewis was tearing through her work that day to get home and
+do her Christmas shopping, and she was singing as she worked some such
+old song as she used to sing in the good old days back home. She
+reached her room late and tired, but happy. Visions of a &quot;wakening up&quot;
+time for her and Jimmy were in her mind. But Jimmy wasn't there.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wunner whah that little scamp is,&quot; she said, smiling; &quot;I tol' him
+to hu'y home, but I reckon he's stayin' out latah wid de evenin'
+papahs so's to bring home mo' money.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Hour after hour passed and he did not come; then she grew alarmed. At
+two o'clock in the morning she could stand it no longer and she went
+over and awakened Blinky Scott, much to that young gentleman's
+disgust, who couldn't see why any woman need make such a fuss about a
+kid. He told her laconically that &quot;Chimmie was pinched fur t'rowin' de
+bones.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{237}</span></p>
+
+<p>She heard with a sinking heart and went home to her own room to walk
+the floor all night and sob.</p>
+
+<p>In the morning, with all her Christmas savings tied up in a
+handkerchief, she hurried down to Jefferson Market court room. There
+was a full blotter that morning, and the Judge was rushing through
+with it. He wanted to get home to his Christmas dinner. But he paused
+long enough when he got to Jimmy's case to deliver a brief but stern
+lecture upon the evil of child-gambling in New York. He said that as
+it was Christmas Day he would like to release the prisoner with a
+reprimand, but he thought that this had been done too often and that
+it was high time to make an example of one of the offenders.</p>
+
+<p>Well, it was fine or imprisonment. 'Liza Ann struggled up through the
+crowd of spectators and her Christmas treasure added to what Jimmy
+had, paid his fine and they went out of the court room together.</p>
+
+<p>When they were in their room again she put the boy to bed, for there
+was no fire and no coal to make one. Then she wrapped herself in a
+shabby shawl and sat huddled up over the empty stove.<span class="pagenum">{238}</span></p>
+
+<p>Down in the alley she heard the voice of the day before singing:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span>&quot;Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Far from the old folks at home.&quot;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>And she burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p><a name="239"></a><span class="pagenum">{239}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>A MESS OF<br />
+POTTAGE</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{240}</span> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{241}</span></p>
+
+<h3>A MESS OF POTTAGE</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was because the Democratic candidate for Governor was such an
+energetic man that he had been able to stir Little Africa, which was a
+Republican stronghold, from centre to circumference. He was a man who
+believed in carrying the war into the enemy's country. Instead of
+giving them a chance to attack him, he went directly into their camp,
+leaving discontent and disaffection among their allies. He believed in
+his principles. He had faith in his policy for the government of the
+State, and, more than all, he had a convincing way of making others
+see as he saw.</p>
+
+<p>No other Democrat had ever thought it necessary to assail the
+stronghold of Little Africa. He had merely put it into his forecast as
+&quot;solidly against,&quot; sent a little money to be distributed desultorily
+in the district, and then left it to go its way, never doubting what
+that way would be. The opposing candidates never felt that the place
+was worthy of consideration, for as the Chairman of the Central
+Committee said, holding <span class="pagenum">{242}</span>up his hand with the fingers close together:
+&quot;What's the use of wasting any speakers down there? We've got 'em just
+like that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>It was all very different with Mr. Lane.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gentlemen,&quot; he said to the campaign managers, &quot;that black district
+must not be ignored. Those people go one way because they are never
+invited to go another.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, I tell you now, Lane,&quot; said his closest friend, &quot;it'll be a waste
+of material to send anybody down there. They simply go like a flock of
+sheep, and nothing is going to turn them.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What's the matter with the bellwether?&quot; said Lane sententiously.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's just exactly what <i>is</i> the matter. Their bellwether is an old
+deacon named Isham Swift, and you couldn't turn him with a
+forty-horsepower crank.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There's nothing like trying.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There are many things very similar to failing, but none so bad.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'm willing to take the risk.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, all right; but whom will you send? We can't waste a good man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'll go myself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What, you?&quot;<span class="pagenum">{243}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, you'd be the laughing-stock of the State.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;All right; put me down for that office if I never reach the
+gubernatorial chair.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Say, Lane, what was the name of that Spanish fellow who went out to
+fight windmills, and all that sort of thing?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Never mind, Widner; you may be a good political hustler, but you're
+dead bad on your classics,&quot; said Lane laughingly.</p>
+
+<p>So they put him down for a speech in Little Africa, because he himself
+desired it.</p>
+
+<p>Widner had not lied to him about Deacon Swift, as he found when he
+tried to get the old man to preside at the meeting. The Deacon refused
+with indignation at the very idea. But others were more acquiescent,
+and Mount Moriah church was hired at a rental that made the Rev.
+Ebenezer Clay and all his Trustees rub their hands with glee and think
+well of the candidate. Also they looked at their shiny coats and
+thought of new suits.</p>
+
+<p>There was much indignation expressed that Mount Moriah should have
+lent herself to such a cause, and there were murmurs even among <span class="pagenum">{244}</span>the
+congregation where the Rev. Ebenezer Clay was usually an unquestioned
+autocrat. But, because Eve was the mother of all of us and the thing
+was so new, there was a great crowd on the night of the meeting. The
+Rev. Ebenezer Clay presided. Lane had said, &quot;If I can't get the
+bellwether to jump the way I want, I'll transfer the bell.&quot; This he
+had tried to do. The effort was very like him.</p>
+
+<p>The Rev. Mr. Clay, looking down into more frowning faces than he cared
+to see, spoke more boldly than he felt. He told his people that though
+they had their own opinions and ideas, it was well to hear both sides.
+He said, &quot;The brothah,&quot; meaning the candidate, &quot;had a few thoughts to
+pussent,&quot; and he hoped they'd listen to him quietly. Then he added
+subtly: &quot;Of co'se Brothah Lane knows we colo'ed folks 're goin' to
+think our own way, anyhow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The people laughed and applauded, and Lane went to his work. They were
+quiet and attentive. Every now and then some old brother grunted and
+shook his head. But in the main they merely listened.</p>
+
+<p>Lane was pleasing, plausible and convincing, and the brass band which
+he had brought with <span class="pagenum">{245}</span>him was especially effective. The audience left
+the church shaking their heads with a different meaning, and all the
+way home there were remarks such as, &quot;He sholy tol' de truth,&quot; &quot;Dat
+man was right,&quot; &quot;They ain't no way to 'ny a word he said.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Just at that particular moment it looked very dark for the other
+candidate, especially as the brass band lingered around an hour or so
+and discoursed sweet music in the streets where the negroes most did
+congregate.</p>
+
+<p>Twenty years ago such a thing could not have happened, but the ties
+which had bound the older generation irrevocably to one party were
+being loosed upon the younger men. The old men said &quot;We know;&quot; the
+young ones said &quot;We have heard,&quot; and so there was hardly anything of
+the blind allegiance which had made even free thought seem treason to
+their fathers.</p>
+
+<p>Now all of this was the reason of the great indignation that was rife
+in the breasts of other Little Africans and which culminated in a mass
+meeting called by Deacon Isham Swift and held at Bethel Chapel a few
+nights later. For two or three days before this congregation of the
+opposing elements there were ominous mutterings.<span class="pagenum">{246}</span> On the streets
+little knots of negroes stood and told of the terrible thing that had
+taken place at Mount Moriah. Shoulders were grasped, heads were wagged
+and awful things prophesied as the result of this compromise with the
+general enemy. No one was louder in his denunciation of the
+treacherous course of the Rev. Ebenezer Clay than the Republican
+bellwether, Deacon Swift. He saw in it signs of the break-up of racial
+integrity and he bemoaned the tendency loud and long. His son Tom did
+not tell him that he had gone to the meeting himself and had been one
+of those to come out shaking his head in acquiescent doubt at the
+truths he had heard. But he went, as in duty bound, to his father's
+meeting.</p>
+
+<p>The church was one thronging mass of colored citizens. On the
+platform, from which the pulpit had been removed, sat Deacon Swift and
+his followers. On each side of him were banners bearing glowing
+inscriptions. One of the banners which the schoolmistress had prepared
+read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&quot;His temples are our forts and towers which frown upon a tyrant
+     foe.&quot;</p></div>
+
+<p>The schoolmistress taught in a mixed school.<span class="pagenum">{247}</span> They had mixed it by
+giving her a room in a white school where she had only colored pupils.
+Therefore she was loyal to her party, and was known as a woman of
+public spirit.</p>
+
+
+<p><br/></p><hr style='width: 45%;' /><p><br/></p>
+
+<p>The meeting was an enthusiastic one, but no such demonstration was
+shown through it all as when old Deacon Swift himself arose to address
+the assembly. He put Moses Jackson in the chair, and then as he walked
+forward to the front of the platform a great, white-haired, rugged,
+black figure, he was heroic in his very crudeness. He wore a long, old
+Prince Albert coat, which swept carelessly about his thin legs. His
+turndown collar was disputing territory with his tie and his
+waistcoat. His head was down, and he glanced out of the lower part of
+his eyes over the congregation, while his hands fumbled at the sides
+of his trousers in an embarrassment which may have been pretended or
+otherwise.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mistah Cheerman,&quot; he said, &quot;fu' myse'f, I ain't no speakah. I ain't
+nevah been riz up dat way. I has plowed an' I has sowed, an' latah on
+I has laid cyahpets, an' I has whitewashed. But, ladies an' gent'men,
+I is a man, an' as a man I want to speak to you ter-night. We is lak a
+flock <span class="pagenum">{248}</span>o' sheep, an' in de las' week de wolf has come among ouah
+midst. On evah side we has hyeahd de shephe'd dogs a-ba'kin' a-wa'nin'
+unto us. But, my f'en's, de cotton o' p'ospe'ity has been stuck in
+ouah eahs. Fu' thirty yeahs er mo', ef I do not disremember, we has
+walked de streets an' de by-ways o' dis country an' called ouahse'ves
+f'eemen. Away back yander, in de days of old, lak de chillen of Is'ul
+in Egypt, a deliv'ah came unto us, an Ab'aham Lincoln a-lifted de yoke
+f'om ouah shouldahs.&quot; The audience waked up and began swaying, and
+there was moaning heard from both Amen corners.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But, my f'en's, I want to ax you, who was behind Ab'aham Lincoln? Who
+was it helt up dat man's han's when dey sent bayonets an' buttons to
+enfo'ce his word&mdash;umph? I want to&mdash;to know who was behin' him? Wasn'
+it de 'Publican pa'ty?&quot; There were cries of &quot;Yes, yes! dat's so!&quot; One
+old sister rose and waved her sunbonnet.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;An' now I want to know in dis hyeah day o' comin' up ef we a-gwineter
+'sert de ol' flag which waved ovah Lincoln, waved ovah Gin'r'l Butler,
+an' led us up straight to f'eedom? Ladies an' gent'men, an' my f'en's,
+I know dar have been <span class="pagenum">{249}</span>suttain meetin's held lately in dis pa't o' de
+town. I know dar have been suttain cannerdates which have come down
+hyeah an' brung us de mixed wine o' Babylon. I know dar have been dem
+o' ouah own people who have drunk an' become drunk&mdash;ah! But I want to
+know, an' I want to ax you ter-night as my f'en's an' my brothahs, is
+we all a-gwineter do it&mdash;huh? Is we all a-gwineter drink o' dat wine?
+Is we all a-gwineter reel down de perlitical street, a-staggerin' to
+an' fro?&mdash;hum!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Cries of &quot;No! No! No!&quot; shook the whole church.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gent'men an' ladies,&quot; said the old man, lowering his voice, &quot;de
+pa'able has been 'peated, an' some o' us&mdash;I ain't mentionin' no names,
+an' I ain't a-blamin' no chu'ch&mdash;but I say dar is some o' us dat has
+sol' dere buthrights fu' a pot o' cabbage.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>What more Deacon Swift said is hardly worth the telling, for the whole
+church was in confusion and little more was heard. But he carried
+everything with him, and Lane's work seemed all undone. On a back seat
+of the church Tom Swift, the son of the presiding officer, sat and
+smiled at his father unmoved, because he had gone as far <span class="pagenum">{250}</span>as the sixth
+grade in school, and thought he knew more.</p>
+
+<p>As the reporters say, the meeting came to a close amid great
+enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>The day of election came and Little Africa gathered as usual about the
+polls in the precinct. The Republicans followed their plan of not
+bothering about the district. They had heard of the Deacon's meeting,
+and chuckled to themselves in their committee-room. Little Africa was
+all solid, as usual, but Lane was not done yet. His emissaries were
+about, as thick as insurance agents, and they, as well as the
+Republican workers, had money to spare and to spend. Some votes, which
+counted only for numbers, were fifty cents apiece, but when Tom Swift
+came down they knew who he was and what his influence could do. They
+gave him five dollars, and Lane had one more vote and a deal of
+prestige. The young man thought he was voting for his convictions.</p>
+
+<p>He had just cast his ballot, and the crowd was murmuring around him
+still at the wonder of it&mdash;for the Australian ballot has tongues as
+well as ears&mdash;when his father came up, with two or three of his old
+friends, each with the old ticket <span class="pagenum">{251}</span>in his hands. He heard the rumor
+and laughed. Then he came up to Tom.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Huh,&quot; he said, &quot;dey been sayin' 'roun' hyeah you voted de Democratic
+ticket. Go mek 'em out a lie.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I did vote the Democratic ticket,&quot; said Tom steadily.</p>
+
+<p>The old man fell back a step and gasped, as if he had been struck.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You did?&quot; he cried. &quot;You did?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes,&quot; said Tom, visibly shaken; &quot;every man has a right&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Evah man has a right to what?&quot; cried the old man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To vote as he thinks he ought to,&quot; was his son's reply.</p>
+
+<p>Deacon Swift's eyes were bulging and reddening.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You&mdash;you tell me dat?&quot; His slender form towered above his son's, and
+his knotted, toil-hardened hands opened and closed.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You tell me dat? You with yo' bringin' up vote de way you think
+you're right? You lie! Tell me what dey paid you, or, befo' de Lawd,
+I'll taih you to pieces right hyeah!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Tom wavered. He was weaker than his <span class="pagenum">{252}</span>father. He had not gone through
+the same things, and was not made of the same stuff.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They&mdash;they give me five dollahs,&quot; he said; &quot;but it wa'n't fu'
+votin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Fi' dollahs! fi' dollahs! My son sell hisse'f fu' fi' dollahs! an'
+forty yeahs ago I brung fifteen hun'erd, an' dat was only my body, but
+you sell body an' soul fu' fi' dollahs!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Horror and scorn and grief and anger were in the old man's tone. Tears
+trickled down his wrinkled face, but there was no weakness in the grip
+with which he took hold of his son's arms.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tek it back to 'em!&quot; he said. &quot;Tek it back to 'em.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But, pap&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Tek it back to 'em, I say, or yo' blood be on yo' own haid!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And then, shamefaced before the crowd, driven by his father's anger,
+he went back to the man who had paid him and yielded up the precious
+bank-note. Then they turned, the one head-hung, the other proud in his
+very indignation, and made their way homeward.</p>
+
+<p>There was prayer-meeting the next Wednesday night at Bethel Chapel. It
+was nearly over <span class="pagenum">{253}</span>and the minister was about to announce the Doxology,
+when old Deacon Swift arose.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Des' a minute, brothahs,&quot; he said. &quot;I want to mek a 'fession. I was
+too ha'd an' too brash in my talk de othah night, an' de Lawd visited
+my sins upon my haid. He struck me in de bosom o' my own fambly. My
+own son went wrong. Pray fu' me!&quot;</p>
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{254}</span> -->
+
+<p><a name="255"></a><span class="pagenum">{255}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>THE TRUSTFULNESS<br />
+OF POLLY</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{256}</span> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{257}</span></p>
+
+<h3>THE TRUSTFULNESS OF POLLY</h3>
+
+
+<p>Polly Jackson was a model woman. She was practical and hard-working.
+She knew the value of a dollar, could make one and keep one,
+sometimes&mdash;fate permitting. Fate was usually Sam and Sam was Polly's
+husband. Any morning at six o'clock she might be seen, basket on arm,
+wending her way to the homes of her wealthy patrons for the purpose of
+bringing in their washing, for by this means did she gain her
+livelihood. She had been a person of hard common sense, which suffered
+its greatest lapse when she allied herself with the man whose name she
+bore. After that the lapses were more frequent.</p>
+
+<p>How she could ever have done so no one on earth could tell. Sam was
+her exact opposite. He was an easy-going, happy-go-lucky individual,
+who worked only when occasion demanded and inclination and the weather
+permitted. The weather was usually more acquiescent than inclination.
+He was sanguine of temperament, <span class="pagenum">{258}</span>highly imaginative and a dreamer of
+dreams. Indeed, he just missed being a poet. A man who dreams takes
+either to poetry or policy. Not being able quite to reach the former,
+Sam had declined upon the latter, and, instead of meter, feet and
+rhyme, his mind was taken up with &quot;hosses,&quot; &quot;gigs&quot; and &quot;straddles.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He was always &quot;jes' behin' dem policy sha'ks, an' I'll be boun',
+Polly, but I gwine to ketch 'em dis time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Polly heard this and saw the same result so often that even her
+stalwart faith began to turn into doubt. But Sam continued to reassure
+her and promise that some day luck would change. &quot;An' when hit do
+change,&quot; he would add, impressively, &quot;it's gwine change fu' sho', an'
+we'll have one wakenin' up time. Den I bet you'll git dat silk dress
+you been wantin' so long.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Polly did have ambitions in the direction of some such finery, and
+this plea always melted her. Trust was restored again, and Hope
+resumed her accustomed place.</p>
+
+<p>It was, however, not through the successful culmination of any of
+Sam's policy manipulations that the opportunity at last came to Polly
+to realize her ambitions. A lady for whom she worked <span class="pagenum">{259}</span>had a
+second-hand silk dress, which she was willing to sell cheap. Another
+woman had spoken for it, but if Polly could get the money in three
+weeks she would let her have it for seven dollars.</p>
+
+<p>To say that the companion of Sam Jackson jumped at the offer hardly
+indicates the attitude of eagerness with which she received the
+proposition.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yas'm, I kin sholy git dat much money together in th'ee weeks de way
+I's a-wo'kin'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, now, Polly, be sure; for if you are not prompt I shall have to
+dispose of it where it was first promised,&quot; was the admonition.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, you kin 'pend on me, Mis' Mo'ton; fu' when I sets out to save
+money I kin save, I tell you.&quot; Polly was not usually so sanguine, but
+what changes will not the notion of the possession of a brown silk
+dress trimmed with passementrie make in the disposition of a woman?</p>
+
+<p>Polly let Sam into the secret, and, be it said to his credit, he
+entered into the plan with an enthusiasm no less intense than her own.
+He had always wanted to see her in a silk dress, he told her, and then
+in a quizzically injured tone of voice, &quot;but you ought to waited tell
+I ketched <span class="pagenum">{260}</span>dem policy sha'ks an' I'd 'a' got you a new one.&quot; He even
+went so far as to go to work for a week and bring Polly his earnings,
+of course, after certain &quot;little debts&quot; which he mentioned but did not
+specify, had been deducted.</p>
+
+<p>But in spite of all this, when washing isn't bringing an especially
+good price; when one must eat and food is high; when a grasping
+landlord comes around once every week and exacts tribute for the
+privilege of breathing foul air from an alley in a room up four
+flights; when, I say, all this is true, and it generally is true in
+the New York tenderloin, seven whole dollars are not easily saved.
+There was much raking and scraping and pinching during each day that
+at night Polly might add a few nickels or pennies to the store that
+jingled in a blue jug in one corner of her closet. She called it her
+bank, and Sam had laughed at the conceit, telling her that that was
+one bank anyhow that couldn't &quot;bust.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>As the days went on how she counted her savings and exulted in their
+growth! She already saw herself decked out in her new gown, the envy
+and admiration of every woman in the neighborhood. She even began to
+wish that she <span class="pagenum">{261}</span>had a full-length glass in order that she might get the
+complete effect of her own magnificence. So saving, hoping, dreaming,
+the time went on until a few days before the limit, and there was only
+about a dollar to be added to make the required amount. This she could
+do easily in the remaining time. So Polly was jubilant.</p>
+
+<p>Now everything would have been all right and matters would have ended
+happily if Sam had only kept on at work. But, no. He must needs stop,
+and give his mind the chance to be employed with other things. And
+that is just what happened. For about this time, having nothing else
+to do, like that old king of Bible renown, he dreamed a dream. But
+unlike the royal dreamer, he asked no seer or prophet to interpret his
+dream to him. He merely drove his hand down into his inside pocket,
+and fished up an ancient dream-book, greasy and tattered with use.
+Over this he pored until his eyes bulged and his hands shook with
+excitement.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Got 'em at last!&quot; he exclaimed. &quot;Dey ain't no way fu' dem to git away
+f'om me. I's behind 'em. I's behind 'em I tell you,&quot; and then his face
+fell and he sat for a long time with his chin in his hand thinking,
+thinking.<span class="pagenum">{262}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Polly,&quot; said he when his wife came in, &quot;d'you know what I dremp 'bout
+las' night?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;La! Sam Jackson, you ain't gone to dreamin' agin. I thought you done
+quit all dat foolishness.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now jes' listen at you runnin' on. You ain't never axed me what I
+dremp 'bout yit.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hit don' make much diffunce to me, less 'n you kin dream 'bout a
+dollah mo' into my pocket.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dey has been sich things did,&quot; said Sam sententiously. He got up and
+went out. If there is one thing above another that your professional
+dreamer does demand, it is appreciation. Sam had failed to get it from
+Polly, but he found a balm for all his hurts when he met Bob Davis.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What!&quot; exclaimed Bob. &quot;Dreamed of a nakid black man. Fu' de Lawd
+sake, Sam, don' let de chance pass. You got 'em dis time sho'. I'll
+put somep'n' on it myse'f. Wha'd you think ef we'd win de 'capital'?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>That was enough. The two parted and Sam hurried home. He crept into
+the house. Polly was busy hanging clothes on the roof. Where now are
+the guardian spirits that look after the welfare of trusting women?
+Where now are the <span class="pagenum">{263}</span>enchanted belongings that even in the hands of the
+thief cry out to their unsuspecting owners? Gone. All gone with the
+ages of faith that gave them birth. Without an outcry, without even so
+much as a warning jingle, the contents of the blue jug and the
+embodied hope of a woman's heart were transferred to the gaping pocket
+of Sam Jackson. Polly went on hanging up clothes on the roof.</p>
+
+<p>Sam chuckled to himself: &quot;She won't never have a chanst to scol' me.
+I'll git de drawin's early dis evenin', an' go ma'chin' home wif a new
+silk fu' huh, an' money besides. I do' want my wife waihin' no white
+folks' secon'-han' clothes nohow. My, but won't she be su'prised an'
+tickled. I kin jes' see huh now. Oh, mistah policy-sha'k, I got you
+now. I been layin' fu' you fu' a long time, but you's my meat at
+las'.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He marched into the policy shop like a conqueror. To the amazement of
+the clerk, he turned out a pocketful of small coin on the table and
+played it all in &quot;gigs,&quot; &quot;straddles and combinations.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'll call on you about ha' pas' fou', Mr. McFadden,&quot; he announced
+exultantly as he went out.<span class="pagenum">{264}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Faith, sor,&quot; said McFadden to his colleague, &quot;if that nagur does
+ketch it he'll break us, sure.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Sam could hardly wait for half-past four. A minute before the time he
+burst in upon McFadden and demanded the drawings. They were handed to
+him. He held his breath as his eye went down the column of figures.
+Then he gasped and staggered weakly out of the room. The policy sharks
+had triumphed again.</p>
+
+<p>Sam walked the streets until nine o'clock that night. He was afraid to
+go home to Polly. He knew that she had been to the jug and found&mdash;. He
+groaned, but at last his very helplessness drove him in. Polly, with
+swollen eyes, was sitting by the table, the empty jug lying on its
+side before her.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sam,&quot; she exclaimed, &quot;whaih's my money? Whaih's my money I been
+wo'kin' fu' all dis time?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why&mdash;Why, Polly&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don' go beatin' 'roun' de bush. I want 'o know whaih my money is; you
+tuck it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Polly, I dremp&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I do' keer what you dremp, I want my money fu' my dress.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>His face was miserable.<span class="pagenum">{265}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;I thought sho' dem numbers 'u'd come out, an'&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The woman flung herself upon the floor and burst into a storm of
+tears. Sam bent over her. &quot;Nemmine, Polly,&quot; he said. &quot;Nemmine. I
+thought I'd su'prise you. Dey beat me dis time.&quot; His teeth clenched.
+&quot;But when I ketch dem policy sha'ks&mdash;&quot;</p>
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{266}</span> -->
+
+<p><a name="267"></a><span class="pagenum">{267}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>THE TRAGEDY<br />
+AT THREE FORKS</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{268}</span> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{269}</span></p>
+
+<h3>THE TRAGEDY AT THREE FORKS</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was a drizzly, disagreeable April night. The wind was howling in a
+particularly dismal and malignant way along the valleys and hollows of
+that part of Central Kentucky in which the rural settlement of Three
+Forks is situated. It had been &quot;trying to rain&quot; all day in a
+half-hearted sort of manner, and now the drops were flying about in a
+cold spray. The night was one of dense, inky blackness, occasionally
+relieved by flashes of lightning. It was hardly a night on which a
+girl should be out. And yet one was out, scudding before the storm,
+with clenched teeth and wild eyes, wrapped head and shoulders in a
+great blanket shawl, and looking, as she sped along like a restless,
+dark ghost. For her, the night and the storm had no terrors; passion
+had driven out fear. There was determination in her every movement,
+and purpose was apparent in the concentration of energy with which she
+set her foot down. She drew the shawl closer about her head with a
+convulsive <span class="pagenum">{270}</span>grip, and muttered with a half sob, &quot;'Tain't the first
+time, 'tain't the first time she's tried to take me down in comp'ny,
+but&mdash;&quot; and the sob gave way to the dry, sharp note in her voice, &quot;I'll
+fix her, if it kills me. She thinks I ain't her ekals, does she?
+'Cause her pap's got money, an' has good crops on his lan', an' my pap
+ain't never had no luck, but I'll show 'er, I'll show 'er that good
+luck can't allus last. Pleg-take 'er, she's jealous, 'cause I'm better
+lookin' than she is, an' pearter in every way, so she tries to make me
+little in the eyes of people. Well, you'll find out what it is to be
+pore&mdash;to have nothin', Seliny Williams, if you live.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The black night hid a gleam in the girl's eyes, and her shawl hid a
+bundle of something light, which she clutched very tightly, and which
+smelled of kerosene.</p>
+
+<p>The dark outline of a house and its outbuildings loomed into view
+through the dense gloom; and the increased caution with which the girl
+proceeded, together with the sudden breathless intentness of her
+conduct, indicated that it was with this house and its occupants she
+was concerned.</p>
+
+<p>The house was cellarless, but it was raised at <span class="pagenum">{271}</span>the four corners on
+heavy blocks, leaving a space between the ground and the floor, the
+sides of which were partly closed by banks of ashes and earth which
+were thrown up against the weather-boarding. It was but a few minutes'
+work to scrape away a portion of this earth, and push under the pack
+of shavings into which the mysterious bundle resolved itself. A match
+was lighted, sheltered, until it blazed, and then dropped among them.
+It took only a short walk and a shorter time to drop a handful of
+burning shavings into the hay at the barn. Then the girl turned and
+sped away, muttering: &quot;I reckon I've fixed you, Seliny Williams,
+mebbe, next time you meet me out at a dance, you won't snub me; mebbe
+next time, you'll be ez pore ez I am, an'll be willin' to dance crost
+from even ole 'Lias Hunster's gal.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The constantly falling drizzle might have dampened the shavings and
+put out the fire, had not the wind fanned the sparks into too rapid a
+flame, which caught eagerly at shingle, board and joist until house
+and barn were wrapped in flames. The whinnying of the horses first
+woke Isaac Williams, and he sprang from bed at sight of the furious
+light which surrounded his house. He <span class="pagenum">{272}</span>got his family up and out of the
+house, each seizing what he could of wearing apparel as he fled before
+the flames. Nothing else could be saved, for the fire had gained
+terrible headway, and its fierceness precluded all possibility of
+fighting it. The neighbors attracted by the lurid glare came from far
+and near, but the fire had done its work, and their efforts availed
+nothing. House, barn, stock, all, were a mass of ashes and charred
+cinders. Isaac Williams, who had a day before, been accounted one of
+the solidest farmers in the region, went out that night with his
+family&mdash;homeless.</p>
+
+<p>Kindly neighbors took them in, and by morning the news had spread
+throughout all the country-side. Incendiarism was the only cause that
+could be assigned, and many were the speculations as to who the guilty
+party could be. Of course, Isaac Williams had enemies. But who among
+them was mean, ay, daring enough to perpetrate such a deed as this?</p>
+
+<p>Conjecture was rife, but futile, until old 'Lias Hunster, who though
+he hated Williams, was shocked at the deed, voiced the popular
+sentiment by saying, &quot;Look a here, folks, I tell you that's the work
+o' niggers, I kin see their hand in it.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{273}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Niggers, o' course,&quot; exclaimed every one else. &quot;Why didn't we think
+of it before? It's jest like 'em.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Public opinion ran high and fermented until Saturday afternoon when
+the county paper brought the whole matter to a climax by coming out in
+a sulphurous account of the affair, under the scarehead:</p>
+
+<p class="cent">A TERRIBLE OUTRAGE!</p>
+<p class="sc">MOST DASTARDLY DEED EVER COMMITTED IN THE HISTORY OF</p>
+<p class="sc">BARLOW COUNTY. A HIGHLY RESPECTED, UNOFFENDING</p>
+<p class="sc">AND WELL-BELOVED FAMILY BURNED OUT OF HOUSE</p>
+<p class="sc">AND HOME. NEGROES! UNDOUBTEDLY THE</p>
+<p class="sc">PERPETRATORS OF THE DEED!</p>
+
+<p>The article went on to give the facts of the case, and many more
+supposed facts, which had originated entirely in the mind of the
+correspondent. Among these facts was the intelligence that some
+strange negroes had been seen lurking in the vicinity the day before
+the catastrophe and that a party of citizens and farmers were scouring
+the surrounding country in search of them. &quot;They would, if caught,&quot;
+concluded the correspondent, &quot;be summarily dealt with.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{274}</span></p>
+
+<p>Notwithstanding the utter falsity of these statements, it did not take
+long for the latter part of the article to become a prophecy
+fulfilled, and soon, excited, inflamed and misguided parties of men
+and boys were scouring the woods and roads in search of strange
+&quot;niggers.&quot; Nor was it long, before one of the parties raised the cry
+that they had found the culprits. They had come upon two strange
+negroes going through the woods, who seeing a band of mounted and
+armed men, had instantly taken to their heels. This one act had
+accused, tried and convicted them.</p>
+
+<p>The different divisions of the searching party came together, and led
+the negroes with ropes around their necks into the centre of the
+village. Excited crowds on the one or two streets which the hamlet
+boasted, cried &quot;Lynch 'em, lynch 'em! Hang the niggers up to the first
+tree!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Jane Hunster was in one of the groups, as the shivering negroes
+passed, and she turned very pale even under the sunburn that browned
+her face.</p>
+
+<p>The law-abiding citizens of Barlow County, who composed the capturing
+party, were deaf to the admonitions of the crowd. They filed <span class="pagenum">{275}</span>solemnly
+up the street, and delivered their prisoners to the keeper of the
+jail, sheriff, by courtesy, and scamp by the seal of Satan; and then
+quietly dispersed. There was something ominous in their very
+orderliness.</p>
+
+<p>Late that afternoon, the man who did duty as prosecuting attorney for
+that county, visited the prisoners at the jail, and drew from them the
+story that they were farm-laborers from an adjoining county. They had
+come over only the day before, and were passing through on the quest
+for work; the bad weather and the lateness of the season having thrown
+them out at home.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Uh, huh,&quot; said the prosecuting attorney at the conclusion of the
+tale, &quot;your story's all right, but the only trouble is that it won't
+do here. They won't believe you. Now, I'm a friend to niggers as much
+as any white man can be, if they'll only be friends to themselves, an'
+I want to help you two all I can. There's only one way out of this
+trouble. You must confess that you did this.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But Mistah,&quot; said the bolder of the two negroes, &quot;how kin we 'fess,
+when we wasn' nowhahs nigh de place?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now there you go with regular nigger stubbornness; <span class="pagenum">{276}</span>didn't I tell you
+that that was the only way out of this? If you persist in saying you
+didn't do it, they'll hang you; whereas, if you own, you'll only get a
+couple of years in the 'pen.' Which 'ud you rather have, a couple o'
+years to work out, or your necks stretched?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, we'll 'fess, Mistah, we'll 'fess we done it; please, please don't
+let 'em hang us!&quot; cried the thoroughly frightened blacks.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, that's something like it,&quot; said the prosecuting attorney as he
+rose to go. &quot;I'll see what can be done for you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>With marvelous and mysterious rapidity, considering the reticence
+which a prosecuting attorney who was friendly to the negroes should
+display, the report got abroad that the negroes had confessed their
+crime, and soon after dark, ominous looking crowds began to gather in
+the streets. They passed and repassed the place, where stationed on
+the little wooden shelf that did duty as a doorstep, Jane Hunster sat
+with her head buried in her hands. She did not raise up to look at any
+of them, until a hand was laid on her shoulder, and a voice called
+her, &quot;Jane!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, hit's you, is it, Bud,&quot; she said, raising her head slowly,
+&quot;howdy?&quot;<span class="pagenum">{277}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Howdy yoreself,&quot; said the young man, looking down at her tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Bresh off yore pants an' set down,&quot; said the girl making room for him
+on the step. The young man did so, at the same time taking hold of her
+hand with awkward tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Jane,&quot; he said, &quot;I jest can't wait fur my answer no longer! you got
+to tell me to-night, either one way or the other. Dock Heaters has
+been a-blowin' hit aroun' that he has beat my time with you. I don't
+believe it Jane, fur after keepin' me waitin' all these years, I don't
+believe you'd go back on me. You know I've allus loved you, ever sence
+we was little children together.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The girl was silent until he leaned over and said in pleading tones,
+&quot;What do you say, Jane?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hain't fitten fur you, Bud.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don't talk that-a-way, Jane, you know ef you jest say 'yes,' I'll be
+the happiest man in the state.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, yes, then, Bud, for you're my choice, even ef I have fooled
+with you fur a long time; an' I'm glad now that I kin make somebody
+happy.&quot; The girl was shivering, and her hands <span class="pagenum">{278}</span>were cold, but she made
+no movement to rise or enter the house.</p>
+
+<p>Bud put his arms around her and kissed her shyly. And just then a
+shout arose from the crowd down the street.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What's that?&quot; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It's the boys gittin' worked up, I reckon. They're going to lynch
+them niggers to-night that burned ole man Williams out.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The girl leaped to her feet, &quot;They mustn't do it,&quot; she cried. &quot;They
+ain't never been tried!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Set down, Janey,&quot; said her lover, &quot;they've owned up to it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don't believe it,&quot; she exclaimed, &quot;somebody's jest a lyin' on 'em
+to git 'em hung because they're niggers.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sh&mdash;Jane, you're excited, you ain't well; I noticed that when I first
+come to-night. Somebody's got to suffer fur that house-burnin', an' it
+might ez well be them ez anybody else. You mustn't talk so. Ef people
+knowed you wuz a standin' up fur niggers so, it 'ud ruin you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He had hardly finished speaking, when the gate opened, and another man
+joined them.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hello, there, Dock Heaters, that you?&quot; said Bud Mason.<span class="pagenum">{279}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, it's me. How are you, Jane?&quot; said the newcomer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, jest middlin', Dock, I ain't right well.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, you might be in better business than settin' out here talkin'
+to Bud Mason.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don't know how as to that,&quot; said his rival, &quot;seein' as we're
+engaged.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You're a liar!&quot; flashed Dock Heaters.</p>
+
+<p>Bud Mason half rose, then sat down again; his triumph was sufficient
+without a fight. To him &quot;liar&quot; was a hard name to swallow without
+resort to blows, but he only said, his flashing eyes belying his calm
+tone, &quot;Mebbe I am a liar, jest ast Jane.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Is that the truth, Jane?&quot; asked Heaters, angrily.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, hit is, Dock Heaters, an' I don't see what you've got to say
+about it; I hain't never promised you nothin' shore.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Heaters turned toward the gate without a word. Bud sent after him a
+mocking laugh, and the bantering words, &quot;You'd better go down, an'
+he'p hang them niggers, that's all you're good fur.&quot; And the rival
+really did bend his steps in that direction.</p>
+
+<p>Another shout arose from the throng down <span class="pagenum">{280}</span>the street, and rising
+hastily, Bud Mason exclaimed, &quot;I must be goin', that yell means
+business.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Don't go down there, Bud!&quot; cried Jane. &quot;Don't go, fur my sake, don't
+go.&quot; She stretched out her arms, and clasped them about his neck.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You don't want me to miss nothin' like that,&quot; he said as he unclasped
+her arms; &quot;don't you be worried, I'll be back past here.&quot; And in a
+moment he was gone, leaving her cry of &quot;Bud, Bud, come back,&quot; to smite
+the empty silence.</p>
+
+<p>When Bud Mason reached the scene of action, the mob had already broken
+into the jail and taken out the trembling prisoners. The ropes were
+round their necks and they had been led to a tree.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;See ef they'll do anymore house-burnin'!&quot; cried one as the ends of
+the ropes were thrown over the limbs of the tree.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Reckon they'll like dancin' hemp a heap better,&quot; mocked a second.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Justice an' pertection!&quot; yelled a third.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The mills of the gods grind swift enough in Barlow County,&quot; said the
+schoolmaster.</p>
+
+<p>The scene, the crowd, the flaring lights and <span class="pagenum">{281}</span>harsh voices intoxicated
+Mason, and he was soon the most enthusiastic man in the mob. At the
+word, his was one of the willing hands that seized the rope, and
+jerked the negroes off their feet into eternity. He joined the others
+with savage glee as they emptied their revolvers into the bodies. Then
+came the struggle for pieces of the rope as &quot;keepsakes.&quot; The scramble
+was awful. Bud Mason had just laid hold of a piece and cut it off,
+when some one laid hold of the other end. It was not at the rope's
+end, and the other man also used his knife in getting a hold. Mason
+looked up to see who his antagonist was, and his face grew white with
+anger. It was Dock Heaters.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Let go this rope,&quot; he cried.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Let go yoreself, I cut it first, an' I'm a goin' to have it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>They tugged and wrestled and panted, but they were evenly matched and
+neither gained the advantage.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Let go, I say,&quot; screamed Heaters, wild with rage.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'll die first, you dirty dog!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The words were hardly out of his mouth before a knife flashed in the
+light of the lanterns, and <span class="pagenum">{282}</span>with a sharp cry, Bud Mason fell to the
+ground. Heaters turned to fly, but strong hands seized and disarmed
+him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He's killed him! Murder, murder!&quot; arose the cry, as the crowd with
+terror-stricken faces gathered about the murderer and his victim.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lynch him!&quot; suggested some one whose thirst for blood was not yet
+appeased.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No,&quot; cried an imperious voice, &quot;who knows what may have put him up to
+it? Give a white man a chance for his life.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The crowd parted to let in the town marshal and the sheriff who took
+charge of the prisoner, and led him to the little rickety jail, whence
+he escaped later that night; while others improvised a litter, and
+bore the dead man to his home.</p>
+
+<p>The news had preceded them up the street, and reached Jane's ears. As
+they passed her home, she gazed at them with a stony, vacant stare,
+muttering all the while as she rocked herself to and fro, &quot;I knowed
+it, I knowed it!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The press was full of the double lynching and the murder. Conservative
+editors wrote leaders about it in which they deplored the rashness of
+the hanging but warned the negroes that the only way to stop lynching
+was to quit the crimes <span class="pagenum">{283}</span>of which they so often stood accused. But only
+in one little obscure sheet did an editor think to say, &quot;There was
+Salem and its witchcraft; there is the south and its lynching. When
+the blind frenzy of a people condemn a man as soon as he is accused,
+his enemies need not look far for a pretext!&quot;</p>
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{284}</span> -->
+
+<p><a name="285"></a><span class="pagenum">{285}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>THE FINDING<br />
+OF ZACH</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{286}</span> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{287}</span></p>
+
+<h3>THE FINDING OF ZACH</h3>
+
+
+<p>The rooms of the &quot;Banner&quot; Club&mdash;an organization of social intent, but
+with political streaks&mdash;were a blaze of light that Christmas Eve
+night. On the lower floor some one was strumming on the piano, and
+upstairs, where the &quot;ladies&quot; sat, and where the Sunday smokers were
+held, a man was singing one of the latest coon songs. The &quot;Banner&quot;
+always got them first, mainly because the composers went there, and
+often the air of the piece itself had been picked out or patched
+together, with the help of the &quot;Banner's&quot; piano, before the song was
+taken out for somebody to set the &quot;'companiment&quot; to it.</p>
+
+<p>The proprietor himself had just gone into the parlor to see that the
+Christmas decorations were all that he intended them to be when a door
+opened and an old man entered the room. In one hand he carried an
+ancient carpetbag, which he deposited on the floor, while he stared
+around at the grandeur of the place. He was a typical old uncle of the
+South, from the soles of his <span class="pagenum">{288}</span>heavy brogans to the shiny top of his
+bald pate, with its fringe of white wool. It was plain to be seen that
+he was not a denizen of the town, or of that particular quarter. They
+do not grow old in the Tenderloin. He paused long enough to take in
+the appointments of the place, then, suddenly remembering his manners,
+he doffed his hat and bowed with old-fashioned courtesy to the
+splendid proprietor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, how'do, uncle!&quot; said the genial Mr. Turner, extending his hand.
+&quot;Where did you stray from?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Howdy, son, howdy,&quot; returned the old man gravely. &quot;I hails f'om
+Miss'ippi myse'f, a mighty long ways f'om hyeah.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>His voice and old-time intonation were good to listen to, and Mr.
+Turner's thoughts went back to an earlier day in his own life. He was
+from Maryland himself. He drew up a chair for the old man and took one
+himself. A few other men passed into the room and stopped to look with
+respectful amusement at the visitor. He was such a perfect bit of old
+plantation life and so obviously out of place in a Tenderloin club
+room.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, uncle, are you looking for a place to stay?&quot; pursued Turner.<span class="pagenum">{289}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Not 'zackly, honey; not 'zackly. I come up hyeah a-lookin' fu' a son
+o' mine dat been away f'om home nigh on to five years. He live hyeah
+in Noo Yo'k, an' dey tell me whaih I 'quiahed dat I li'ble to fin'
+somebody hyeah dat know him. So I jes' drapped in.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know a good many young men from the South. What's your son's name?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, he named aftah my ol' mastah, Zachariah Priestley Shackelford.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Zach Shackelford!&quot; exclaimed some of the men, and there was a general
+movement among them, but a glance from Turner quieted the commotion.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, yes, I know your son,&quot; he said. &quot;He's in here almost every
+night, and he's pretty sure to drop in a little later on. He has been
+singing with one of the colored companies here until a couple of weeks
+ago.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Heish up; you don't say so. Well! well! well! but den Zachariah allus
+did have a mighty sweet voice. He tu'k hit aftah his mammy. Well, I
+sholy is hopin' to see dat boy. He was allus my favorite, aldough I
+reckon a body ain' got no livin' right to have favorites among dey
+chilluns. But Zach was allus sich a good boy.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{290}</span></p>
+
+<p>The men turned away. They could not remember a time since they had
+known Zach Shackelford when by any stretch of imagination he could
+possibly have been considered good. He was known as one of the wildest
+young bucks that frequented the club, with a deft hand at cards and
+dice and a smooth throat for whisky. But Turner gave them such a
+defiant glance that they were almost ready to subscribe to anything
+the old man might say.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Dis is a mighty fine place you got hyeah. Hit mus' be a kind of a
+hotel or boa'din' house, ain't hit?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, something like.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We don' have nuffin' lak dis down ouah way. Co'se, we's jes' common
+folks. We wo'ks out in de fiel', and dat's about all we knows&mdash;fiel',
+chu'ch an' cabin. But I's mighty glad my Zach 's gittin' up in de
+worl'. He nevah were no great han' fu' wo'k. Hit kin' o' seemed to go
+agin his natur'. You know dey is folks lak dat.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lots of 'em, lots of 'em,&quot; said Mr. Turner.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd of men had been augmented by a party from out of the card
+room, and they were listening intently to the old fellow's chatter.
+They felt now that they ought to laugh, but <span class="pagenum">{291}</span>somehow they could not,
+and the twitching of their careless faces was not from suppressed
+merriment.</p>
+
+<p>The visitor looked around at them, and then remarked: &quot;My, what a lot
+of boa'dahs you got.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They don't all stay here,&quot; answered Turner seriously; &quot;some of them
+have just dropped in to see their friends.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Den I 'low Zach'll be drappin' in presently. You mus' 'scuse me fu'
+talkin' 'bout him, but I's mighty anxious to clap my eyes on him. I's
+been gittin' on right sma't dese las' two yeahs, an' my ol' ooman she
+daid an' gone, an' I kin' o' lonesome, so I jes' p'omised mysef dis
+Crismus de gif' of a sight o' Zach. Hit do look foolish fu' a man ez
+ol' ez me to be a runnin' 'roun' de worl' a spen'in' money dis away,
+but hit do seem so ha'd to git Zach home.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How long are you going to be with us?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I 'specs to stay all o' Crismus week.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Maybe&mdash;&quot; began one of the men. But Turner interrupted him. &quot;This
+gentleman is my guest. Uncle,&quot; turning to the old man, &quot;do you
+ever&mdash;would you&mdash;er. I've got some pretty good liquor here, ah&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Zach's father smiled a sly smile. &quot;I do' know, <span class="pagenum">{292}</span>suh,&quot; he said,
+crossing his leg high. &quot;I's Baptis' mys'f, but 'long o' dese Crismus
+holidays I's right fond of a little toddy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A half dozen eager men made a break for the bar, but Turner's uplifted
+hand held them. He was an autocrat in his way.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Excuse me, gentlemen,&quot; he said, &quot;but I think I remarked some time ago
+that Mr. Shackelford was my guest.&quot; And he called the waiter.</p>
+
+<p>All the men had something and tapped rims with the visitor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'Pears to me you people is mighty clevah up hyeah; 'tain' no wondah
+Zachariah don' wan' to come home.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Just then they heard a loud whoop outside the door, and a voice broke
+in upon them singing thickly, &quot;Oh, this spo'tin' life is surely
+killin' me.&quot; The men exchanged startled glances. Turner looked at
+them, and there was a command in his eye. Several of them hurried out,
+and he himself arose, saying: &quot;I've got to go out for a little while,
+but you just make yourself at home, uncle. You can lie down right
+there on that sofa and push that button there&mdash;see, this way&mdash;if you
+want some more toddy. It shan't cost you anything.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{293}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, I'll res' myself, but I ain' gwine sponge on you dat away. I got
+some money,&quot; and the old man dug down into his long pocket. But his
+host laid a hand on his arm.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Your money's no good up here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Wh&mdash;wh&mdash;why, I thought dis money passed any whah in de Nunited
+States!&quot; exclaimed the bewildered old man.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's all right, but you can't spend it until we run out.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh! Why, bless yo' soul, suh, you skeered me. You sho' is clevah.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Turner went out and came upon his emissaries, where they had halted
+the singing Zach in the hallway, and were trying to get into his
+muddled brain that his father was there.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Wha'sh de ol' man doin' at de 'Banner,' gittin' gay in his ol' days?
+Hic.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>That was enough for Turner to hear. &quot;Look a-here,&quot; he said, &quot;don't you
+get flip when you meet your father. He's come a long ways to see you,
+and I'm damned if he shan't see you right. Remember you're stoppin' at
+my house as long as the old man stays, and if you make a break while
+he's here I'll spoil your mug for you. Bring him along, boys.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{294}</span></p>
+
+<p>Zach had started in for a Christmas celebration, but they took him
+into an empty room. They sent to the drug store and bought many
+things. When the young man came out an hour later he was straight, but
+sad.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, Pap,&quot; he said when he saw the old man, &quot;I'll be&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hem!&quot; said Turner.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'll be blessed!&quot; Zach finished.</p>
+
+<p>The old man looked him over. &quot;Tsch! tsch! tsch! Dis is a Crismus gif'
+fu' sho'!&quot; His voice was shaking. &quot;I's so glad to see you, honey; but
+chile, you smell lak a 'pothac'ay shop.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I ain't been right well lately,&quot; said Zach sheepishly.</p>
+
+<p>To cover his confusion Turner called for eggnog.</p>
+
+<p>When it came the old man said: &quot;Well, I's Baptis' myse'f, but seein'
+it's Crismus&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p><a name="295"></a><span class="pagenum">{295}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>JOHNSONHAM,<br />
+JUNIOR</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{296}</span> -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{297}</span></p>
+
+<h3>JOHNSONHAM, JUNIOR</h3>
+
+
+<p>Now any one will agree with me that it is entirely absurd for two men
+to fall out about their names; but then, circumstances alter cases. It
+had its beginning in 1863, and it has just ended.</p>
+
+<p>In the first place, Ike and Jim had been good friends on the
+plantation, but when the time came for them to leave and seek homes
+for themselves each wanted a name. The master's name was Johnson, and
+they both felt themselves entitled to it. When Ike went forth to men
+as Isaac Johnson, and Jim, not to be outdone, became James Johnsonham,
+the rivalry began. Each married and became the father of a boy who
+took his father's name.</p>
+
+<p>When both families moved North and settled in Little Africa their
+children had been taught that there must be eternal enmity between
+them on account of their names, and just as lasting a friendship on
+every other score. But with boys it was natural that the rivalry
+should extend to other things. When they went to school it was <span class="pagenum">{298}</span>a
+contest for leadership both in the classroom and in sports, and when
+Isaac Johnson left school to go to work in the brickyard, James
+Johnsonham, not to be outdone in industry, also entered the same field
+of labor.</p>
+
+<p>Later, it was questioned all up and down Douglass Street, which, by
+the way, is the social centre of Little Africa&mdash;as to which of the two
+was the better dancer or the more gallant beau. It was a piece of good
+fortune that they did not fall in love with the same girl and bring
+their rivalry into their affairs of the heart, for they were only men,
+and nothing could have kept them friends. But they came quite as near
+it as they could, for Matilda Benson was as bright a girl as Martha
+Mason, and when Ike married her she was an even-running contestant
+with her friend, Martha, for the highest social honors of their own
+particular set.</p>
+
+<p>It was a foregone conclusion that when they were married and settled
+they should live near each other. So the houses were distant from each
+other only two or three doors. It was because every one knew every one
+else's business in that locality that Sandy Worthington took it upon
+himself to taunt the two men about their bone of contention.<span class="pagenum">{299}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Mr. Johnson,&quot; he would say, when, coming from the down-town store
+where he worked, he would meet the two coming from their own labors in
+the brickyard, &quot;how are you an' Mistah Johnsonham mekin' it ovah yo'
+names?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I don' know that Johnsonham is so much of a name,&quot; Ike would
+say; and Jim would reply: &quot;I 'low it's mo' name than Johnson, anyhow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;So is stealin' ham mo' than stealin',&quot; was the other's rejoinder, and
+then his friends would double up with mirth.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes the victorious repartee was Jim's, and then the laugh was on
+the other side. But the two went at it all good-naturedly, until one
+day, one foolish day, when they had both stopped too often on the way
+home, Jim grew angry at some little fling of his friend's, and burst
+into hot abuse of him. At first Ike was only astonished, and then his
+eyes, red with the dust of the brick-field, grew redder, the veins of
+his swarthy face swelled, and with a &quot;Take that, Mistah Johnsonham,&quot;
+he gave Jim a resounding thwack across the face.</p>
+
+<p>It took only a little time for a crowd to gather, and, with their
+usual tormentor to urge them on, <span class="pagenum">{300}</span>the men forgot themselves and went
+into the fight in dead earnest. It was a hard-fought battle. Both
+rolled in the dust, caught at each other's short hair, pummeled, bit
+and swore. They were still rolling and tumbling when their wives,
+apprised of the goings on, appeared upon the scene and marched them
+home.</p>
+
+<p>After that, because they were men, they kept a sullen silence between
+them, but Matilda and Martha, because they were women, had much to say
+to each other, and many unpleasant epithets to hurl and hurl again
+across the two yards that intervened between them. Finally, neither
+little family spoke to the other. And then, one day, there was a great
+bustle about Jim's house. A wise old woman went waddling in, and later
+the doctor came. That night the proud husband and father was treating
+his friends, and telling them it was a boy, and his name was to be
+James Johnsonham, Junior.</p>
+
+<p>For a week Jim was irregular and unsteady in his habits, when one
+night, full of gin and pride, he staggered up to a crowd which was
+surrounding his rival, and said in a loud voice, &quot;James Johnsonham,
+Junior&mdash;how does that strike you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Any bettah than Isaac Johnson, Junior?&quot; asked <span class="pagenum">{301}</span>some one, slapping the
+happy Ike on the shoulder as the crowd burst into a loud guffaw. Jim's
+head was sadly bemuddled, and for a time he gazed upon the faces about
+him in bewilderment. Then a light broke in upon his mind, and with a
+&quot;Whoo-ee!&quot; he said, &quot;No!&quot; Ike grinned a defiant grin at him, and led
+the way to the nearest place where he and his friends might celebrate.</p>
+
+<p>Jim went home to his wife full of a sullen, heavy anger. &quot;Ike Johnson
+got a boy at his house, too,&quot; he said, &quot;an' he done put Junior to his
+name.&quot; Martha raised her head from the pillow and hugged her own baby
+to her breast closer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It do beat all,&quot; she made answer airily; &quot;we can't do a blessed thing
+but them thaih Johnsons has to follow right in ouah steps. Anyhow, I
+don't believe their baby is no sich healthy lookin' chile as this one
+is, bress his little hea't! 'Cause I knows Matilda Benson nevah was
+any too strong.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She was right; Matilda Benson was not so strong. The doctor went
+oftener to Ike's house than he had gone to Jim's, and three or four
+days after an undertaker went in.</p>
+
+<p>They tried to keep the news from Martha's <span class="pagenum">{302}</span>ears, but somehow it leaked
+into them, and when Jim came home on that evening she looked into her
+husband's face with a strange, new expression.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, Jim,&quot; she cried weakly, &quot;'Tildy done gone, an' me jes' speakin'
+ha'd 'bout huh a little while ago, an' that po' baby lef thaih to die!
+Ain't it awful?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nev' min',&quot; said Jim, huskily; &quot;nev' min', honey.&quot; He had seen Ike's
+face when the messenger had come for him at the brickyard, and the
+memory of it was like a knife at his heart.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Jes' think, I said, only a day or so ago,&quot; Martha went on, &quot;that
+'Tildy wasn't strong; an' I was glad of it, Jim, I was glad of it! I
+was jealous of huh havin' a baby, too. Now she's daid, an' I feel jes'
+lak I'd killed huh. S'p'osin' God 'ud sen' a jedgment on me&mdash;s'p'osin'
+He'd take our little Jim?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Sh, sh, honey,&quot; said Jim, with a man's inadequacy in such a moment.
+&quot;'Tain't yo' fault; you nevah wished huh any ha'm.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;No; but I said it, I said it!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Po' Ike,&quot; said Jim absently; &quot;po' fellah!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Won't you go thaih,&quot; she asked, &quot;an' see what you kin do fu' him?&quot;<span class="pagenum">{303}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;He don't speak to me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You mus' speak to him; you got to do it, Jim; you got to.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What kin I say? 'Tildy's daid.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She reached up and put her arms around her husband's brawny neck. &quot;Go
+bring that po' little lamb hyeah,&quot; she said. &quot;I kin save it, an' 'ten'
+to two. It'll be a sort of consolation fu' him to keep his chile.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Kin you do that, Marthy?&quot; he said. &quot;Kin you do that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I know I kin.&quot; A great load seemed to lift itself from Jim's heart as
+he burst out of the house. He opened Ike's door without knocking. The
+man sat by the empty fireplace with his head bowed over the ashes.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ike,&quot; he said, and then stopped.</p>
+
+<p>Ike raised his head and glanced at him with a look of dull despair.
+&quot;She's gone,&quot; he replied; &quot;'Tildy's gone.&quot; There was no touch of anger
+in his tone. It was as if he took the visit for granted. All petty
+emotions had passed away before this great feeling which touched both
+earth and the beyond.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I come fu' the baby,&quot; said Jim. &quot;Marthy, she'll take keer of it.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{304}</span></p>
+
+<p>He reached down and found the other's hand, and the two hard palms
+closed together in a strong grip. &quot;Ike,&quot; he went on, &quot;I'm goin' to
+drop the 'Junior' an' the 'ham,' an' the two little ones'll jes' grow
+up togethah, one o' them lak the othah.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The bereaved husband made no response. He only gripped the hand
+tighter. A little while later Jim came hastily from the house with
+something small wrapped closely in a shawl.</p>
+
+<p><a name="305"></a><span class="pagenum">{305}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>THE FAITH<br />
+CURE MAN</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{306}</span> -->
+<p><span class="pagenum">{307}</span></p>
+
+<h3>THE FAITH CURE MAN</h3>
+
+
+<p>Hope is tenacious. It goes on living and working when science has
+dealt it what should be its deathblow.</p>
+
+<p>In the close room at the top of the old tenement house little Lucy lay
+wasting away with a relentless disease. The doctor had said at the
+beginning of the winter that she could not live. Now he said that he
+could do no more for her except to ease the few days that remained for
+the child.</p>
+
+<p>But Martha Benson would not believe him. She was confident that
+doctors were not infallible. Anyhow, this one wasn't, for she saw life
+and health ahead for her little one.</p>
+
+<p>Did not the preacher at the Mission Home say: &quot;Ask, and ye shall
+receive?&quot; and had she not asked and asked again the life of her child,
+her last and only one, at the hands of Him whom she worshipped?</p>
+
+<p>No, Lucy was not going to die. What she needed was country air and a
+place to run about in. She had been housed up too much; these long
+Northern winters were too severe for her, <span class="pagenum">{308}</span>and that was what made her
+so pinched and thin and weak. She must have air, and she should have
+it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Po' little lammie,&quot; she said to the child, &quot;Mammy's little gal boun'
+to git well. Mammy gwine sen' huh out in de country when the spring
+comes, whaih she kin roll in de grass an' pick flowers an' git good
+an' strong. Don' baby want to go to de country? Don' baby want to see
+de sun shine?&quot; And the child had looked up at her with wide, bright
+eyes, tossed her thin arms and moaned for reply.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nemmine, we gwine fool dat doctah. Some day we'll th'ow all his nassy
+medicine 'way, an' he come in an' say: 'Whaih's all my medicine?' Den
+we answeh up sma't like: 'We done th'owed it out. We don' need no
+nassy medicine.' Den he look 'roun' an' say: 'Who dat I see runnin'
+roun' de flo' hyeah, a-lookin' so fat?' an' you up an' say: 'Hit's me,
+dat's who 'tis, mistah doctor man!' Den he go out an' slam de do'
+behin' him. Ain' dat fine?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But the child had closed her eyes, too weak even to listen. So her
+mother kissed her little thin forehead and tiptoed out, sending in a
+child from across the hall to take care of Lucy while <span class="pagenum">{309}</span>she was at
+work, for sick as the little one was she could not stay at home and
+nurse her.</p>
+
+<p>Hope grasps at a straw, and it was quite in keeping with the condition
+of Martha's mind that she should open her ears and her heart when they
+told her of the wonderful works of the faith-cure man. People had gone
+to him on crutches, and he had touched or rubbed them and they had
+come away whole. He had gone to the homes of the bed-ridden, and they
+had risen up to bless him. It was so easy for her to believe it all.
+The only religion she had ever known, the wild, emotional religion of
+most of her race, put her credulity to stronger tests than that. Her
+only question was, would such a man come to her humble room. But she
+put away even this thought. He must come. She would make him. Already
+she saw Lucy strong, and running about like a mouse, the joy of her
+heart and the light of her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as she could get time she went humbly to see the faith doctor,
+and laid her case before him, hoping, fearing, trembling.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, he would come. Her heart leaped for joy.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There is no place,&quot; said the faith curist, &quot;too <span class="pagenum">{310}</span>humble for the
+messenger of heaven to enter. I am following One who went among the
+humblest and the lowliest, and was not ashamed to be found among
+publicans and sinners. I will come to your child, madam, and put her
+again under the law. The law of life is health, and no one who will
+accept the law need be sick. I am not a physician. I do not claim to
+be. I only claim to teach people how not to be sick. My fee is five
+dollars, merely to defray my expenses, that's all. You know the
+servant is worthy of his hire. And in this little bottle here I have
+an elixir which has never been known to fail in any of the things
+claimed for it. Since the world has got used to taking medicine we
+must make some concessions to its prejudices. But this in reality is
+not a medicine at all. It is only a symbol. It is really liquefied
+prayer and faith.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Martha did not understand anything of what he was saying. She did not
+try to; she did not want to. She only felt a blind trust in him that
+filled her heart with unspeakable gladness.</p>
+
+<p>Tremulous with excitement, she doled out her poor dollars to him,
+seized the precious elixir and hurried away home to Lucy, to whom she
+was carrying life and strength. The little one made a <span class="pagenum">{311}</span>weak attempt to
+smile at her mother, but the light flickered away and died into
+greyness on her face.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Now mammy's little gal gwine to git well fu' sho'. Mammy done bring
+huh somep'n' good.&quot; Awed and reverent, she tasted the wonderful elixir
+before giving it to the child. It tasted very like sweetened water to
+her, but she knew that it was not, and had no doubt of its virtues.</p>
+
+<p>Lucy swallowed it as she swallowed everything her mother brought to
+her. Poor little one! She had nothing to buoy her up or to fight
+science with.</p>
+
+<p>In the course of an hour her mother gave her the medicine again, and
+persuaded herself that there was a perceptible brightening in her
+daughter's face.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Mason, Caroline's mother, called across the hall: &quot;How Lucy dis
+evenin', Mis' Benson?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, I think Lucy air right peart,&quot; Martha replied. &quot;Come over an'
+look at huh.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Mason came, and the mother told her about the new faith doctor
+and his wonderful powers.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, Mis' Mason,&quot; she said, &quot;'pears like I <span class="pagenum">{312}</span>could see de change in de
+child de minute she swallowed dat medicine.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Her neighbor listened in silence, but when she went back to her own
+room it was to shake her head and murmur: &quot;Po' Marfy, she jes' ez
+blind ez a bat. She jes' go 'long, holdin' on to dat chile wid all huh
+might, an' I see death in Lucy's face now. Dey ain't no faif nur
+prayer, nur Jack-leg doctors nuther gwine to save huh.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But Martha needed no pity then. She was happy in her self-delusion.</p>
+
+<p>On the morrow the faith doctor came to see Lucy. She had not seemed so
+well that morning, even to her mother, who remained at home until the
+doctor arrived. He carried a conquering air, and a baggy umbrella, the
+latter of which he laid across the foot of the bed as he bent over the
+moaning child.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Give me some brown paper,&quot; he commanded.</p>
+
+<p>Martha hastened to obey, and the priestly practitioner dampened it in
+water and laid it on Lucy's head, all the time murmuring prayers&mdash;or
+were they incantations?&mdash;to himself. Then he placed pieces of the
+paper on the soles of the child's feet and on the palms of her hands,
+and bound them there.<span class="pagenum">{313}</span></p>
+
+<p>When all this was done he knelt down and prayed aloud, ending with a
+peculiar version of the Lord's prayer, supposed to have mystic effect.
+Martha was greatly impressed, but through it all Lucy lay and moaned.</p>
+
+<p>The faith curist rose to go. &quot;Well, we can look to have her out in a
+few days. Remember, my good woman, much depends upon you. You must try
+to keep your mind in a state of belief. Are you saved?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, yes, suh. I'm a puffessor,&quot; said Martha, and having completed his
+mission, the man of prayers went out, and Caroline again took Martha's
+place at Lucy's side.</p>
+
+<p>In the next two days Martha saw, or thought she saw, a steady
+improvement in Lucy. According to instructions, the brown paper was
+moved every day, moistened, and put back.</p>
+
+<p>Martha had so far spurred her faith that when she went out on Saturday
+morning she promised to bring Lucy something good for her Christmas
+dinner, and a pair of shoes against the time of her going out, and
+also a little doll. She brought them home that night. Caroline had
+grown tired and, lighting the lamp, had gone home.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I done brung my little lady bird huh somep'n <span class="pagenum">{314}</span>nice,&quot; said Martha,
+&quot;here's a lil' doll and de lil' shoes, honey. How's de baby feel?&quot;
+Lucy did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You sleep?&quot; Martha went over to the bed. The little face was pinched
+and ashen. The hands were cold.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lucy! Lucy!&quot; called the mother. &quot;Lucy! Oh, Gawd! It ain't true! She
+ain't daid! My little one, my las' one!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>She rushed for the elixir and brought it to the bed. The thin dead
+face stared back at her, unresponsive.</p>
+
+<p>She sank down beside the bed, moaning.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Daid, daid, oh, my Gawd, gi' me back my chile! Oh, don't I believe
+you enough? Oh, Lucy, Lucy, my little lamb! I got you yo' gif'. Oh,
+Lucy!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The next day was set apart for the funeral. The Mission preacher read:
+&quot;The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the
+Lord,&quot; and some one said &quot;Amen!&quot; But Martha could not echo it in her
+heart. Lucy was her last, her one treasured lamb.</p>
+
+<p><a name="315"></a><span class="pagenum">{315}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>A COUNCIL<br />
+OF STATE</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <span class="pagenum">{316}</span> -->
+<p><span class="pagenum">{317}</span></p>
+
+<h3>A COUNCIL OF STATE</h3>
+
+
+<h3>PART I</h3>
+
+
+<p>Luther Hamilton was a great political power. He was neither
+representative in Congress, senator nor cabinet minister. When asked
+why he aspired to none of these places of honor and emolument he
+invariably shrugged his shoulders and smiled inscrutably. In fact, he
+found it both more pleasant and more profitable simply to boss his
+party. It gave him power, position and patronage, and yet put him
+under obligations to no narrow constituency.</p>
+
+<p>As he sat in his private office this particular morning there was a
+smile upon his face, and his little eyes looked out beneath the heavy
+grey eyebrows and the massive cheeks with gleams of pleasure. His
+whole appearance betokened the fact that he was feeling especially
+good. Even his mail lay neglected before him, and his eyes gazed
+straight at the wall. What wonder that he should smile and dream. Had
+he not just the day before utterly crushed a troublesome opponent?<span class="pagenum">{318}</span>
+Had he not ruined the career of a young man who dared to oppose him,
+driven him out of public life and forced his business to the wall? If
+this were not food for self-congratulation pray what is?</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Hamilton's reverie was broken in upon by a tap at the door, and
+his secretary entered.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, Frank, what is it now? I haven't gone through my mail yet.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Miss Kirkman is in the outer office, sir, and would like to see you
+this morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, Miss Kirkman, heh; well, show her in at once.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The secretary disappeared and returned ushering in a young woman, whom
+the &quot;boss&quot; greeted cordially.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, Miss Kirkman, good-morning! Good-morning! Always prompt and busy,
+I see. Have a chair.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Kirkman returned his greeting and dropped into a chair. She began
+at once fumbling in a bag she carried.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We'll get right to business,&quot; she said. &quot;I know you're busy, and so
+am I, and I want to get through. I've got to go and hunt a servant for
+Mrs. Senator Dutton when I leave here.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{319}</span></p>
+
+<p>She spoke in a loud voice, and her words rushed one upon the other as
+if she were in the habit of saying much in a short space of time. This
+is a trick of speech frequently acquired by those who visit public
+men. Miss Kirkman's whole manner indicated bustle and hurry. Even her
+attire showed it. She was a plump woman, aged, one would say about
+thirty. Her hair was brown and her eyes a steely grey&mdash;not a bad face,
+but one too shrewd and aggressive perhaps for a woman. One might have
+looked at her for a long time and never suspected the truth, that she
+was allied to the colored race. Neither features, hair nor complexion
+showed it, but then &quot;colored&quot; is such an elastic word, and Miss
+Kirkman in reality was colored &quot;for revenue only.&quot; She found it more
+profitable to ally herself to the less important race because she
+could assume a position among them as a representative woman, which
+she could never have hoped to gain among the whites. So she was
+colored, and, without having any sympathy with the people whom she
+represented, spoke for them and uttered what was supposed by the
+powers to be the thoughts that were in their breasts.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, from the way you're tossing the papers <span class="pagenum">{320}</span>in that bag I know
+you've got some news for me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I have, but I don't know how important you'll think it is. Here
+we are!&quot; She drew forth a paper and glanced at it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;It's just a memorandum, a list of names of a few men who need
+watching. The Afro-American convention is to meet on the 22d; that's
+Thursday of next week. Bishop Carter is to preside. The thing has
+resolved itself into a fight between those who are office-holders and
+those who want to be.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, well what's the convention going to do?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They're going to denounce the administration.&quot;</p>
+
+
+<p>&quot;Hem, well in your judgment, what will that amount to, Miss Kirkman?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;They are the representative talking men from all sections of the
+country, and they have their following, and so there's no use
+disputing that they can do some harm.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hum, what are they going to denounce the administration for?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, there's a spirit of general discontent, and they've got to
+denounce something, so it <span class="pagenum">{321}</span>had as well be the administration as
+anything else.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>There was a new gleam in Mr. Hamilton's eye that was not one of
+pleasure as he asked, &quot;Who are the leaders in this movement?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's just what I brought this list for. There's Courtney, editor of
+the <i>New York Beacon</i>, who is rabid; there's Jones of Georgia, Gray of
+Ohio&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Whew,&quot; whistled the boss, &quot;Gray of Ohio, why he's on the inside.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, and I can't see what's the matter with him, he's got his
+position, and he ought to keep his mouth shut.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, there are ways of applying the screw. Go on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Then, too, there's Shackelford of Mississippi, Duncan of South
+Carolina, Stowell of Kentucky, and a lot of smaller fry who are not
+worth mentioning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Are they organized?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, Courtney has seen to that, the forces are compact.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;We must split them. How is the bishop?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Neutral.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Any influence?&quot;<span class="pagenum">{322}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Lots of it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;How's your young man, the one for whom you've been soliciting a
+place&mdash;what's his name?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Kirkman did her womanhood the credit of blushing, &quot;Joseph
+Aldrich, you mean. You can trust to me to see that he's on the right
+side.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Happy is the man who has the right woman to boss him, and who has
+sense enough to be bossed by her; his path shall be a path of roses,
+and his bed a flowery bed of ease. Now to business. They must not
+denounce the administration. What are the conditions of membership in
+this convention?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Any one may be present, but it costs a fee of five dollars for the
+privilege of the floor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Hamilton turned to the desk and made out a check. He handed it to
+Miss Kirkman, saying, &quot;Cash this, and pack that convention for the
+administration. I look to you and the people you may have behind you
+to check any rash resolutions they may attempt to pass. I want you to
+be there every day and take notes of the speeches made, and their
+character and tenor. I shall have Mr. Richardson there also to help
+you. The record of each man's speech will be sent to his central
+<span class="pagenum">{323}</span>committee, and we shall know how to treat him in the future. You
+know, Miss Kirkman, it is our method to help our friends and to crush
+our enemies. I shall depend upon you to let me know which is which.
+Good-morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good-morning, Mr. Hamilton.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And, oh, Miss Kirkman, just a moment. Frank,&quot; the secretary came in,
+&quot;bring me that jewel case out of the safe. Here, Miss Kirkman, Mrs.
+Hamilton told me if you came in to ask if you would mind running past
+the safety deposit vaults and putting these in for her?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Certainly not,&quot; said Miss Kirkman.</p>
+
+<p>This was one of the ways in which Miss Kirkman was made to remember
+her race. And the relation to that race, which nothing in her face
+showed, came out strongly in her willingness thus to serve. The
+confidence itself flattered her, and she was never tired of telling
+her acquaintances how she had put such and such a senator's wife's
+jewels away, or got a servant for a cabinet minister.</p>
+
+<p>When her other duties were done she went directly to a small dingy
+office building and entered a room, over which was the sign, &quot;Joseph
+Aldrich, Counselor and Attorney at Law.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{324}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;How do, Joe.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, Miss Kirkman, I'm glad to see you,&quot; said Mr. Aldrich, coming
+forward to meet her and setting a chair. He was a slender young man,
+of a complexion which among the varying shades bestowed among colored
+people is termed a light brown skin. A mustache and a short Vandyke
+beard partially covered a mouth inclined to weakness. Looking at them,
+an observer would have said that Miss Kirkman was the stronger man of
+the two.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;What brings you out this way to-day?&quot; questioned Aldrich.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'll tell you. You've asked me to marry you, haven't you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I'm going to do it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Annie, you make me too happy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's enough,&quot; said Miss Kirkman, waving him away. &quot;We haven't any
+time for romance now. I mean business. You're going to the convention
+next week.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;And you're going to speak?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of course.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's right. Let me see your speech.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{325}</span></p>
+
+<p>He drew a typewritten manuscript from the drawer and handed it to her.
+She ran her eyes over the pages, murmuring to herself. &quot;Uh, huh,
+'wavering, weak, vaciliating adminstration, have not given us the
+protection our rights as citizens demanded&mdash;while our brothers were
+murdered in the South. Nero fiddled while Rome burned, while this
+modern'&mdash;uh, huh, oh, yes, just as I thought,&quot; and with a sudden twist
+Miss Kirkman tore the papers across and pitched them into the grate.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Miss Kirkman&mdash;Annie, what do you mean?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I mean that if you're going to marry me, I'm not going to let you go
+to the convention and kill yourself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But my convictions&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Look here, don't talk to me about convictions. The colored man is the
+under dog, and the under dog has no right to have convictions. Listen,
+you're going to the convention next week and you're going to make a
+speech, but it won't be that speech. I have just come from Mr.
+Hamilton's. That convention is to be watched closely. He is to have
+his people there and they are to take down the words of every man who
+talks, and these words will be sent to his central committee.<span class="pagenum">{326}</span> The man
+who goes there with an imprudent tongue goes down. You'd better get to
+work and see if you can't think of something good the administration
+has done and dwell on that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Whew!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I'm off.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But Annie, about the wedding?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good-morning, we'll talk about the wedding after the convention.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The door closed on her last words, and Joseph Aldrich sat there
+wondering and dazed at her manner. Then he began to think about the
+administration. There must be some good things to say for it, and he
+would find them. Yes, Annie was right&mdash;and wasn't she a hustler
+though?</p>
+
+<p><br/></p>
+<h3>PART II</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was on the morning of the 22d and near nine o'clock, the hour at
+which the convention was to be called to order. But Mr. Gray of Ohio
+had not yet gone in. He stood at the door of the convention hall in
+deep converse with another man. His companion was a young looking
+<span class="pagenum">{327}</span>sort of person. His forehead was high and his eyes were keen and
+alert. The face was mobile and the mouth nervous. It was the face of
+an enthusiast, a man with deep and intense beliefs, and the boldness
+or, perhaps, rashness to uphold them.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I tell you, Gray,&quot; he was saying, &quot;it's an outrage, nothing less.
+Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Bah! It's all twaddle.
+Why, we can't even be secure in the first two, how can we hope for the
+last?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You're right, Elkins,&quot; said Gray, soberly, &quot;and though I hold a
+position under the administration, when it comes to a consideration of
+the wrongs of my race, I cannot remain silent.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I cannot and will not. I hold nothing from them, and I owe them
+nothing. I am only a bookkeeper in a commercial house, where their
+spite cannot reach me, so you may rest assured that I shall not bite
+my tongue.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nor shall I. We shall all be colored men here together, and talk, I
+hope, freely one to the other. Shall you introduce your resolution
+to-day?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I won't have a chance unless things move more rapidly than I expect
+them to. It will have <span class="pagenum">{328}</span>to come up under new business, I should think.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hardly. Get yourself appointed on the committee on resolutions.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good, but how can I?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'll see to that; I know the bishop pretty well. Ah, good-morning,
+Miss Kirkman. How do you do, Aldrich?&quot; Gray pursued, turning to the
+newcomers, who returned his greeting, and passed into the hall.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;That's Miss Kirkman. You've heard of her. She fetches and carries for
+Luther Hamilton and his colleagues, and has been suspected of doing
+some spying, also.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Who was that with her?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, that's her man Friday; otherwise Joseph Aldrich by name, a fellow
+she's trying to make something of before she marries him. She's got
+the pull to do it, too.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why don't you turn them down?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, my boy, you're young, you're young; you show it. Don't you know
+that a wind strong enough to uproot an oak only ripples the leaves of
+a creeper against the wall? Outside of the race that woman is really
+considered one of the leaders, and she trades upon the fact.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{329}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;But why do you allow this base deception to go?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Because, Elkins, my child,&quot; Gray put his hand on the other's shoulder
+with mock tenderness, &quot;because these seemingly sagacious whites among
+whom we live are really a very credulous people, and the first one who
+goes to them with a good front and says 'Look here, I am the leader of
+the colored people; I am their oracle and prophet,' they immediately
+exalt and say 'That's so.' Now do you see why Miss Kirkman has a
+pull?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I see, but come on, let's go in; there goes the gavel.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The convention hall was already crowded, and the air was full of the
+bustle of settling down. When the time came for the payment of their
+fees, by those who wanted the privilege of the floor, there was a
+perfect rush for the secretary's desk. Bank notes fluttered
+everywhere. Miss Kirkman had on a suspiciously new dress and bonnet,
+but she had done her work well, nevertheless. She looked up into the
+gallery in a corner that overlooked the stage and caught the eye of a
+young man who sat there notebook in hand. He smiled, and she smiled.
+Then she looked <span class="pagenum">{330}</span>over at Mr. Aldrich, who was not sitting with her,
+and they both smiled complacently. There's nothing like being on the
+inside.</p>
+
+<p>After the appointment of committees, the genial bishop began his
+opening address, and a very careful, pretty address it was, too&mdash;well
+worded, well balanced, dealing in broad generalities and studiously
+saying nothing that would indicate that he had any intention of
+directing the policy of the meetings. Of course it brought forth all
+the applause that a bishop's address deserves, and the ladies in the
+back seats fluttered their fans, and said: &quot;The dear man, how eloquent
+he is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Gray had succeeded in getting Elkins placed on the committee on
+resolutions, but when they came to report, the fiery resolution
+denouncing the administration for its policy toward the negro was laid
+on the table. The young man had succeeded in engineering it through
+the committee, but the chairman decided that its proper place was
+under the head of new business, where it might be taken up in the
+discussion of the administration's attitude toward the negro.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 465px;">
+<a name="imgp330"></a>
+<a href="images/p330.jpg">
+<img src="images/p330.jpg" height="500"
+alt="THE BISHOP&#39;S ADDRESS." title="" /></a></div>
+<h5>THE BISHOP&#39;S ADDRESS.</h5>
+<p><br/></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{331}</span></p>
+<p>&quot;We are here, gentlemen,&quot; pursued the bland presiding officer, &quot;to
+make public sentiment, but we must not try to make it too fast; so if
+our young friend from Ohio will only hold his resolution a little
+longer, it will be acted upon at the proper time. We must be moderate
+and conservative.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Gray sprang to his feet and got the chairman's eye. His face was
+flushed and he almost shouted: &quot;Conservatism be hanged! We have rolled
+that word under our tongues when we were being trampled upon; we have
+preached it in our churches when we were being shot down; we have
+taught it in our schools when the right to use our learning was denied
+us, until the very word has come to be a reproach upon a black man's
+tongue!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>There were cries of &quot;Order! Order!&quot; and &quot;Sit down!&quot; and the gavel was
+rattling on the chairman's desk. Then some one rose to a point of
+order, so dear to the heart of the negro debater. The point was
+sustained and the Ohioan yielded the floor, but not until he had gazed
+straight into the eyes of Miss Kirkman as they rose from her notebook.
+She turned red. He curled his lip and sat down, but the blood burned
+in his face, and it was not the heat of shame, but of anger and
+contempt that flushed his cheeks.<span class="pagenum">{332}</span></p>
+
+<p>This outbreak was but the precursor of other storms to follow. Every
+one had come with an idea to exploit or some proposition to advance.
+Each one had his panacea for all the aches and pains of his race. Each
+man who had paid his five dollars wanted his full five dollars' worth
+of talk. The chairman allowed them five minutes apiece, and they
+thought time dear at a dollar a minute. But there were speeches to be
+made for buncombe, and they made the best of the seconds. They howled,
+they raged, they stormed. They waxed eloquent or pathetic. Jones of
+Georgia was swearing softly and feelingly into Shackelford's ear.
+Shackelford was sympathetic and nervous as he fingered a large bundle
+of manuscript in his back pocket. He got up several times and called
+&quot;Mr. Chairman,&quot; but his voice had been drowned in the tumult. Amid it
+all, calm and impassive, sat the man, who of all others was expected
+to be in the heat of the fray.</p>
+
+<p>It had been rumored that Courtney of the <i>New York Beacon</i> had come to
+Washington with blood in his eyes. But there he sat, silent and
+unmoved, his swarthy, eagle-like face, with its frame of iron-grey
+hair as unchanging as if he had never had a passionate thought.<span class="pagenum">{333}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;I don't like Jim Courtney's silence,&quot; whispered Stowell to a
+colleague. &quot;There's never so much devil in him as when he keeps still.
+You look out for him when he does open up.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But all the details of the convention do not belong to this narrative.
+It is hardly relevant, even, to tell how Stowell's prediction came
+true, and at the second day's meeting Courtney's calm gave way, and he
+delivered one of the bitterest speeches of his life. It was in the
+morning, and he was down for a set speech on &quot;The Negro in the Higher
+Walks of Life.&quot; He started calmly, but as he progressed, the memory of
+all the wrongs, personal and racial that he had suffered; the
+knowledge of the disabilities that he and his brethren had to suffer,
+and the vision of toil unrequited, love rejected, and loyalty ignored,
+swept him off his feet. He forgot his subject, forgot everything but
+that he was a crushed man in a crushed race.</p>
+
+<p>The auditors held their breath, and the reporters wrote much.</p>
+
+<p>Turning to them he said, &quot;And to the press of Washington, to whom I
+have before paid my respects, let me say that I am not afraid to have
+them take any word that I may say. I came <span class="pagenum">{334}</span>here to meet them on their
+own ground. I will meet them with pen. I will meet them with pistol,&quot;
+and then raising his tall, spare form, he shouted, &quot;Yes, even though
+there is but one hundred and thirty-five pounds of me, I will meet
+them with my fists!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>This was all very rash of Courtney. His paper did not circulate
+largely, so his real speech, which he printed, was not widely read,
+while through the columns of the local press, a garbled and distorted
+version of it went to every corner of the country. Purposely
+distorted? Who shall say? He had insulted the press; and then Mr.
+Hamilton was a very wealthy man.</p>
+
+<p>When the time for the consideration of Elkins' resolution came,
+Courtney, Jones and Shackelford threw themselves body and soul into
+the fight with Gray and its author. There was a formidable array
+against them. All the men in office, and all of those who had received
+even a crumb of promise were for buttering over their wrongs, and
+making their address to the public a prophecy of better things.</p>
+
+<p>Jones suggested that they send an apology to lynchers for having
+negroes where they could be lynched. This called for reproof from the
+other <span class="pagenum">{335}</span>side, and the discussion grew hot and acrimonious. Gray again
+got the floor, and surprised his colleagues by the plainness of his
+utterances. Elkins followed him with a biting speech that brought
+Aldrich to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Aldrich had chosen well his time, and had carefully prepared his
+speech. He recited all the good things that the administration had
+done, hoped to do, tried to do, or wanted to do, and showed what a
+very respectable array it was. He counseled moderation and
+conservatism, and his peroration was a flowery panegyric of the &quot;noble
+man whose hand is on the helm, guiding the grand old ship of state
+into safe harbor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The office-holders went wild with enthusiasm. No self-interest there.
+The opposition could not argue that this speech was made to keep a
+job, because the speaker had none. Then Jim Courtney got up and
+spoiled it all by saying that it may be that the speaker had no job
+but wanted one.</p>
+
+<p>Aldrich was not moved. He saw a fat salary and Annie Kirkman for him
+in the near future.</p>
+
+<p>The young lady had done her work well, and when the resolution came to
+a vote it was lost by a good majority. Aldrich was again on his <span class="pagenum">{336}</span>feet
+and offering another. The forces of the opposition were discouraged
+and disorganized, and they made no effort to stop it when the rules
+were suspended, and it went through on the first reading. Then the
+convention shouted, that is, part of it did, and Miss Kirkman closed
+her notebook and glanced up at the gallery again. The young man had
+closed his book also. Their work was done. The administration had not
+been denounced, and they had their black-list for Mr. Hamilton's
+knife.</p>
+
+<p>There were some more speeches made, just so that the talkers should
+get their money's worth; but for the masses, the convention had lost
+its interest, and after a few feeble attempts to stir it into life
+again, a motion to adjourn was entertained. But, before a second
+appeared, Elkins arose and asked leave to make a statement. It was
+granted.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Gentlemen,&quot; he said, &quot;we have all heard the resolution which goes to
+the public as the opinion of the negroes of the country. There are
+some of us who do not believe that this expresses the feelings of our
+race, and to us who believe this, Mr. Courtney has given the use of
+his press in New York, and we shall print our <span class="pagenum">{337}</span>resolution and scatter
+it broadcast as the minority report of this convention, but the
+majority report of the race.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Kirkman opened her book again for a few minutes, and then the
+convention adjourned.</p>
+
+<p><br/></p><hr style='width: 45%;' /><p><br/></p>
+
+<p>&quot;I wish you'd find out, Miss Kirkman,&quot; said Hamilton a couple of days
+later, &quot;just what firm that young Elkins works for.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have already done that. I thought you'd want to know,&quot; and she
+handed him a card.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ah, yes,&quot; he said. &quot;I have some business relations with that firm. I
+know them very well. Miss Anderson,&quot; he called to his stenographer,
+&quot;will you kindly take a letter for me. By the way, Miss Kirkman, I
+have placed Mr. Aldrich. He will have his appointment in a few days.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, thank you, Mr. Hamilton; is there anything more I can do for
+you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Nothing. Good-morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good-morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A week later in his Ohio home William Elkins was surprised to be
+notified by his employers that they were cutting down forces, and
+would need his services no longer. He wrote at once <span class="pagenum">{338}</span>to his friend
+Gray to know if there was any chance for him in Washington, and
+received the answer that Gray could hardly hold his own, as great
+pressure was being put upon him to force him to resign.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I think,&quot; wrote Gray, &quot;that the same hand is at the bottom of all our
+misfortunes. This is Hamilton's method.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Kirkman and Mr. Aldrich were married two weeks from the day the
+convention adjourned. Mr. Gray was removed from his position on
+account of inefficiency. He is still trying to get back, but the very
+men to whom his case must go are in the hands of Mr. Hamilton.</p>
+
+<p><a name="339"></a><span class="pagenum">{339}</span></p>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<h2>SILAS JACKSON</h2>
+<hr style='width: 20%;' />
+<!-- Blank page <p><span class="pagenum">{340}</span></p> -->
+<p><span class="pagenum">{341}</span></p>
+
+<h3>SILAS JACKSON</h3>
+
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+
+<p>Silas Jackson was a young man to whom many opportunities had come. Had
+he been a less fortunate boy, as his little world looked at it, he
+might have spent all his days on the little farm where he was born,
+much as many of his fellows did. But no, Fortune had marked him for
+her own, and it was destined that he should be known to fame. He was
+to know a broader field than the few acres which he and his father
+worked together, and where he and several brothers and sisters had
+spent their youth.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Harold Marston was the instrument of Fate in giving Silas his
+first introduction to the world. Marston, who prided himself on being,
+besides a man of leisure, something of a sportsman, was shooting over
+the fields in the vicinity of the Jackson farm. During the week he
+spent in the region, needing the services of a likely boy, he came to
+know and like Silas. Upon <span class="pagenum">{342}</span>leaving, he said, &quot;It's a pity for a boy as
+bright as you are to be tied down in this God-forsaken place. How'd
+you like to go up to the Springs, Si, and work in a hotel?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The very thought of going to such a place, and to such work, fired the
+boy's imagination, although the idea of it daunted him.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I'd like it powahful well, Mistah Ma'ston,&quot; he replied.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I'm going up there, and the proprietor of one of the best
+hotels, the Fountain House, is a very good friend of mine, and I'll
+get him to speak to his head waiter in your behalf. You want to get
+out of here, and see something of the world, and not stay cooped up
+with nothing livelier than rabbits, squirrels, and quail.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And so the work was done. The black boy's ambitions that had only
+needed an encouraging word had awakened into buoyant life. He looked
+his destiny squarely in the face, and saw that the great world outside
+beckoned to him. From that time his dreams were eagle-winged. The farm
+looked narrower to him, the cabin meaner, and the clods were harder to
+his feet. He learned to hate the plough that he had followed before in
+dumb content, and there was no <span class="pagenum">{343}</span>longer joy in the woods he knew and
+loved. Once, out of pure joy of living, he had gone singing about his
+work; but now, when he sang, it was because his heart was longing for
+the city of his dreams, and hope inspired the song.</p>
+
+<p>However, after Mr. Marston had been gone for over two weeks, and
+nothing had been heard from the Springs, the hope died in Silas's
+heart, and he came to believe that his benefactor had forgotten him.
+And yet he could not return to the old contentment with his mode of
+life. Mr. Marston was right, and he was &quot;cooped up there with nothing
+better than rabbits, squirrels, and quail.&quot; The idea had never
+occurred to him before, but now it struck him with disconcerting force
+that there was something in him above his surroundings and the labor
+at which he toiled day by day. He began to see that the cabin was not
+over clean, and for the first time recognized that his brothers and
+sisters were positively dirty. He had always looked on it with
+unconscious eyes before, but now he suddenly developed the capacity
+for disgust.</p>
+
+<p>When young 'Lishy, noticing his brother's moroseness, attributed it to
+his strong feeling for a certain damsel, Silas turned on him in a
+fury.<span class="pagenum">{344}</span> Ambition had even driven out all other feelings, and Dely Manly
+seemed poor and commonplace to the dark swain, who a month before
+would have gone any length to gain a smile from her. He compared
+everything and everybody to the glory of what he dreamed the Springs
+and its inhabitants to be, and all seemed cheap beside.</p>
+
+<p>Then on a day when his spirits were at their lowest ebb, a passing
+neighbor handed him a letter which he had found at the little village
+post office. It was addressed to Mr. Si Jackson, and bore the Springs
+postmark. Silas was immediately converted from a raw backwoods boy to
+a man of the world. Save the little notes that had been passed back
+and forth from boy to girl at the little log schoolhouse where he had
+gone four fitful sessions, this was his first letter, and it was the
+first time he had ever been addressed as &quot;Mr.&quot; He swelled with a pride
+that he could not conceal, as with trembling hands he tore the missive
+open.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 449px;">
+<a name="imgp344"></a>
+<a href="images/p344.jpg">
+<img src="images/p344.jpg" height="500"
+alt="HIS BROTHER AND SISTER." title="" /></a></div>
+<h5>HIS BROTHER AND SISTER.</h5>
+<p><br/></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum">{345}</span></p>
+
+<p>He read it through with glowing eyes and a growing sense of his own
+importance. It was from the head waiter whom Mr. Marston had
+mentioned, and was couched in the most elegant and high-sounding
+language. It said that Mr. Marston had spoken for Silas, and that if
+he came to the Springs, and was quick to learn, &quot;to acquire
+knowledge,&quot; was the head waiter's phrase, a situation would be
+provided for him. The family gathered around the fortunate son, and
+gazed on him with awe when he imparted the good news. He became, on
+the instant, a new being to them. It was as if he had only been loaned
+to them, and was now being lifted bodily out of their world.</p>
+
+<p>The elder Jackson was a bit doubtful about the matter.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of co'se ef you wants to go, Silas, I ain't a-gwine to gainsay you,
+an' I hope it's all right, but sence freedom dis hyeah piece o'
+groun's been good enough fu' me, an' I reckon you mought a' got erlong
+on it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;But pap, you see it's diff'ent now. It's diff'ent, all I wanted was a
+chanst.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, I reckon you got it, Si, I reckon you got it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The younger children whispered long after they had gone to bed that
+night, wondering and guessing what the great place to which brother Si
+was going could be like, and they could only picture it as like the
+great white-domed city <span class="pagenum">{346}</span>whose picture they had seen in the gaudy Bible
+foisted upon them by a passing agent.</p>
+
+<p>As for Silas, he read and reread the letter by the light of a tallow
+dip until he was too sleepy to see, and every word was graven on his
+memory; then he went to bed with the precious paper under his pillow.
+In spite of his drowsiness, he lay awake for some time, gazing with
+heavy eyes into the darkness, where he saw the great city and his
+future; then he went to sleep to dream of it.</p>
+
+<p>From then on, great were the preparations for the boy's departure. So
+little happened in that vicinity that the matter became a neighborhood
+event, and the black folk for three miles up and down the road
+manifested their interest in Silas's good fortune.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I hyeah you gwine up to de Springs,&quot; said old Hiram Jones, when he
+met the boy on the road a day or two before his departure.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, suh, I's gwine up thaih to wo'k in a hotel. Mistah Ma'ston, he
+got me the job.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The old man reined in his horse slowly, and deposited the liquid
+increase of a quid of tobacco before he said; &quot;I hyeah tell it's
+powahful wicked up in dem big cities.&quot;<span class="pagenum">{347}</span></p>
+
+<p>&quot;Oh, I reckon I ain't a-goin' to do nuffin wrong. I's goin' thaih to
+wo'k.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, you has been riz right,&quot; commented the old man doubtfully, &quot;but
+den, boys will be boys.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He drove on, and the prospect of a near view of wickedness did not
+make the Springs less desirable in the boy's eyes. Raised as he had
+been, almost away from civilization, he hardly knew the meaning of
+what the world called wickedness. Not that he was strong or good.
+There had been no occasion for either quality to develop; but that he
+was simple and primitive, and had been close to what was natural and
+elemental. His faults and sins were those of the gentle barbarian. He
+had not yet learned the subtler vices of a higher civilization.</p>
+
+<p>Silas, however, was not without the pride of his kind, and although
+his father protested that it was a useless extravagance, he insisted
+upon going to the nearest village and investing part of his small
+savings in a new suit of clothes. It was quaint and peculiar apparel,
+but it was the boy's first &quot;store suit,&quot; and it filled him with
+unspeakable joy. His brothers and sisters regarded his new
+magnificence with envying admiration.<span class="pagenum">{348}</span> It would be a long while before
+they got away from bagging, homespun, and copperas-colored cotton,
+whacked out into some semblance of garments by their &quot;mammy.&quot; And so,
+armed with a light bundle, in which were his few other belongings, and
+fearfully and wonderfully arrayed, Silas Jackson set out for the
+Springs. His father's parting injunctions were ringing in his ears,
+and the memory of his mammy's wet eyes and sad face lingered in his
+memory. She had wanted him to take the gaudy Bible away, but it was
+too heavy to carry, especially as he was to walk the whole thirty
+miles to the land of promise. At the last, his feeling of exaltation
+gave way to one of sorrow, and as he went down the road, he turned
+often to look at the cabin, until it faded from sight around the bend.
+Then a lump rose in his throat, and he felt like turning and running
+back to it. He had never thought the old place could seem so dear. But
+he kept his face steadily forward and trudged on toward his destiny.</p>
+
+<p>The Springs was the fashionable resort of Virginia, where the
+aristocrats who thought they were ill went to recover their health and
+to dance. Compared with large cities of the North, it was but a small
+town, even including the transient <span class="pagenum">{349}</span>population, but in the eyes of the
+rural blacks and the poor whites of the region, it was a place of
+large importance.</p>
+
+<p>Hither, on the morning after his departure from the home gate, came
+Silas Jackson, a little foot-sore and weary, but hopeful withal. In
+spite of the pains that he had put upon his dressing, he was a quaint
+figure on the city streets. Many an amused smile greeted him as he
+went his way, but he saw them not. Inquiring the direction, he kept
+on, until the many windows and broad veranda of the great hotel broke
+on his view, and he gasped in amazement and awe at the sight of it,
+and a sudden faintness seized him. He was reluctant to go on, but the
+broad grins with which some colored men who were working about the
+place regarded him, drove him forward, in spite of his embarrassment.</p>
+
+<p>He found his way to the kitchen, and asked in trembling tones for the
+head waiter. Breakfast being over, that individual had leisure to come
+to the kitchen. There, with the grinning waiters about him, he stopped
+and calmly surveyed Silas. He was a very pompous head waiter.</p>
+
+<p>Silas had never been self-conscious before, but now he became
+distressfully aware of himself&mdash;of <span class="pagenum">{350}</span>his awkwardness, of his clumsy
+feet and dangling hands, of the difference between his clothes and the
+clothes of the men about him.</p>
+
+<p>After a survey, which seemed to the boy of endless duration, the head
+waiter spoke, and his tone was the undisputed child of his looks.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I pussoom,&quot; said Mr. Buckner, &quot;that you are the pusson Mistah Ma'ston
+spoke to the p'op'ietor about?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, suh, I reckon I is. He p'omised to git me a job up hyeah, an' I
+got yo' lettah&mdash;&quot; here Silas, who had set his bundle on the floor in
+coming into the Presence, began to fumble in his pockets for the
+letter. He searched long in vain, because his hands trembled, and he
+was nervous under the eyes of this great personage who stood unmoved
+and looked calmly at him.</p>
+
+<p>Finally the missive was found and produced, though not before the
+perspiration was standing thick on Silas's brow. The head waiter took
+the sheet.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Ve'y well, suh, ve'y well. You are evidently the p'oper pusson, as I
+reco'nize this as my own chirography.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The up-country boy stood in awed silence.<span class="pagenum">{351}</span> He thought he had never
+heard such fine language before.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I ca'culate that you have nevah had no experience in hotel work,&quot;
+pursued Mr. Buckner somewhat more graciously.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I's nevah done nuffin' but wo'k on a farm; but evahbody 'lows I's
+right handy.&quot; The fear that he would be sent back home without
+employment gave him boldness.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I see, I see,&quot; said the head waiter. &quot;Well, we'll endeavor to try an'
+see how soon you can learn. Mistah Smith, will you take this young man
+in charge, an' show him how to get about things until we are ready to
+try him in the dinin'-room?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A rather pleasant-faced yellow boy came over to Silas and showed him
+where to put his things and what to do.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I guess it'll be a little strange at first, if you've never been a
+hotel man, but you'll ketch on. Just you keep your eye on me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>All that day as Silas blundered about slowly and awkwardly, he looked
+with wonder and admiration at the ease and facility with which his
+teacher and the other men did their work. They were so calm, so
+precise, and so self-sufficient.<span class="pagenum">{352}</span> He wondered if he would ever be like
+them, and felt very hopeless as the question presented itself to him.</p>
+
+<p>They were a little prone to laugh at him, but he was so humble and so
+sensible that he thought he must be laughable; so he laughed a little
+shamefacedly at himself, and only tried the harder to imitate his
+companions. Once when he dropped a dish upon the floor, he held his
+breath in consternation, but when he found that no one paid any
+attention to it, he picked it up and went his way.</p>
+
+<p>He was tired that night, more tired than ploughing had ever made him,
+and was thankful when Smith proposed to show him at once to the rooms
+apportioned to the servants. Here he sank down and fell into a doze as
+soon as his companion left him with the remark that he had some
+studying to do. He found afterward that Smith was only a temporary
+employee at the Springs, coming there during the vacations of the
+school which he attended, in order to eke out the amount which it cost
+him for his education. Silas thought this a very wonderful thing at
+first, but when he grew wiser, as he did finally, he took the point of
+view of most of his fellows and <span class="pagenum">{353}</span>thought that Smith was wasting both
+time and opportunities.</p>
+
+<p>It took a very short time for Silas's unfamiliarity with his
+surroundings to wear off, and for him to become acquainted with the
+duties of his position. He grew at ease with his work, and became a
+favorite both in dining-room and kitchen. Then began his acquaintance
+with other things, and there were many other things at the Springs
+which an unsophisticated young man might learn.</p>
+
+<p>Silas's social attainments were lamentably sparse, but being an apt
+youngster, he began to acquire them, quite as he acquired his new
+duties, and different forms of speech. He learned to dance&mdash;almost a
+natural gift of the negro&mdash;and he was introduced into the subtleties
+of flirtation. At first he was a bit timid with the nurse-girls and
+maids whom the wealthy travelers brought with them, but after a few
+lessons from very able teachers, he learned the manly art of ogling to
+his own satisfaction, and soon became as proficient as any of the
+other black coxcombs.</p>
+
+<p>If he ever thought of Dely Manly any more, it was with a smile that he
+had been able at one time to consider her seriously. The people at
+<span class="pagenum">{354}</span>home, be it said to his credit, he did not forget. A part of his
+wages went back every month to help better the condition of the cabin.
+But Silas himself had no desire to return, and at the end of a year he
+shuddered at the thought of it. He was quite willing to help his
+father, whom he had now learned to call the &quot;old man,&quot; but he was not
+willing to go back to him.</p>
+
+<p><br/></p>
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+
+<p>Early in his second year at the Springs Marston came for a stay at the
+hotel. When he saw his prot&eacute;g&eacute;, he exclaimed: &quot;Why, that isn't Si, is
+it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, suh,&quot; smiled Silas.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Well, well, well, what a change. Why, boy, you've developed into a
+regular fashion-plate. I hope you're not advertising for any of the
+Richmond tailors. They're terrible Jews, you know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;You see, a man has to be neat aroun' the hotel, Mistah Ma'ston.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Whew, and you've developed dignity, too. By the Lord Harry, if I'd
+have made that remark to you about a year and a half ago, there at the
+<span class="pagenum">{355}</span>cabin, you'd have just grinned. Ah, Silas, I'm afraid for you. You've
+grown too fast. You've gained a certain poise and ease at the expense
+of&mdash;of&mdash;I don't know what, but something that I liked better. Down
+there at home you were just a plain darky. Up here you are trying to
+be like me, and you are colored.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Of co'se, Mistah Ma'ston,&quot; said Silas politely, but deprecatingly,
+&quot;the worl' don't stan' still.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Platitudes&mdash;the last straw!&quot; exclaimed Mr. Marston tragically.
+&quot;There's an old darky preacher up at Richmond who says it does, and
+I'm sure I think more of his old fog-horn blasts than I do of your
+parrot tones. Ah! Si, this is the last time that I shall ever fool
+with good raw material. However, don't let this bother you. As I
+remember, you used to sing well. I'm going to have some of my friends
+up at my rooms to-night; get some of the boys together, and come and
+sing for us. And remember, nothing hifalutin; just the same old darky
+songs you used to sing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>&quot;All right, suh, we'll be up.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Silas was very glad to be rid of his old friend, and he thought when
+Marston had gone that he was, after all, not such a great man as he
+had believed.<span class="pagenum">{356}</span> But the decline in his estimation of Mr. Marston's
+importance did not deter him from going that night with three of his
+fellow-waiters to sing for that gentleman. Two of the quartet insisted
+upon singing fine music, in order to show their capabilities, but
+Silas had received his cue, and held out for the old songs. Silas
+Jackson's tenor voice rang out in the old plantation melodies with the
+force and feeling that old memories give. The concert was a great
+success, and when Marston pressed a generous-sized bank-note into his
+hand that night, he whispered, &quot;Well, I'm glad there's one thing you
+haven't lost, and that's your voice.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>That was the beginning of Silas's supremacy as manager and first tenor
+of the Fountain Hotel Quartet, and he flourished in that capacity for
+two years longer; then came Mr. J. Robinson Frye, looking for talent,
+and Silas, by reason of his prominence, fell in this way.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. J. Robinson Frye was an educated and enthusiastic young mulatto
+gentleman, who, having studied music abroad, had made art his
+mistress. As well as he was able, he wore the shock of hair which was
+the sign manual of his profession. He was a plausible young man of
+large <span class="pagenum">{357}</span>ideas, and had composed some things of which the critics had
+spoken well. But the chief trouble with his work was that his one aim
+was money. He did not love the people among whom American custom had
+placed him, but he had respect for their musical ability.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why,&quot; he used to exclaim in the sudden bursts of enthusiasm to which
+he was subject, &quot;why, these people are the greatest singers on earth.
+They've got more emotion and more passion than any other people, and
+they learn easier. I could take a chorus of forty of them, and with
+two months' training make them sing the roof off the Metropolitan
+Opera house.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>When Mr. Frye was in New York, he might be seen almost any day at the
+piano of one or the other of the negro clubs, either working at some
+new inspiration, or playing one of his own compositions, and all black
+clubdom looked on him as a genius.</p>
+
+<p>His latest scheme was the training of a colored company which should
+do a year's general singing throughout the country, and then having
+acquired poise and a reputation, produce his own opera.</p>
+
+<p>It was for this he wanted Silas, and in spite of <span class="pagenum">{358}</span>the warning and
+protests of friends, Silas went with him to New York, for he saw his
+future loom large before him.</p>
+
+<p>The great city frightened him at first, but he found there some, like
+himself, drawn from the smaller towns of the South. Others in the
+company were the relics of the old days of negro minstrelsy, and still
+others recruited from the church choirs in the large cities. Silas was
+an adaptable fellow, but it seemed a little hard to fall in with the
+ways of his new associates. Most of them seemed as far away from him
+in their knowledge of worldly things as had the waiters at the Springs
+a few years before. He was half afraid of the chorus girls, because
+they seemed such different beings from the nurse girls down home.
+However, there was little time for moping or regrets. Mr. Frye was, it
+must be said, an indefatigable worker. They were rehearsing every day.
+Silas felt himself learning to sing. Meanwhile, he knew that he was
+learning other things&mdash;a few more elegancies and vices. He looked upon
+the &quot;rounders&quot; with admiration and determined to be one. So, after
+rehearsals were over other occupations held him. He came to be known
+at the clubs and was quite proud of it, <span class="pagenum">{359}</span>and he grew bolder with the
+chorus girls, because he was to be a star.</p>
+
+<p>After three weeks of training, the company opened, and Silas, who had
+never sung anything heavier than &quot;Bright Sparkles in the Churchyard,&quot;
+was dressed in a Fauntleroy suit, and put on to sing in a scene from
+&quot;Rigoletto.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Every night he was applauded to the echo by &quot;the unskilful,&quot; until he
+came to believe himself a great singer. This belief was strengthened
+when the girl who performed the Spanish dance bestowed her affections
+upon him. He was very happy and very vain, and for the first time he
+forgot the people down in a little old Virginia cabin. In fact, he had
+other uses for his money.</p>
+
+<p>For the rest of the season, either on the road or in and about New
+York, he sang steadily. Most of the things for which he had longed and
+had striven had come to him. He was known as a rounder, his highest
+ambition. His waistcoats were the loudest to be had. He was possessed
+of a factitious ease and self-possession that was almost aggression.
+The hot breath of the city had touched and scorched him, and had dried
+up within him whatever was good and fresh. The <span class="pagenum">{360}</span>pity of it was that he
+was proud of himself, and utterly unconscious of his own degradation.
+He looked upon himself as a man of the world, a fine product of the
+large opportunities of a great city.</p>
+
+<p>Once in those days he heard of Smith, his old-time companion at the
+Springs. He was teaching at some small place in the South. Silas
+laughed contemptuously when he heard how his old friend was employed.
+&quot;Poor fellow,&quot; he said, &quot;what a pity he didn't come up here, and make
+something out of himself, instead of starving down there on little or
+nothing,&quot; and he mused on how much better his fate had been.</p>
+
+<p>The season ended. After a brief period of rest, the rehearsals for
+Frye's opera were begun. Silas confessed to himself that he was tired;
+he had a cough, too, but Mr. Frye was still enthusiastic, and this was
+to be the great triumph, both for the composer and the tenor.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Why, I tell you, man,&quot; said Frye, &quot;it's going to be the greatest
+success of the year. I am the only man who has ever put grand-opera
+effects into comic opera with success. Just listen to the chords of
+this opening chorus.&quot; And so he inspired <span class="pagenum">{361}</span>the singer with some of his
+own spirit. They went to work with a will. Silas might have been
+reluctant as he felt the strain upon him grow, but that he had spent
+all his money, and Frye, as he expressed it, was &quot;putting up for him,&quot;
+until the opening of the season.</p>
+
+<p>Then one day he was taken sick, and although Frye fumed, the
+rehearsals had to go on without him. For awhile his companions came to
+see him, and then they gradually ceased to come. So he lay for two
+months. Even Sadie, his dancing sweetheart, seemed to have forgotten
+him. One day he sent for her, but the messenger returned to say she
+could not come, she was busy. She had married the man with whom she
+did a turn at the roof-garden. The news came, too, that the opera had
+been abanboned, and that Mr. Frye had taken out a company with a new
+tenor, whom he pronounced far superior to the former one.</p>
+
+<p>Silas gazed blankly at the wall. The hollowness of his life all came
+suddenly before him. All his false ideals crumbled, and he lay there
+with nothing to hope for. Then came back the yearnings for home, for
+the cabin and the fields, and there was no disgust in his memory of
+them.</p>
+
+<p>When his strength partly returned, he sold <span class="pagenum">{362}</span>some of the few things
+that remained to him from his prosperous days, and with the money
+purchased a ticket for home; then spent, broken, hopeless, all
+contentment and simplicity gone, he turned his face toward his native
+fields.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Strength of Gideon and Other Stories, by
+Paul Laurence Dunbar, Illustrated by E. W. Kemble
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Strength of Gideon and Other Stories
+       Strength of Gideon; Mammy Peggy's Pride; Viney's Free Papers; The Fruitful Sleeping of The Rev. Elisha Edwards; The Ingrate; The Case of 'Ca'line'; The Finish of Patsy Barnes; One Man's Fortunes; Jim's Probation; Uncle Simon's Sundays Out; Mr. Cornelius Johnson, Office-Seeker; An Old-Time Christmas; A Mess of Pottage; The Trustfulness of Polly; The Tragedy at Three Forks; The Finding of Zach; Johnsonham, Junior; The Faith Cure Man; A Council of State; Silas Jackson
+
+
+Author: Paul Laurence Dunbar
+
+Release Date: May 23, 2005  [eBook #15886]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STRENGTH OF GIDEON AND OTHER
+STORIES***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Pilar Somoza, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustrations.
+      See 15886-h.htm or 15886-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/8/8/15886/15886-h/15886-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/8/8/15886/15886-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+THE STRENGTH OF GIDEON AND OTHER STORIES
+
+by
+
+PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
+
+1900
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO MY GOOD FRIEND AND TEACHER
+CAPTAIN CHARLES B. STIVERS
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+    STRENGTH OF GIDEON
+
+    MAMMY PEGGY'S PRIDE
+
+    VINEY'S FREE PAPERS
+
+    THE FRUITFUL SLEEPING OF THE REV. ELISHA EDWARDS
+
+    THE INGRATE
+
+    THE CASE OF 'CA'LINE'
+
+    THE FINISH OF PATSY BARNES
+
+    ONE MAN'S FORTUNES
+
+    JIM'S PROBATION
+
+    UNCLE SIMON'S SUNDAYS OUT
+
+    MR. CORNELIUS JOHNSON, OFFICE-SEEKER
+
+    AN OLD-TIME CHRISTMAS
+
+    A MESS OF POTTAGE
+
+    THE TRUSTFULNESS OF POLLY
+
+    THE TRAGEDY AT THREE FORKS
+
+    THE FINDING OF ZACH
+
+    JOHNSONHAM, JUNIOR
+
+    THE FAITH CURE MAN
+
+    A COUNCIL OF STATE
+
+    SILAS JACKSON
+
+
+
+
+THE STRENGTH OF GIDEON
+
+
+Old Mam' Henry, and her word may be taken, said that it was "De
+powerfulles' sehmont she ever had hyeahd in all huh bo'n days." That
+was saying a good deal, for the old woman had lived many years on the
+Stone place and had heard many sermons from preachers, white and
+black. She was a judge, too.
+
+It really must have been a powerful sermon that Brother Lucius
+preached, for Aunt Doshy Scott had fallen in a trance in the middle of
+the aisle, while "Merlatter Mag," who was famed all over the place for
+having white folk's religion and never "waking up," had broken through
+her reserve and shouted all over the camp ground.
+
+Several times Cassie had shown signs of giving way, but because
+she was frail some of the solicitous sisters held her with
+self-congratulatory care, relieving each other now and then, that each
+might have a turn in the rejoicings. But as the preacher waded out
+deeper and deeper into the spiritual stream, Cassie's efforts to make
+her feelings known became more and more decided. He told them how the
+spears of the Midianites had "clashed upon de shiels of de Gideonites,
+an' aftah while, wid de powah of de Lawd behin' him, de man Gideon
+triumphed mightily," and swaying then and wailing in the dark woods,
+with grim branches waving in the breath of their own excitement, they
+could hear above the tumult the clamor of the fight, the clashing of
+the spears, and the ringing of the shields. They could see the
+conqueror coming home in triumph. Then when he cried, "A-who, I say,
+a-who is in Gideon's ahmy to-day?" and the wailing chorus took up the
+note, "A-who!" it was too much even for frail Cassie, and, deserted by
+the solicitous sisters, in the words of Mam' Henry, "she broke
+a-loose, and faihly tuk de place."
+
+Gideon had certainly triumphed, and when a little boy baby came to
+Cassie two or three days later, she named him Gideon in honor of the
+great Hebrew warrior whose story had so wrought upon her. All the
+plantation knew the spiritual significance of the name, and from the
+day of his birth the child was as one set apart to a holy mission on
+earth.
+
+Say what you will of the influences which the circumstances
+surrounding birth have upon a child, upon this one at least the effect
+was unmistakable. Even as a baby he seemed to realize the weight of
+responsibility which had been laid upon his little black shoulders,
+and there was a complacent dignity in the very way in which he drew
+upon the sweets of his dirty sugar-teat when the maternal breast was
+far off bending over the sheaves of the field.
+
+He was a child early destined to sacrifice and self-effacement, and as
+he grew older and other youngsters came to fill Cassie's cabin, he
+took up his lot with the meekness of an infantile Moses. Like a Moses
+he was, too, leading his little flock to the promised land, when he
+grew to the age at which, barefooted and one-shifted, he led or
+carried his little brothers and sisters about the quarters. But the
+"promised land" never took him into the direction of the stables,
+where the other pickaninnies worried the horses, or into the region of
+the hen-coops, where egg-sucking was a common crime.
+
+No boy ever rolled or tumbled in the dirt with a heartier glee than
+did Gideon, but no warrior, not even his illustrious prototype
+himself, ever kept sterner discipline in his ranks when his followers
+seemed prone to overstep the bounds of right. At a very early age his
+shrill voice could be heard calling in admonitory tones, caught from
+his mother's very lips, "You 'Nelius, don' you let me ketch you
+th'owin' at ol' mis' guinea-hens no mo'; you hyeah me?" or "Hi'am, you
+come offen de top er dat shed 'fo' you fall an' brek yo' naik all to
+pieces."
+
+It was a common sight in the evening to see him sitting upon the low
+rail fence which ran before the quarters, his shift blowing in the
+wind, and his black legs lean and bony against the whitewashed rails,
+as he swayed to and fro, rocking and singing one of his numerous
+brothers to sleep, and always his song was of war and victory, albeit
+crooned in a low, soothing voice. Sometimes it was "Turn Back
+Pharaoh's Army," at others "Jinin' Gideon's Band." The latter was a
+favorite, for he seemed to have a proprietary interest in it,
+although, despite the martial inspiration of his name, "Gideon's band"
+to him meant an aggregation of people with horns and fiddles.
+
+Steve, who was Cassie's man, declared that he had never seen such a
+child, and, being quite as religious as Cassie herself, early began to
+talk Scripture and religion to the boy. He was aided in this when his
+master, Dudley Stone, a man of the faith, began a little Sunday class
+for the religiously inclined of the quarters, where the old familiar
+stories were told in simple language to the slaves and explained. At
+these meetings Gideon became a shining light. No one listened more
+eagerly to the teacher's words, or more readily answered his questions
+at review. No one was wider-mouthed or whiter-eyed. His admonitions to
+his family now took on a different complexion, and he could be heard
+calling across a lot to a mischievous sister, "Bettah tek keer daih,
+Lucy Jane, Gawd's a-watchin' you; bettah tek keer."
+
+The appointed man is always marked, and so Gideon was by always
+receiving his full name. No one ever shortened his scriptural
+appellation into Gid. He was always Gideon from the time he bore the
+name out of the heat of camp-meeting fervor until his master
+discovered his worthiness and filled Cassie's breast with pride by
+taking him into the house to learn "mannahs and 'po'tment."
+
+As a house servant he was beyond reproach, and next to his religion
+his Mas' Dudley and Miss Ellen claimed his devotion and fidelity. The
+young mistress and young master learned to depend fearlessly upon his
+faithfulness.
+
+It was good to hear old Dudley Stone going through the house in a mock
+fury, crying, "Well, I never saw such a house; it seems as if there
+isn't a soul in it that can do without Gideon. Here I've got him up
+here to wait on me, and it's Gideon here and Gideon there, and every
+time I turn around some of you have sneaked him off. Gideon, come
+here!" And the black boy smiled and came.
+
+But all his days were not days devoted to men's service, for there
+came a time when love claimed him for her own, when the clouds took on
+a new color, when the sough of the wind was music in his ears, and he
+saw heaven in Martha's eyes. It all came about in this way.
+
+Gideon was young when he got religion and joined the church, and he
+grew up strong in the faith. Almost by the time he had become a
+valuable house servant he had grown to be an invaluable servant of the
+Lord. He had a good, clear voice that could lead a hymn out of all the
+labyrinthian wanderings of an ignorant congregation, even when he had
+to improvise both words and music; and he was a mighty man of prayer.
+It was thus he met Martha. Martha was brown and buxom and comely, and
+her rich contralto voice was loud and high on the sisters' side in
+meeting time. It was the voices that did it at first. There was no
+hymn or "spiritual" that Gideon could start to which Martha could not
+sing an easy blending second, and never did she open a tune that
+Gideon did not swing into it with a wonderfully sweet, flowing,
+natural bass. Often he did not know the piece, but that did not
+matter, he sang anyway. Perhaps when they were out he would go to her
+and ask, "Sis' Martha, what was that hymn you stahrted to-day?" and
+she would probably answer, "Oh, dat was jes' one o' my mammy's ol'
+songs."
+
+"Well, it sholy was mighty pretty. Indeed it was."
+
+"Oh, thanky, Brothah Gidjon, thanky."
+
+Then a little later they began to walk back to the master's house
+together, for Martha, too, was one of the favored ones, and served,
+not in the field, but in the big house.
+
+The old women looked on and conversed in whispers about the pair, for
+they were wise, and what their old eyes saw, they saw.
+
+"Oomph," said Mam' Henry, for she commented on everything, "dem too is
+jes' natchelly singin' demse'ves togeddah."
+
+"Dey's lak de mo'nin' stahs," interjected Aunt Sophy.
+
+"How 'bout dat?" sniffed the older woman, for she objected to any
+one's alluding to subjects she did not understand.
+
+"Why, Mam' Henry, ain' you nevah hyeahd tell o' de mo'nin' stahs whut
+sung deyse'ves togeddah?"
+
+"No, I ain't, an' I been livin' a mighty sight longah'n you, too. I
+knows all 'bout when de stahs fell, but dey ain' nevah done no singin'
+dat I knows 'bout."
+
+"Do heish, Mam' Henry, you sho' su'prises me. W'y, dat ain'
+happenin's, dat's Scripter."
+
+"Look hyeah, gal, don't you tell me dat's Scripter, an' me been
+a-settin' undah de Scripter fu' nigh onto sixty yeah."
+
+"Well, Mam' Henry, I may 'a' been mistook, but sho' I took hit fu'
+Scripter. Mebbe de preachah I hyeahd was jes' inlinin'."
+
+"Well, wheddah hit's Scripter er not, dey's one t'ing su'tain, I tell
+you,--dem two is singin' deyse'ves togeddah."
+
+"Hit's a fac', an' I believe it."
+
+"An' it's a mighty good thing, too. Brothah Gidjon is de nicest house
+dahky dat I ever hyeahd tell on. Dey jes' de same diffunce 'twixt him
+an' de othah house-boys as dey is 'tween real quality an'
+strainers--he got mannahs, but he ain't got aihs."
+
+"Heish, ain't you right!"
+
+"An' while de res' of dem ain' thinkin' 'bout nothin' but dancin' an'
+ca'in' on, he makin' his peace, callin', an' 'lection sho'."
+
+"I tell you, Mam' Henry, dey ain' nothin' like a spichul named chile."
+
+"Humph! g'long, gal; 'tain't in de name; de biggest devil I evah
+knowed was named Moses Aaron. 'Tain't in de name, hit's all in de man
+hisse'f."
+
+But notwithstanding what the gossips said of him, Gideon went on his
+way, and knew not that the one great power of earth had taken hold of
+him until they gave the great party down in the quarters, and he saw
+Martha in all her glory. Then love spoke to him with no uncertain
+sound.
+
+It was a dancing-party, and because neither he nor Martha dared
+countenance dancing, they had strolled away together under the pines
+that lined the white road, whiter now in the soft moonlight. He had
+never known the pine-cones smell so sweet before in all his life. She
+had never known just how the moonlight flecked the road before. This
+was lovers' lane to them. He didn't understand why his heart kept
+throbbing so furiously, for they were walking slowly, and when a
+shadow thrown across the road from a by-standing bush frightened her
+into pressing close up to him, he could not have told why his arm
+stole round her waist and drew her slim form up to him, or why his
+lips found hers, as eye looked into eye. For their simple hearts
+love's mystery was too deep, as it is for wiser ones.
+
+Some few stammering words came to his lips, and she answered the best
+she could. Then why did the moonlight flood them so, and why were the
+heavens so full of stars? Out yonder in the black hedge a mocking-bird
+was singing, and he was translating--oh, so poorly--the song of their
+hearts. They forgot the dance, they forgot all but their love.
+
+"An' you won't ma'y nobody else but me, Martha?"
+
+"You know I won't, Gidjon."
+
+"But I mus' wait de yeah out?"
+
+"Yes, an' den don't you think Mas' Stone'll let us have a little cabin
+of ouah own jest outside de quahtahs?"
+
+"Won't it be blessid? Won't it be blessid?" he cried, and then the
+kindly moon went under a cloud for a moment and came out smiling, for
+he had peeped through and had seen what passed. Then they walked back
+hand in hand to the dance along the transfigured road, and they found
+that the first part of the festivities were over, and all the people
+had sat down to supper. Every one laughed when they went in. Martha
+held back and perspired with embarrassment. But even though he saw
+some of the older heads whispering in a corner, Gideon was not
+ashamed. A new light was in his eyes, and a new boldness had come to
+him. He led Martha up to the grinning group, and said in his best
+singing voice, "Whut you laughin' at? Yes, I's popped de question, an'
+she says 'Yes,' an' long 'bout a yeah f'om now you kin all 'spec' a'
+invitation." This was a formal announcement. A shout arose from the
+happy-go-lucky people, who sorrowed alike in each other's sorrows, and
+joyed in each other's joys. They sat down at a table, and their
+health was drunk in cups of cider and persimmon beer.
+
+Over in the corner Mam' Henry mumbled over her pipe, "Wha'd I tell
+you? wha'd I tell you?" and Aunt Sophy replied, "Hit's de pa'able of
+de mo'nin' stahs."
+
+"Don't talk to me 'bout no mo'nin' stahs," the mammy snorted; "Gawd
+jes' fitted dey voices togeddah, an' den j'ined dey hea'ts. De mo'nin'
+stahs ain't got nothin' to do wid it."
+
+"Mam' Henry," said Aunt Sophy, impressively, "you's a' oldah ooman den
+I is, an' I ain' sputin' hit; but I say dey done 'filled Scripter
+'bout de mo'nin' stahs; dey's done sung deyse'ves togeddah."
+
+The old woman sniffed.
+
+The next Sunday at meeting some one got the start of Gideon, and began
+a new hymn. It ran:
+
+    "At de ma'ige of de Lamb, oh Lawd,
+          God done gin His 'sent.
+    Dey dressed de Lamb all up in white,
+          God done gin His 'sent.
+    Oh, wasn't dat a happy day,
+    Oh, wasn't dat a happy day, Good Lawd,
+    Oh, wasn't dat a happy day,
+          De ma'ige of de Lamb!"
+
+The wailing minor of the beginning broke into a joyous chorus at the
+end, and Gideon wept and laughed in turn, for it was his wedding-song.
+
+The young man had a confidential chat with his master the next
+morning, and the happy secret was revealed.
+
+"What, you scamp!" said Dudley Stone. "Why, you've got even more sense
+than I gave you credit for; you've picked out the finest girl on the
+plantation, and the one best suited to you. You couldn't have done
+better if the match had been made for you. I reckon this must be one
+of the marriages that are made in heaven. Marry her, yes, and with a
+preacher. I don't see why you want to wait a year."
+
+Gideon told him his hopes of a near cabin.
+
+"Better still," his master went on; "with you two joined and up near
+the big house, I'll feel as safe for the folks as if an army was
+camped around, and, Gideon, my boy,"--he put his arms on the black
+man's shoulders,--"if I should slip away some day--"
+
+The slave looked up, startled.
+
+"I mean if I should die--I'm not going to run off, don't be alarmed--I
+want you to help your young Mas' Dud look after his mother and Miss
+Ellen; you hear? Now that's the one promise I ask of you,--come what
+may, look after the women folks." And the man promised and went away
+smiling.
+
+His year of engagement, the happiest time of a young man's life, began
+on golden wings. There came rumors of war, and the wings of the
+glad-hued year drooped sadly. Sadly they drooped, and seemed to fold,
+when one day, between the rumors and predictions of strife, Dudley
+Stone, the old master, slipped quietly away out into the unknown.
+
+There were wife, daughter, son, and faithful slaves about his bed, and
+they wept for him sincere tears, for he had been a good husband and
+father and a kind master. But he smiled, and, conscious to the last,
+whispered to them a cheery good-bye. Then, turning to Gideon, who
+stood there bowed with grief, he raised one weak finger, and his lips
+made the word, "Remember!"
+
+They laid him where they had laid one generation after another of the
+Stones and it seemed as if a pall of sorrow had fallen upon the whole
+place. Then, still grieving, they turned their long-distracted
+attention to the things that had been going on around, and lo! the
+ominous mutterings were loud, and the cloud of war was black above
+them.
+
+It was on an April morning when the storm broke, and the plantation,
+master and man, stood dumb with consternation, for they had hoped,
+they had believed, it would pass. And now there was the buzz of men
+who talked in secret corners. There were hurried saddlings and
+feverish rides to town. Somewhere in the quarters was whispered the
+forbidden word "freedom," and it was taken up and dropped breathlessly
+from the ends of a hundred tongues. Some of the older ones scouted it,
+but from some who held young children to their breasts there were
+deep-souled prayers in the dead of night. Over the meetings in the
+woods or in the log church a strange reserve brooded, and even the
+prayers took on a guarded tone. Even from the fulness of their hearts,
+which longed for liberty, no open word that could offend the mistress
+or the young master went up to the Almighty. He might know their
+hearts, but no tongue in meeting gave vent to what was in them, and
+even Gideon sang no more of the gospel army. He was sad because of
+this new trouble coming hard upon the heels of the old, and Martha
+was grieved because he was.
+
+Finally the trips into town budded into something, and on a memorable
+evening when the sun looked peacefully through the pines, young Dudley
+Stone rode into the yard dressed in a suit of gray, and on his
+shoulders were the straps of office. The servants gathered around him
+with a sort of awe and followed him until he alighted at the porch.
+Only Mam' Henry, who had been nurse to both him and his sister, dared
+follow him in. It was a sad scene within, but such a one as any
+Southern home where there were sons might have shown that awful year.
+The mother tried to be brave, but her old hands shook, and her tears
+fell upon her son's brown head, tears of grief at parting, but through
+which shone the fire of a noble pride. The young Ellen hung about his
+neck with sobs and caresses.
+
+"Would you have me stay?" he asked her.
+
+"No! no! I know where your place is, but oh, my brother!"
+
+"Ellen," said the mother in a trembling voice, "you are the sister of
+a soldier now."
+
+The girl dried her tears and drew herself up. "We won't burden your
+heart, Dudley, with our tears, but we will weight you down with our
+love and prayers."
+
+It was not so easy with Mam' Henry. Without protest, she took him to
+her bosom and rocked to and fro, wailing "My baby! my baby!" and the
+tears that fell from the young man's eyes upon her grey old head cost
+his manhood nothing.
+
+Gideon was behind the door when his master called him. His sleeve was
+traveling down from his eyes as he emerged.
+
+"Gideon," said his master, pointing to his uniform, "you know what
+this means?"
+
+"Yes, suh."
+
+"I wish I could take you along with me. But--"
+
+"Mas' Dud," Gideon threw out his arms in supplication.
+
+"You remember father's charge to you, take care of the women-folks."
+He took the servant's hand, and, black man and white, they looked into
+each other's eyes, and the compact was made. Then Gideon gulped and
+said "Yes, suh" again.
+
+Another boy held the master's horse and rode away behind him when he
+vaulted into the saddle, and the man of battle-song and warrior name
+went back to mind the women-folks.
+
+Then began the disintegration of the plantation's population. First
+Yellow Bob slipped away, and no one pursued him. A few blamed him, but
+they soon followed as the year rolled away. More were missing every
+time a Union camp lay near, and great tales were told of the chances
+for young negroes who would go as body-servants to the Yankee
+officers. Gideon heard all and was silent.
+
+Then as the time of his marriage drew near he felt a greater strength,
+for there was one who would be with him to help him keep his promise
+and his faith.
+
+The spirit of freedom had grown strong in Martha as the days passed,
+and when her lover went to see her she had strange things to say. Was
+he going to stay? Was he going to be a slave when freedom and a
+livelihood lay right within his grasp? Would he keep her a slave? Yes,
+he would do it all--all.
+
+She asked him to wait.
+
+Another year began, and one day they brought Dudley Stone home to lay
+beside his father. Then most of the remaining negroes went. There was
+no master now. The two bereaved women wept, and Gideon forgot that he
+wore the garb of manhood and wept with them.
+
+Martha came to him.
+
+"Gidjon," she said, "I's waited a long while now. Mos' eve'ybody else
+is gone. Ain't you goin'?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But, Gidjon, I wants to be free. I know how good dey've been to us;
+but, oh, I wants to own myse'f. They're talkin' 'bout settin' us free
+every hour."
+
+"I can wait."
+
+"They's a camp right near here."
+
+"I promised."
+
+"The of'cers wants body-servants, Gidjon--"
+
+"Go, Martha, if you want to, but I stay."
+
+She went away from him, but she or some one else got word to young
+Captain Jack Griswold of the near camp that there was an excellent
+servant on the plantation who only needed a little persuading, and he
+came up to see him.
+
+"Look here," he said, "I want a body-servant. I'll give you ten
+dollars a month."
+
+"I've got to stay here."
+
+"But, you fool, what have you to gain by staying here?"
+
+"I'm goin' to stay."
+
+"Why, you'll be free in a little while, anyway."
+
+"All right."
+
+"Of all fools," said the Captain. "I'll give you fifteen dollars."
+
+"I do' want it."
+
+"Well, your girl's going, anyway. I don't blame her for leaving such a
+fool as you are."
+
+Gideon turned and looked at him.
+
+"The camp is going to be moved up on this plantation, and there will
+be a requisition for this house for officers' quarters, so I'll see
+you again," and Captain Griswold went his way.
+
+Martha going! Martha going! Gideon could not believe it. He would not.
+He saw her, and she confirmed it. She was going as an aid to the
+nurses. He gasped, and went back to mind the women-folks.
+
+They did move the camp up nearer, and Captain Griswold came to see
+Gideon again, but he could get no word from him, save "I'm goin' to
+stay," and he went away in disgust, entirely unable to understand such
+obstinacy, as he called it.
+
+    [Illustration: "'IT'S FREEDOM, GIDEON.'"]
+
+But the slave had his moments alone, when the agony tore at his breast
+and rended him. Should he stay? The others were going. He would soon
+be free. Every one had said so, even his mistress one day. Then Martha
+was going. "Martha! Martha!" his heart called.
+
+The day came when the soldiers were to leave, and he went out sadly to
+watch them go. All the plantation, that had been white with tents, was
+dark again, and everywhere were moving, blue-coated figures.
+
+Once more his tempter came to him. "I'll make it twenty dollars," he
+said, but Gideon shook his head. Then they started. The drums tapped.
+Away they went, the flag kissing the breeze. Martha stole up to say
+good-bye to him. Her eyes were overflowing, and she clung to him.
+
+"Come, Gidjon," she plead, "fu' my sake. Oh, my God, won't you come
+with us--it's freedom." He kissed her, but shook his head.
+
+"Hunt me up when you do come," she said, crying bitterly, "fu' I do
+love you, Gidjon, but I must go. Out yonder is freedom," and she was
+gone with them.
+
+He drew out a pace after the troops, and then, turning, looked back
+at the house. He went a step farther, and then a woman's gentle voice
+called him, "Gideon!" He stopped. He crushed his cap in his hands, and
+the tears came into his eyes. Then he answered, "Yes, Mis' Ellen, I's
+a-comin'."
+
+He stood and watched the dusty column until the last blue leg swung
+out of sight and over the grey hills the last drum-tap died away, and
+then turned and retraced his steps toward the house.
+
+Gideon had triumphed mightily.
+
+
+
+
+MAMMY PEGGY'S PRIDE
+
+
+In the failing light of the midsummer evening, two women sat upon the
+broad veranda that ran round three sides of the old Virginia mansion.
+One was young and slender with the slightness of delicate girlhood.
+The other was old, black and ample,--a typical mammy of the old south.
+The girl was talking in low, subdued tones touched with a note of
+sadness that was strange in one of her apparent youth, but which
+seemed as if somehow in consonance with her sombre garments.
+
+"No, no, Peggy," she was saying, "we have done the best we could, as
+well as even papa could have expected of us if he had been here. It
+was of no use to keep struggling and straining along, trying to keep
+the old place from going, out of a sentiment, which, however honest it
+might have been, was neither common sense nor practical. Poor people,
+and we are poor, in spite of the little we got for the place, cannot
+afford to have feelings. Of course I hate to see strangers take
+possession of the homestead, and--and--papa's and mamma's and brother
+Phil's graves are out there on the hillside. It is hard,--hard, but
+what was I to do? I couldn't plant and hoe and plow, and you couldn't,
+so I am beaten, beaten." The girl threw out her hands with a
+despairing gesture and burst into tears.
+
+Mammy Peggy took the brown head in her lap and let her big hands
+wander softly over the girl's pale face. "Sh,--sh," she said as if she
+were soothing a baby, "don't go on lak dat. W'y whut's de mattah wid
+you, Miss Mime? 'Pears lak you done los' all yo' spe'it. Whut you
+reckon yo' pappy 'u'd t'ink ef he could see you ca'in' on dis away?
+Didn' he put his han' on yo' haid an' call you his own brave little
+gal, jes' befo', jes' befo'--he went?"
+
+The girl raised her head for a moment and looked at the old woman.
+
+"Oh, mammy, mammy," she cried, "I have tried so hard to be brave--to
+be really my father's daughter, but I can't, I can't. Everything I
+turn my hand to fails. I've tried sewing, but here every one sews for
+herself now. I've even tried writing," and here a crimson glow burned
+in her cheeks, "but oh, the awful regularity with which everything
+came back to me. Why, I even put you in a story, Mammy Peggy, you
+dear old, good, unselfish thing, and the hard-hearted editor had the
+temerity to decline you with thanks."
+
+"I wouldn't'a' nevah lef' you nohow, honey."
+
+Mima laughed through her tears. The strength of her first grief had
+passed, and she was viewing her situation with a whimsical enjoyment
+of its humorous points.
+
+"I don't know," she went on, "it seems to me that it's only in stories
+themselves that destitute young Southern girls get on and make fame
+and fortune with their pens. I'm sure I couldn't."
+
+"Of course you couldn't. Whut else do you 'spect? Whut you know 'bout
+mekin' a fortune? Ain't you a Ha'ison? De Ha'isons nevah was no buyin'
+an' sellin', mekin' an' tradin' fambly. Dey was gent'men an' ladies
+f'om de ve'y fus' beginnin'."
+
+"Oh what a pity one cannot sell one's quality for daily bread, or
+trade off one's blue blood for black coffee."
+
+"Miss Mime, is you out o' yo' haid?" asked Mammy Peggy in disgust and
+horror.
+
+"No, I'm not, Mammy Peggy, but I do wish that I could traffic in some
+of my too numerous and too genteel ancestors instead of being
+compelled to dispose of my ancestral home and be turned out into the
+street like a pauper."
+
+"Heish, honey, heish, I can' stan' to hyeah you talk dat-away. I's
+so'y to see dee ol' place go, but you got to go out of it wid yo' haid
+up, jes' ez ef you was gwine away fo' a visit an' could come back w'en
+evah you wanted to."
+
+"I shall slink out of it like a cur. I can't meet the eyes of the new
+owner; I shall hate him."
+
+"W'y, Miss Mime, whaih's yo' pride? Whaih's yo' Ha'ison pride?"
+
+"Gone, gone with the deed of this house and its furniture. Gone with
+the money I paid for the new cottage and its cheap chairs."
+
+"Gone, hit ain' gone, fu' ef you won't let on to have it, I will. I'll
+show dat new man how yo' pa would 'a' did ef he'd 'a' been hyeah."
+
+"What, you, Mammy Peggy?"
+
+"Yes, me, I ain' a-gwine to let him t'ink dat de Ha'isons didn' have
+no quality."
+
+"Good, mammy, you make me remember who I am, and what my duty is. I
+shall see Mr. Northcope when he comes, and I'll try to make my
+Harrison pride sustain me when I give up to him everything I have
+held dear. Oh, mammy, mammy!"
+
+"Heish, chile, sh, sh, er go on, dat's right, yo' eyes is open now an'
+you kin cry a little weenty bit. It'll do you good. But when dat new
+man comes I want mammy's lamb to look at him an' hol' huh haid lak'
+huh ma used to hol' hern, an' I reckon Mistah No'thcope gwine to
+withah away."
+
+And so it happened that when Bartley Northcope came the next day to
+take possession of the old Virginia mansion he was welcomed at the
+door, and ushered into the broad parlor by Mammy Peggy, stiff and
+unbending in the faded finery of her family's better days.
+
+"Miss Mime'll be down in a minute," she told him, and as he sat in the
+great old room, and looked about him at the evidences of ancient
+affluence, his spirit was subdued by the silent tragedy which his
+possession of it evinced. But he could not but feel a thrill at the
+bit of comedy which is on the edge of every tragedy, as he thought of
+Mammy Peggy and her formal reception. "She let me into my own house,"
+he thought to himself, "with the air of granting me a favor." And then
+there was a step on the stair; the door opened, and Miss Mima stood
+before him, proud, cold, white, and beautiful.
+
+He found his feet, and went forward to meet her. "Mr. Northcope," she
+said, and offered her hand daintily, hesitatingly. He took it, and
+thought, even in that flash of a second, what a soft, tiny hand it
+was.
+
+"Yes," he said, "and I have been sitting here, overcome by the
+vastness of your fine old house."
+
+The "your" was delicate, she thought, but she only said, "Let me help
+you to recovery with some tea. Mammy will bring some," and then she
+blushed very red. "My old nurse is the only servant I have with me,
+and she is always mammy to me." She remembered, and throwing up her
+proud little head rang for the old woman.
+
+Directly, Mammy Peggy came marching in like a grenadier. She bore a
+tray with the tea things on it, and after she had set it down hovered
+in the room as if to chaperon her mistress. Bartley felt decidedly
+uncomfortable. Mima's manners were all that politeness could require,
+but he felt as if she resented his coming even to his own, and he knew
+that mammy looked upon him as an interloper.
+
+    [Illustration: "MAMMY PEGGY CAME MARCHING IN LIKE A GRENADIER."]
+
+Mima kept up well, only the paleness of her face showed what she felt
+at leaving her home. Her voice was calm and impassive, only once it
+trembled, when she wished that he would be as happy in the house as
+she had been.
+
+"I feel very much like an interloper," he said, "but I hope you won't
+feel yourself entirely shut out from your beautiful home. My father,
+who comes on in a few days is an invalid, and gets about very little,
+and I am frequently from home, so pray make use of the grounds when
+you please, and as much of the house as you find convenient."
+
+A cold "thank you" fell from Mima's lips, but then she went on,
+hesitatingly, "I should like to come sometimes to the hill, out there
+behind the orchard." Her voice choked, but she went bravely on, "Some
+of my dear ones are buried there."
+
+"Go there, and elsewhere, as much as you please. That spot shall be
+sacred from invasion."
+
+"You are very kind," she said and rose to go. Mammy carried away the
+tea things, and then came and waited silently by the door.
+
+"I hope you will believe me, Miss Harrison," said Bartley, as Mima
+was starting, "when I say that I do not come to your home as a vandal
+to destroy all that makes its recollection dear to you; for there are
+some associations about it that are almost as much to me as to you,
+since my eyes have been opened."
+
+"I do not understand you," she replied.
+
+"I can explain. For some years past my father's condition has kept me
+very closely bound to him, and both before and after the beginning of
+the war, we lived abroad. A few years ago, I came to know and love a
+man, who I am convinced now was your brother. Am I mistaken in
+thinking that you are a sister of Philip Harrison?"
+
+"No, no, he was my brother, my only brother."
+
+"I met him in Venice just before the war and we came to be dear
+friends. But in the events that followed so tumultuously, and from
+participation in which, I was cut off by my father's illness, I lost
+sight of him."
+
+"But I don't believe I remember hearing my brother speak of you, and
+he was not usually reticent."
+
+"You would not remember me as Bartley Northcope, unless you were
+familiar with the very undignified sobriquet with which your brother
+nicknamed me," said the young man smiling.
+
+"Nickname--what, you are not, you can't be 'Budge'?"
+
+"I am 'Budge' or 'old Budge' as Phil called me."
+
+Mima had her hand on the door-knob, but she turned with an impulsive
+motion and went back to him. "I am so glad to see you," she said,
+giving him her hand again, and "Mammy," she called, "Mr. Northcope is
+an old friend of brother Phil's!"
+
+The effect of this news on mammy was like that of the April sun on an
+icicle. She suddenly melted, and came overflowing back into the room,
+her smiles and grins and nods trickling everywhere under the genial
+warmth of this new friendliness. Before one who had been a friend of
+"Mas' Phil's," Mammy Peggy needed no pride.
+
+"La, chile," she exclaimed, settling and patting the cushions of the
+chair in which he had been sitting, "w'y didn' you say so befo'?"
+
+"I wasn't sure that I was standing in the house of my old friend. I
+only knew that he lived somewhere in Virginia."
+
+"He is among those out on the hill behind the orchard," said Mima,
+sadly. Mammy Peggy wiped her eyes, and went about trying to add some
+touches of comfort to the already perfect room.
+
+"You have no reason to sorrow, Miss Harrison," said Northcope gently,
+"for a brother who died bravely in battle for his principles. Had fate
+allowed me to be here I should have been upon the other side, but
+believe me, I both understand and appreciate your brother's heroism."
+
+The young girl's eyes glistened with tears, through which glowed her
+sisterly pride.
+
+"Won't you come out and look at his grave?"
+
+"It is the desire that was in my mind."
+
+Together they walked out, with mammy following, to the old burying
+plot. All her talk was of her brother's virtues, and he proved an
+appreciative listener. She pointed out favorite spots of her brother's
+childhood as they passed along, and indicated others which his boyish
+pranks had made memorable, though the eyes of the man were oftener on
+her face than on the landscape. But it was with real sympathy and
+reverence that he stood with bared head beside the grave of his
+friend, and the tears that she left fall unchecked in his presence
+were not all tears of grief.
+
+They did not go away from him that afternoon until Mammy Peggy,
+seconded by Mima, had won his consent to let the old servant come over
+and "do for him" until he found suitable servants.
+
+"To think of his having known Philip," said Mima with shining eyes as
+they entered the new cottage, and somehow it looked pleasanter,
+brighter and less mean to her than it had ever before.
+
+"Now s'posin' you'd 'a' run off widout seein' him, whaih would you
+been den? You wouldn' nevah knowed whut you knows."
+
+"You're right, Mammy Peggy, and I'm glad I stayed and faced him, for
+it doesn't seem now as if a stranger had the house, and it has given
+me a great pleasure. It seemed like having Phil back again to have him
+talked about so by one who lived so near to him."
+
+"I tell you, chile," mammy supplemented in an oracular tone, "de right
+kin' o' pride allus pays." Mima laughed heartily. The old woman
+looked at her bright face. Then she put her big hand on the girl's
+small one. It was trembling. She shook her head. Mima blushed.
+
+Bartley went out and sat on the veranda a long time after they were
+gone. He took in the great expanse of lawn about the house, and the
+dark background of the pines in the woods beyond. He thought of the
+conditions through which the place had become his, and the thought
+saddened him, even in the first glow of the joy of possession. Then
+his mind went on to the old friend who was sleeping his last sleep
+back there on the sun-bathed hill. His recollection went fondly over
+the days of their comradeship in Venice, and colored them anew with
+glory.
+
+"These Southerners," he mused aloud, "cannot understand that we
+sympathize with their misfortunes. But we do. They forget how our
+sympathies have been trained. We were first taught to sympathize with
+the slave, and now that he is free, and needs less, perhaps, of our
+sympathy, this, by a transition, as easy as it is natural, is
+transferred to his master. Poor, poor Phil!"
+
+There was a strange emotion, half-sad, half-pleasant tugging at his
+heart. A mist came before his eyes and hid the landscape for a
+moment.
+
+And he, he referred it all to the memories of the brother. Yes, he
+thought he was thinking of the brother, and he did not notice or did
+not pretend to notice that a pair of appealing eyes looking out
+beneath waves of brown hair, that a soft, fair hand, pressed in his
+own, floated nebulously at the back of his consciousness.
+
+It was not until he had set out to furnish his house with a complement
+of servants against the coming of his father that Bartley came to
+realize the full worth of Mammy Peggy's offer to "do for him." The old
+woman not only got his meals and kept him comfortable, trudging over
+and back every day from the little cottage, but she proved invaluable
+in the choice of domestic help. She knew her people thereabouts, just
+who was spry, and who was trifling, and with the latter she would have
+nothing whatever to do. She acted rather as if he were a guest in his
+own house, and what was more would take no pay for it. Of course there
+had to be some return for so much kindness, and it took the form of
+various gifts of flowers and fruit from the old place to the new
+cottage. And sometimes when Bartley had forgotten to speak of it
+before mammy had left, he would arrange his baskets and carry his
+offering over himself. Mima thought it was very thoughtful and kind of
+him, and she wondered on these occasions if they ought not to keep Mr.
+Northcope to tea, and if mammy would not like to make some of those
+nice muffins of hers that he had liked so, and mammy always smiled on
+her charge, and said, "Yes, honey, yes, but hit do 'pear lak' dat
+Mistah No'thcope do fu'git mo' an' mo' to sen' de t'ings ovah by me
+w'en I's daih."
+
+But mammy found her special charge when the elder Northcope came. It
+seemed that she could never do enough for the pale, stooped old man,
+and he declared that he had never felt better in his life than he grew
+to feel under her touch. An injury to his spine had resulted in
+partially disabling him, but his mind was a rich store of knowledge,
+and his disposition was tender and cheerful. So it pleased his son
+sometimes to bring Mima over to see him.
+
+The warm, impulsive heart of the Southern girl went out to him, and
+they became friends at once. He found in her that soft, caressing,
+humoring quality that even his son's devotion could not supply, and
+his superior age, knowledge and wisdom made up to her the lost
+father's care for which Peggy's love illy substituted. The tenderness
+grew between them. Through the long afternoons she would read to him
+from his favorite books, or would listen to him as he talked of the
+lands where he had been, and the things he had seen. Sometimes Mammy
+Peggy grumbled at the reading, and said it "wuz jes' lak' doin' hiahed
+wo'k," but Mima only laughed and went on.
+
+Bartley saw the sympathy between them and did not obtrude his
+presence, but often in the twilight when she started away, he would
+slip out of some corner and walk home with her.
+
+These little walks together were very pleasant, and on one occasion he
+had asked her the question that made her pale and red by turns, and
+sent her heart beating with convulsive throbs that made her gasp.
+
+"Maybe I'm over soon in asking you, Mima dear," he faltered,
+"but--but, I couldn't wait any longer. You've become a part of my
+life. I have no hope, no joy, no thought that you are not of. Won't
+you be my wife?"
+
+They were pausing at her gate, and she was trembling from what emotion
+he only dared guess. But she did not answer. She only returned the
+pressure of his hand, and drawing it away, rushed into the house. She
+durst not trust her voice. Bartley went home walking on air.
+
+Mima did not go directly to Mammy Peggy with her news. She must
+compose herself first. This was hard to do, so she went to her room
+and sat down to think it over.
+
+"He loves me, he loves me," she kept saying to herself and with each
+repetition of the words, the red came anew into her cheeks. They were
+still a suspicious hue when she went into the kitchen to find mammy
+who was slumbering over the waiting dinner. "What meks you so long,
+honey," asked the old woman, coming wide awake out of her cat-nap.
+
+"Oh,--I--I--I don't know," answered the young girl, blushing
+furiously, "I--I stopped to talk."
+
+"Why dey ain no one in de house to talk to. I hyeahed you w'en you
+come home. You have been a powahful time sence you come in. Whut meks
+you so red?" Then a look of intelligence came into mammy's fat face,
+"Oomph," she said.
+
+"Oh mammy, don't look that way, I couldn't help it. Bartley--Mr.
+Northcope has asked me to be his wife."
+
+"Asked you to be his wife! Oomph! Whut did you tell him?"
+
+"I didn't tell him anything. I was so ashamed I couldn't talk. I just
+ran away like a silly."
+
+"Oomph," said mammy again, "an' whut you gwine to tell him?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. Don't you think he's a very nice young man, Mr.
+Northcope, mammy? And then his father's so nice."
+
+Mammy's face clouded. "I doan' see whaih yo' Ha'ison pride is," she
+said; "co'se, he may be nice enough, but does you want to tell him yes
+de fust t'ing, so's he'll t'ink dat you jumped at de chanst to git him
+an' git back in de homestid?"
+
+"Oh, mammy," cried Mima; she had gone all white and cold.
+
+"You do' know nothin' 'bout his quality. You a Ha'ison yo'se'f. Who is
+he to be jumped at an' tuk at de fust axin'? Ef he wants you ve'y bad
+he'll ax mo' dan once."
+
+"You needn't have reminded me, mammy, of who I am," said Mima. "I had
+no intention of telling Mr. Northcope yes. You needn't have been
+afraid for me." She fibbed a little, it is to be feared.
+
+"Now don't talk dat 'way, chile. I know you laks him, an' I do' want
+to stop you f'om tekin' him. Don't you say no, ez ef you wasn' nevah
+gwine to say nothin' else. You jes' say a hol'in' off no."
+
+"I like Mr. Northcope as a friend, and my no to him will be final."
+
+The dinner did not go down very well with Mima that evening. It
+stopped in her throat, and when she swallowed, it brought the tears to
+her eyes. When it was done, she hurried away to her room.
+
+She was so disappointed, but she would not confess it to herself, and
+she would not weep. "He proposed to me because he pitied me, oh, the
+shame of it! He turned me out of doors, and then thought I would be
+glad to come back at any price."
+
+When he read her cold formal note, Bartley knew that he had offended
+her, and the thought burned him like fire. He cursed himself for a
+blundering fool. "She was only trying to be kind to father and me," he
+said, "and I have taken advantage of her goodness." He would never
+have confessed to himself before that he was a coward. But that
+morning when he got her note, he felt that he could not face her just
+yet, and commending his father to the tender mercies of Mammy Peggy
+and the servants, he took the first train to the north.
+
+It would be hard to say which of the two was the most disappointed
+when the truth was known. It might better be said which of the three,
+for Mima went no more to the house, and the elder Northcope fretted
+and was restless without her. He availed himself of an invalid's
+privilege to be disagreeable, and nothing Mammy Peggy could do now
+would satisfy him. Indeed, between the two, the old woman had a hard
+time of it, for Mima was tearful and morose, and would not speak to
+her except to blame her. As the days went on she wished to all the
+powers that she had left the Harrison pride in the keeping of the
+direct members of the family. It had proven a dangerous thing in her
+hands.
+
+Mammy soliloquized when she was about her work in the kitchen. "Men
+ain' whut dey used to be," she said, "who'd 'a' t'ought o' de young
+man a runnin' off dat away jes' 'cause a ooman tol' him no. He orter
+had sense enough to know dat a ooman has sev'al kin's o' noes. Now ef
+dat 'ud 'a' been in my day he'd a jes' stayed away to let huh t'ink
+hit ovah an' den come back an' axed huh ag'in. Den she could 'a' said
+yes all right an' proper widout a belittlin' huhse'f. But 'stead o'
+dat he mus' go a ta'in' off jes' ez soon ez de fus' wo'ds come outen
+huh mouf. Put' nigh brekin' huh hea't. I clah to goodness, I nevah did
+see sich ca'in's on."
+
+Several weeks passed before Bartley returned to his home. Autumn was
+painting the trees about the place before the necessity of being at
+his father's side called him from his voluntary exile. And then he did
+not go to see Mima. He was still bowed with shame at what he thought
+his unmanly presumption, and he did not blame her that she avoided
+him.
+
+His attention was arrested one day about a week after his return by
+the peculiar actions of Mammy Peggy. She hung around him, and watched
+him, following him from place to place like a spaniel.
+
+Finally he broke into a laugh and said, "Why, what's the matter, Aunt
+Peggy, are you afraid I'm going to run away?"
+
+"No, I ain' afeared o' dat," said mammy, meekly, "but I been had
+somepn' to say to you dis long w'ile."
+
+"Well, go ahead, I'm listening."
+
+Mammy gulped and went on. "Ask huh ag'in," she said, "it were my fault
+she tol' you no. I 'minded huh o' huh fambly pride an' tol' huh to
+hol' you off less'n you'd t'ink she wan'ed to jump at you."
+
+Bartley was on his feet in a minute.
+
+"What does this mean," he cried. "Is it true, didn't I offend her?"
+
+"No, you didn' 'fend huh. She's been pinin' fu' you, 'twell she's
+growed right peekid."
+
+"Sh, auntie, do you mean to tell me that Mim--Miss Harrison cares for
+me?"
+
+"You go an' ax huh ag'in."
+
+Bartley needed no second invitation. He flew to the cottage. Mima's
+heart gave a great throb when she saw him coming up the walk, and she
+tried to harden herself against him. But her lips would twitch, and
+her voice would tremble as she said, "How do you do, Mr. Northcope?"
+
+He looked keenly into her eyes.
+
+"Have I been mistaken, Mima," he said, "in believing that I greatly
+offended you by asking you to be my wife? Do you--can you care for
+me, darling?"
+
+The words stuck in her throat, and he went on, "I thought you were
+angry with me because I had taken advantage of your kindness to my
+father, or presumed upon any kindness that you may have felt for me
+out of respect to your brother's memory. Believe me, I was innocent of
+any such intention."
+
+"Oh, it wasn't--it wasn't that!" she gasped.
+
+"Then won't you give me a different answer," he said, taking her hand.
+
+"I can't, I can't," she cried.
+
+"Why, Mima?" he asked.
+
+"Because--"
+
+"Because of the Harrison pride?"
+
+"Bartley!"
+
+"Your Mammy Peggy has confessed all to me."
+
+"Mammy Peggy!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+She tried hard to stiffen herself. "Then it is all out of the
+question," she began.
+
+"Don't let any little folly or pride stand between us," he broke in,
+drawing her to him.
+
+She gave up the struggle, and her head dropped upon his shoulder for
+a moment. Then she lifted her eyes, shining with tears to his face,
+and said, "Bartley, it wasn't my pride, it was Mammy Peggy's."
+
+He cut off further remarks.
+
+When he was gone, and mammy came in after a while, Mima ran to her
+crying,
+
+"Oh, mammy, mammy, you bad, stupid, dear old goose!" and she buried
+her head in the old woman's lap.
+
+"Oomph," grunted mammy, "I said de right kin' o' pride allus pays. But
+de wrong kin'--oomph, well, you'd bettah look out!"
+
+
+
+
+VINEY'S FREE PAPERS
+
+
+Part I
+
+
+There was joy in the bosom of Ben Raymond. He sang as he hoed in the
+field. He cheerfully worked overtime and his labors did not make him
+tired. When the quitting horn blew he executed a double shuffle as he
+shouldered his hoe and started for his cabin. While the other men
+dragged wearily over the ground he sprang along as if all day long he
+had not been bending over the hoe in the hot sun, with the sweat
+streaming from his face in rivulets.
+
+And this had been going on for two months now--two happy months--ever
+since Viney had laid her hand in his, had answered with a coquettish
+"Yes," and the master had given his consent, his blessing and a
+five-dollar bill.
+
+It had been a long and trying courtship--that is, it had been trying
+for Ben, because Viney loved pleasure and hungered for attention and
+the field was full of rivals. She was a merry girl and a pretty one.
+No one could dance better; no girl on the place was better able to
+dress her dark charms to advantage or to show them off more
+temptingly. The toss of her head was an invitation and a challenge in
+one, and the way she smiled back at them over her shoulder, set the
+young men's heads dancing and their hearts throbbing. So her suitors
+were many. But through it all Ben was patient, unflinching and
+faithful, and finally, after leading him a life full of doubt and
+suspense, the coquette surrendered and gave herself into his keeping.
+
+She was maid to her mistress, but she had time, nevertheless, to take
+care of the newly whitewashed cabin in the quarters to which Ben took
+her. And it was very pleasant to lean over and watch him at work
+making things for the little house--a chair from a barrel and a
+wonderful box of shelves to stand in the corner. And she knew how to
+say merry things, and later outside his door Ben would pick his banjo
+and sing low and sweetly in the musical voice of his race. Altogether
+such another honeymoon there had never been.
+
+For once the old women hushed up their prophecies of evil, although in
+the beginning they had shaken their wise old turbaned heads and
+predicted that marriage with such a flighty creature as Viney could
+come to no good. They had said among themselves that Ben would better
+marry some good, solid-minded, strong-armed girl who would think more
+about work than about pleasures and coquetting.
+
+"I 'low, honey," an old woman had said, "she'll mek his heart ache
+many a time. She'll comb his haid wid a three-legged stool an' bresh
+it wid de broom. Uh, huh--putty, is she? You ma'y huh 'cause she
+putty. Ki-yi! She fix you! Putty women fu' putty tricks."
+
+And the old hag smacked her lips over the spice of malevolence in her
+words. Some women--and they are not all black and ugly--never forgive
+the world for letting them grow old.
+
+But, in spite of all prophecies to the contrary, two months of
+unalloyed joy had passed for Ben and Viney, and to-night the climax
+seemed to have been reached. Ben hurried along, talking to himself as
+his hoe swung over his shoulder.
+
+"Kin I do it?" he was saying. "Kin I do it?" Then he would stop his
+walk and his cogitations would bloom into a mirthful chuckle.
+Something very pleasant was passing through his mind.
+
+As he approached, Viney was standing in the door of the little cabin,
+whose white sides with green Madeira clambering over them made a
+pretty frame for the dark girl in her print dress. The husband bent
+double at sight of her, stopped, took off his hat, slapped his knee,
+and relieved his feelings by a sounding "Who-ee!"
+
+"What's de mattah wid you, Ben? You ac' lak you mighty happy. Bettah
+come on in hyeah an' git yo' suppah fo' hit gits col'."
+
+For answer, the big fellow dropped the hoe and, seizing the slight
+form in his arms, swung her around until she gasped for breath.
+
+"Oh, Ben," she shrieked, "you done tuk all my win'!"
+
+"Dah, now," he said, letting her down; "dat's what you gits fu'
+talkin' sassy to me!"
+
+"Nev' min'; I'm goin' to fix you fu' dat fus' time I gits de
+chanst--see ef I don't."
+
+"Whut you gwine do? Gwine to pizen me?"
+
+"Worse'n dat!"
+
+"Wuss'n dat? Whut you gwine fin' any wuss'n pizenin' me, less'n you
+conjuh me?"
+
+"Huh uh--still worse'n dat. I'm goin' to leave you."
+
+"Huh uh--no you ain', 'cause any place you'd go you wouldn' no more'n
+git dah twell you'd tu'n erroun' all of er sudden an' say, 'Why, dah's
+Ben!' an' dah I'd be."
+
+They chattered on like children while she was putting the supper on
+the table and he was laving his hot face in the basin beside the door.
+
+"I got great news fu' you," he said, as they sat down.
+
+"I bet you ain' got nothin' of de kin'."
+
+"All right. Den dey ain' no use in me a tryin' to 'vince you. I jes'
+be wastin' my bref."
+
+"Go on--tell me, Ben."
+
+"Huh uh--you bet I ain', an' ef I tell you you lose de bet."
+
+"I don' keer. Ef you don' tell me, den I know you ain' got no news
+worth tellin'."
+
+"Ain' go no news wuff tellin'! Who-ee!"
+
+He came near choking on a gulp of coffee, and again his knee suffered
+from the pounding of his great hands.
+
+"Huccume you so full of laugh to-night?" she asked, laughing with him.
+
+"How you 'spec' I gwine tell you dat less'n I tell you my sec'ut?"
+
+"Well, den, go on--tell me yo' sec'ut."
+
+"Huh uh. You done bet it ain' wuff tellin'."
+
+"I don't keer what I bet. I wan' to hyeah it now. Please, Ben,
+please!"
+
+"Listen how she baig! Well, I gwine tell you now. I ain' gwine tease
+you no mo'."
+
+She bent her head forward expectantly.
+
+"I had a talk wid Mas' Raymond to-day," resumed Ben.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"An' he say he pay me all my back money fu' ovahtime."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"An' all I gits right along he gwine he'p me save, an' when I git fo'
+hund'ed dollahs he gwine gin me de free papahs fu' you, my little
+gal."
+
+"Oh, Ben, Ben! Hit ain' so, is it?"
+
+"Yes, hit is. Den you'll be you own ooman--leas'ways less'n you wants
+to be mine."
+
+She went and put her arms around his neck. Her eyes were sparkling and
+her lips quivering.
+
+"You don' mean, Ben, dat I'll be free?"
+
+"Yes, you'll be free, Viney. Den I's gwine to set to wo'k an' buy my
+free papahs."
+
+"Oh, kin you do it--kin you do it--kin you do it?"
+
+"Kin I do it?" he repeated. He stretched out his arm, with the sleeve
+rolled to the shoulder, and curved it upward till the muscles stood
+out like great knots of oak. Then he opened and shut his fingers,
+squeezing them together until the joints cracked. "Kin I do it?" He
+looked down on her calmly and smiled simply, happily.
+
+She threw her arms around his waist and sank on her knees at his feet
+sobbing.
+
+"Ben, Ben! My Ben! I nevah even thought of it. Hit seemed so far away,
+but now we're goin' to be free--free, free!"
+
+He lifted her up gently.
+
+"It's gwine to tek a pow'ful long time," he said.
+
+"I don' keer," she cried gaily. "We know it's comin' an' we kin wait."
+
+The woman's serious mood had passed as quickly as it had come, and she
+spun around the cabin, executing a series of steps that set her
+husband a-grin with admiration and joy.
+
+And so Ben began to work with renewed vigor. He had found a purpose in
+life and there was something for him to look for beyond dinner, a
+dance and the end of the day. He had always been a good hand, but now
+he became a model--no shirking, no shiftlessness--and because he was
+so earnest his master did what he could to help him. Numerous little
+plans were formulated whereby the slave could make or save a precious
+dollar.
+
+Viney, too, seemed inspired by a new hope, and if this little house
+had been pleasant to Ben, nothing now was wanting to make it a palace
+in his eyes. Only one sorrow he had, and that one wrung hard at his
+great heart--no baby came to them--but instead he made a great baby of
+his wife, and went on his way hiding his disappointment the best he
+could. The banjo was often silent now, for when he came home his
+fingers were too stiff to play; but sometimes, when his heart ached
+for the laughter of a child, he would take down his old friend and
+play low, soothing melodies until he found rest and comfort.
+
+Viney had once tried to console him by saying that had she had a child
+it would have taken her away from her work, but he had only answered,
+"We could a' stood that."
+
+But Ben's patient work and frugality had their reward, and it was only
+a little over three years after he had set out to do it that he put in
+his master's hand the price of Viney's freedom, and there was sound of
+rejoicing in the land. A fat shoat, honestly come by--for it was the
+master's gift--was killed and baked, great jugs of biting persimmon
+beer were brought forth, and the quarters held high carnival to
+celebrate Viney's new-found liberty.
+
+After the merrymakers had gone, and when the cabin was clear again,
+Ben held out the paper that had been on exhibition all evening to
+Viney.
+
+"Hyeah, hyeah's de docyment dat meks you yo' own ooman. Tek it."
+
+During all the time that it had been out for show that night the
+people had looked upon it with a sort of awe, as if it was possessed
+of some sort of miraculous power. Even now Viney did not take hold of
+it, but shrunk away with a sort of gasp.
+
+"No, Ben, you keep it. I can't tek keer o' no sich precious thing ez
+dat. Put hit in yo' chist."
+
+"Tek hit and feel of hit, anyhow, so's you'll know dat you's free."
+
+She took it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. Ben suddenly
+let go.
+
+"Dah, now," he said; "you keep dat docyment. It's yo's. Keep hit undah
+yo' own 'sponsibility."
+
+"No, no, Ben!" she cried. "I jes' can't!"
+
+"You mus'. Dat's de way to git used to bein' free. Whenevah you looks
+at yo'se'f an' feels lak you ain' no diff'ent f'om whut you been you
+tek dat papah out an' look at hit, an' say to yo'se'f, 'Dat means
+freedom.'"
+
+Carefully, reverently, silently Viney put the paper into her bosom.
+
+"Now, de nex' t'ing fu' me to do is to set out to git one dem papahs
+fu' myse'f. Hit'll be a long try, 'cause I can't buy mine so cheap as
+I got yo's, dough de Lawd knows why a great big ol' hunk lak me should
+cos' mo'n a precious mossell lak you."
+
+"Hit's because dey's so much of you, Ben, an' evah bit of you's wo'th
+its weight in gol'."
+
+"Heish, chile! Don' put my valy so high, er I'll be twell jedgment day
+a-payin' hit off."
+
+
+PART II
+
+
+So Ben went forth to battle for his own freedom, undaunted by the task
+before him, while Viney took care of the cabin, doing what she could
+outside. Armed with her new dignity, she insisted upon her friends'
+recognizing the change in her condition.
+
+Thus, when Mandy so far forgot herself as to address her as Viney
+Raymond, the new free woman's head went up and she said with withering
+emphasis:
+
+"Mis' Viney Allen, if you please!"
+
+"Viney Allen!" exclaimed her visitor. "Huccum you's Viney Allen now?"
+
+"'Cause I don' belong to de Raymonds no mo', an' I kin tek my own name
+now."
+
+"Ben 'longs to de Raymonds, an' his name Ben Raymond an' you his wife.
+How you git aroun' dat, Mis' Viney Allen?"
+
+"Ben's name goin' to be Mistah Allen soon's he gits his free papahs."
+
+"Oomph! You done gone now! Yo' naik so stiff you can't ha'dly ben' it.
+I don' see how dat papah mek sich a change in anybody's actions. Yo'
+face ain' got no whitah."
+
+"No, but I's free, an' I kin do as I please."
+
+Mandy went forth and spread the news that Viney had changed her name
+from Raymond to Allen. "She's Mis' Viney Allen, if you please!" was
+her comment. Great was the indignation among the older heads whose
+fathers and mothers and grandfathers before them had been Raymonds.
+The younger element was greatly amused and took no end of pleasure in
+repeating the new name or addressing each other by fantastic
+cognomens. Viney's popularity did not increase.
+
+Some rumors of this state of things drifted to Ben's ears and he
+questioned his wife about them. She admitted what she had done.
+
+"But, Viney," said Ben, "Raymond's good enough name fu' me."
+
+"Don' you see, Ben," she answered, "dat I don' belong to de Raymonds
+no mo', so I ain' Viney Raymond. Ain' you goin' change w'en you git
+free?"
+
+"I don' know. I talk about dat when I's free, and freedom's a mighty
+long, weary way off yet."
+
+"Evahbody dat's free has dey own name, an' I ain' nevah goin' feel
+free's long ez I's a-totin' aroun' de Raymonds' name."
+
+"Well, change den," said Ben; "but wait ontwell I kin change wid you."
+
+Viney tossed her head, and that night she took out her free papers and
+studied them long and carefully.
+
+She was incensed at her friends that they would not pay her the homage
+that she felt was due her. She was incensed at Ben because he would
+not enter into her feelings about the matter. She brooded upon her
+fancied injuries, and when a chance for revenge came she seized upon
+it eagerly.
+
+There were two or three free negro families in the vicinity of the
+Raymond place, but there had been no intercourse between them and the
+neighboring slaves. It was to these people that Viney now turned in
+anger against her own friends. It first amounted to a few visits back
+and forth, and then, either because the association became more
+intimate or because she was instigated to it by her new companions,
+she refused to have anything more to do with the Raymond servants.
+Boldly and without concealment she shut the door in Mandy's face, and,
+hearing this, few of the others gave her a similar chance.
+
+Ben remonstrated with her, and she answered him:
+
+"No, suh! I ain' goin' 'sociate wid slaves! I's free!"
+
+"But you cuttin' out yo' own husban'."
+
+"Dat's diff'ent. I's jined to my husban'." And then petulantly: "I do
+wish you'd hu'y up an' git yo' free papahs, Ben."
+
+"Dey'll be a long time a-comin'," he said; "yeahs f'om now. Mebbe I'd
+abettah got mine fust."
+
+She looked up at him with a quick, suspicious glance. When she was
+alone again she took her papers and carefully hid them.
+
+"I's free," she whispered to herself, "an' I don' expec' to nevah be a
+slave no mo'."
+
+She was further excited by the moving North of one of the free
+families with which she had been associated. The emigrants had painted
+glowing pictures of the Eldorado to which they were going, and now
+Viney's only talk in the evening was of the glories of the North. Ben
+would listen to her unmoved, until one night she said:
+
+"You ought to go North when you gits yo' papahs."
+
+Then he had answered her, with kindling eyes:
+
+"No, I won't go Nawth! I was bo'n an' raised in de Souf, an' in de
+Souf I stay ontwell I die. Ef I have to go Nawth to injoy my freedom I
+won't have it. I'll quit wo'kin fu' it."
+
+Ben was positive, but he felt uneasy, and the next day he told his
+master of the whole matter, and Mr. Raymond went down to talk to
+Viney.
+
+She met him with a determination that surprised and angered him. To
+everything he said to her she made but one answer: "I's got my free
+papahs an' I's a-goin' Nawth."
+
+Finally her former master left her with the remark:
+
+"Well, I don't care where you go, but I'm sorry for Ben. He was a fool
+for working for you. You don't half deserve such a man."
+
+"I won' have him long," she flung after him, with a laugh.
+
+The opposition with which she had met seemed to have made her more
+obstinate, and in spite of all Ben could do, she began to make
+preparations to leave him. The money for the chickens and eggs had
+been growing and was to have gone toward her husband's ransom, but she
+finally sold all her laying hens to increase the amount. Then she
+calmly announced to her husband:
+
+"I's got money enough an' I's a-goin' Nawth next week. You kin stay
+down hyeah an' be a slave ef you want to, but I's a-goin' Nawth."
+
+"Even ef I wanted to go Nawth you know I ain' half paid out yit."
+
+"Well, I can't he'p it. I can't spen' all de bes' pa't o' my life down
+hyeah where dey ain' no 'vantages."
+
+"I reckon dey's 'vantages everywhah fu' anybody dat wants to wu'k."
+
+"Yes, but what kin' o' wages does yo' git? Why, de Johnsons say dey
+had a lettah f'om Miss Smiff an' dey's gettin' 'long fine in de
+Nawth."
+
+"De Johnsons ain' gwine?"
+
+"Si Johnson is--"
+
+Then the woman stopped suddenly.
+
+"Oh, hit's Si Johnson? Huh!"
+
+"He ain' goin' wid me. He's jes' goin' to see dat I git sta'ted right
+aftah I git thaih."
+
+"Hit's Si Johnson?" he repeated.
+
+"'Tain't," said the woman. "Hit's freedom."
+
+Ben got up and went out of the cabin.
+
+"Men's so 'spicious," she said. "I ain' goin' Nawth 'cause Si's
+a-goin'--I ain't."
+
+When Mr. Raymond found out how matters were really going he went to
+Ben where he was at work in the field.
+
+"Now, look here, Ben," he said. "You're one of the best hands on my
+place and I'd be sorry to lose you. I never did believe in this buying
+business from the first, but you were so bent on it that I gave in.
+But before I'll see her cheat you out of your money I'll give you your
+free papers now. You can go North with her and you can pay me back
+when you find work."
+
+"No," replied Ben doggedly. "Ef she cain't wait fu' me she don' want
+me, an' I won't roller her erroun' an' be in de way."
+
+"You're a fool!" said his master.
+
+"I loves huh," said the slave. And so this plan came to naught.
+
+Then came the night on which Viney was getting together her
+belongings. Ben sat in a corner of the cabin silent, his head bowed in
+his hands. Every once in a while the woman cast a half-frightened
+glance at him. He had never once tried to oppose her with force,
+though she saw that grief had worn lines into his face.
+
+The door opened and Si Johnson came in. He had just dropped in to see
+if everything was all right. He was not to go for a week.
+
+"Let me look at yo' free papahs," he said, for Si could read and liked
+to show off his accomplishment at every opportunity. He stumbled
+through the formal document to the end, reading at the last: "This is
+a present from Ben to his beloved wife, Viney."
+
+She held out her hand for the paper. When Si was gone she sat gazing
+at it, trying in her ignorance to pick from the, to her, senseless
+scrawl those last words. Ben had not raised his head.
+
+Still she sat there, thinking, and without looking her mind began to
+take in the details of the cabin. That box of shelves there in the
+corner Ben had made in the first days they were together. Yes, and
+this chair on which she was sitting--she remembered how they had
+laughed over its funny shape before he had padded it with cotton and
+covered it with the piece of linsey "old Mis'" had given him. The very
+chest in which her things were packed he had made, and when the last
+nail was driven he had called it her trunk, and said she should put
+her finery in it when she went traveling like the white folks. She was
+going traveling now, and Ben--Ben? There he sat across from her in his
+chair, bowed and broken, his great shoulders heaving with suppressed
+grief.
+
+Then, before she knew it, Viney was sobbing, and had crept close to
+him and put her arms around his neck. He threw out his arms with a
+convulsive gesture and gathered her up to his breast, and the tears
+gushed from his eyes.
+
+When the first storm of weeping had passed Viney rose and went to the
+fireplace. She raked forward the coals.
+
+"Ben," she said, "hit's been dese pleggoned free papahs. I want you to
+see em bu'n."
+
+"No, no!" he said. But the papers were already curling, and in a
+moment they were in a blaze.
+
+"Thaih," she said, "thaih, now, Viney Raymond!"
+
+Ben gave a great gasp, then sprang forward and took her in his arms
+and kicked the packed chest into the corner.
+
+And that night singing was heard from Ben's cabin and the sound of the
+banjo.
+
+
+
+
+THE FRUITFUL SLEEPING OF THE REV. ELISHA EDWARDS
+
+
+There was great commotion in Zion Church, a body of Christian
+worshippers, usually noted for their harmony. But for the last six
+months, trouble had been brewing between the congregation and the
+pastor. The Rev. Elisha Edwards had come to them two years before, and
+he had given good satisfaction as to preaching and pastoral work. Only
+one thing had displeased his congregation in him, and that was his
+tendency to moments of meditative abstraction in the pulpit. However
+much fire he might have displayed before a brother minister arose to
+speak, and however much he might display in the exhortation after the
+brother was done with the labors of hurling phillipics against the
+devil, he sat between in the same way, with head bowed and eyes
+closed.
+
+There were some who held that it was a sign in him of deep
+thoughtfulness, and that he was using these moments for silent prayer
+and meditation. But others, less generous, said that he was either
+jealous of or indifferent to other speakers. So the discussion rolled
+on about the Rev. Elisha, but it did not reach him and he went
+on in the same way until one hapless day, one tragic, one
+never-to-be-forgotten day. While Uncle Isham Dyer was exhorting the
+people to repent of their sins, the disclosure came. The old man had
+arisen on the wings of his eloquence and was painting hell for the
+sinners in the most terrible colors, when to the utter surprise of the
+whole congregation, a loud and penetrating snore broke from the throat
+of the pastor of the church. It rumbled down the silence and startled
+the congregation into sudden and indignant life like the surprising
+cannon of an invading host. Horror-stricken eyes looked into each
+other, hands were thrown into the air, and heavy lips made round O's
+of surprise and anger. This was his meditation. The Rev. Elisha
+Edwards was asleep!
+
+Uncle Isham Dyer turned around and looked down on his pastor in
+disgust, and then turned again to his exhortations, but he was
+disconcerted, and soon ended lamely.
+
+    [Illustration: UNCLE ISHAM DYER EXHORTS.]
+
+As for the Rev. Elisha himself, his snore rumbled on through the
+church, his head drooped lower, until with a jerk, he awakened
+himself. He sighed religiously, patted his foot upon the floor, rubbed
+his hands together, and looked complacently over the aggrieved
+congregation. Old ladies moaned and old men shivered, but the pastor
+did not know what they had discovered, and shouted Amen, because he
+thought something Uncle Isham had said was affecting them. Then, when
+he arose to put the cap sheaf on his local brother's exhortations, he
+was strong, fiery, eloquent, but it was of no use. Not a cry, not a
+moan, not an Amen could he gain from his congregation. Only the local
+preacher himself, thinking over the scene which had just been enacted,
+raised his voice, placed his hands before his eyes, and murmured,
+"Lord he'p we po' sinnahs!"
+
+Brother Edwards could not understand this unresponsiveness on the part
+of his people. They had been wont to weave and moan and shout and sigh
+when he spoke to them, and when, in the midst of his sermon, he paused
+to break into spirited song, they would join with him until the church
+rang again. But this day, he sang alone, and ominous glances were
+flashed from pew to pew and from aisle to pulpit. The collection that
+morning was especially small. No one asked the minister home to
+dinner, an unusual thing, and so he went his way, puzzled and
+wondering.
+
+Before church that night, the congregation met together for
+conference. The exhorter of the morning himself opened proceedings by
+saying, "Brothahs an' sistahs, de Lawd has opened ouah eyes to
+wickedness in high places."
+
+"Oom--oom--oom, he have opened ouah eyes," moaned an old sister.
+
+"We have been puhmitted to see de man who was intrusted wid de
+guidance of dis flock a-sleepin' in de houah of duty, an' we feels
+grieved ter-night."
+
+"He sholy were asleep," sister Hannah Johnson broke in, "dey ain't no
+way to 'spute dat, dat man sholy were asleep."
+
+"I kin testify to it," said another sister, "I p'intly did hyeah him
+sno', an' I hyeahed him sno't w'en he waked up."
+
+"An' we been givin' him praise fu' meditation," pursued Brother Isham
+Dyer, who was only a local preacher, in fact, but who had designs on
+ordination, and the pastoring of Zion Church himself.
+
+"It ain't de sleepin' itse'f," he went on, "ef you 'member in de
+Gyarden of Gethsemane, endurin' de agony of ouah Lawd, dem what he
+tuk wid him fu' to watch while he prayed, went to sleep on his han's.
+But he fu'give 'em, fu' he said, 'De sperit is willin' but de flesh is
+weak.' We know dat dey is times w'en de eyes grow sandy, an' de haid
+grow heavy, an' we ain't accusin' ouah brothah, nor a-blamin' him fu'
+noddin'. But what we do blame him fu' is fu' 'ceivin' us, an' mekin'
+us believe he was prayin' an' meditatin', w'en he wasn' doin' a
+blessed thing but snoozin'."
+
+"Dat's it, dat's it," broke in a chorus of voices. "He 'ceived us,
+dat's what he did."
+
+The meeting went stormily on, the accusation and the anger of the
+people against the minister growing more and more. One or two were for
+dismissing him then and there, but calmer counsel prevailed and it was
+decided to give him another trial. He was a good preacher they had to
+admit. He had visited them when they were sick, and brought sympathy
+to their afflictions, and a genial presence when they were well. They
+would not throw him over, without one more chance, at least, of
+vindicating himself.
+
+This was well for the Rev. Elisha, for with the knowledge that he was
+to be given another chance, one trembling little woman, who had
+listened in silence and fear to the tirades against him, crept out of
+the church, and hastened over in the direction of the parsonage. She
+met the preacher coming toward the church, hymn-book in hand, and his
+Bible under his arm. With a gasp, she caught him by the arm, and
+turned him back.
+
+"Come hyeah," she said, "come hyeah, dey been talkin' 'bout you, an' I
+want to tell you."
+
+"Why, Sis' Dicey," said the minister complacently, "what is the
+mattah? Is you troubled in sperit?"
+
+"I's troubled in sperit now," she answered, "but you'll be troubled in
+a minute. Dey done had a church meetin' befo' services. Dey foun' out
+you was sleepin' dis mornin' in de pulpit. You ain't only sno'ed, but
+you sno'ted, an' dey 'lowin' to give you one mo' trial, an' ef you
+falls f'om grace agin, dey gwine ax you fu' to 'sign f'om de
+pastorship."
+
+The minister staggered under the blow, and his brow wrinkled. To leave
+Zion Church. It would be very hard. And to leave there in disgrace;
+where would he go? His career would be ruined. The story would go to
+every church of the connection in the country, and he would be an
+outcast from his cloth and his kind. He felt that it was all a mistake
+after all. He loved his work, and he loved his people. He wanted to do
+the right thing, but oh, sometimes, the chapel was hot and the hours
+were long. Then his head would grow heavy, and his eyes would close,
+but it had been only for a minute or two. Then, this morning, he
+remembered how he had tried to shake himself awake, how gradually, the
+feeling had overcome him. Then--then--he had snored. He had not tried
+wantonly to deceive them, but the Book said, "Let not thy right hand
+know what thy left hand doeth." He did not think it necessary to tell
+them that he dropped into an occasional nap in church. Now, however,
+they knew all.
+
+He turned and looked down at the little woman, who waited to hear what
+he had to say.
+
+"Thankye, ma'am, Sis' Dicey," he said. "Thankye, ma'am. I believe I'll
+go back an' pray ovah this subject." And he turned and went back into
+the parsonage.
+
+Whether he had prayed over it or whether he had merely thought over
+it, and made his plans accordingly, when the Rev. Elisha came into
+church that night, he walked with a new spirit. There was a smile on
+his lips, and the light of triumph in his eyes. Throughout the
+Deacon's long prayer, his loud and insistent Amens precluded the
+possibility of any sleep on his part. His sermon was a masterpiece of
+fiery eloquence, and as Sister Green stepped out of the church door
+that night, she said, "Well, ef Brothah Eddards slep' dis mornin', he
+sholy prached a wakenin' up sermon ter-night." The congregation hardly
+remembered that their pastor had ever been asleep. But the pastor knew
+when the first flush of enthusiasm was over that their minds would
+revert to the crime of the morning, and he made plans accordingly for
+the next Sunday which should again vindicate him in the eyes of his
+congregation.
+
+The Sunday came round, and as he ascended to the pulpit, their eyes
+were fastened upon him with suspicious glances. Uncle Isham Dyer had a
+smile of triumph on his face, because the day was a particularly hot
+and drowsy one. It was on this account, the old man thought, that the
+Rev. Elisha asked him to say a few words at the opening of the
+meeting. "Shirkin' again," said the old man to himself, "I reckon he
+wants to go to sleep again, but ef he don't sleep dis day to his own
+confusion, I ain't hyeah." So he arose, and burst into a wonderful
+exhortation on the merits of a Christian life.
+
+He had scarcely been talking for five minutes, when the ever watchful
+congregation saw the pastor's head droop, and his eyes close. For the
+next fifteen minutes, little or no attention was paid to Brother
+Dyer's exhortation. The angry people were nudging each other,
+whispering, and casting indignant glances at the sleeping pastor. He
+awoke and sat up, just as the exhorter was finishing in a fiery
+period. If those who watched him, were expecting to see any
+embarrassed look on his face, or show of timidity in his eyes, they
+were mistaken. Instead, his appearance was one of sudden alertness,
+and his gaze that of a man in extreme exaltation. One would have said
+that it had been given to him as to the inspired prophets of old to
+see and to hear things far and beyond the ken of ordinary mortals. As
+Brother Dyer sat down, he arose quickly and went forward to the front
+of the pulpit with a firm step. Still, with the look of exaltation on
+his face, he announced his text, "Ef he sleep he shell do well."
+
+The congregation, which a moment before had been all indignation,
+suddenly sprang into the most alert attention. There was a visible
+pricking up of ears as the preacher entered into his subject. He spoke
+first of the benefits of sleep, what it did for the worn human body
+and the weary human soul, then turning off into a half-humorous,
+half-quizzical strain, which was often in his sermons, he spoke of how
+many times he had to forgive some of those who sat before him to-day
+for nodding in their pews; then raising his voice, like a good
+preacher, he came back to his text, exclaiming, "But ef he sleep, he
+shell do well."
+
+He went on then, and told of Jacob's sleep, and how at night, in the
+midst of his slumbers the visions of angels had come to him, and he
+had left a testimony behind him that was still a solace to their
+hearts. Then he lowered his voice and said:
+
+"You all condemns a man when you sees him asleep, not knowin' what
+visions is a-goin' thoo his mind, nor what feelin's is a-goin thoo his
+heart. You ain't conside'in' that mebbe he's a-doin' mo' in the soul
+wo'k when he's asleep then when he's awake. Mebbe he sleep, w'en you
+think he ought to be up a-wo'kin'. Mebbe he slumber w'en you think he
+ought to be up an' erbout. Mebbe he sno' an' mebbe he sno't, but I'm
+a-hyeah to tell you, in de wo'ds of the Book, that they ain't no
+'sputin' 'Ef he sleep, he shell do well!'"
+
+"Yes, Lawd!" "Amen!" "Sleep on Ed'ards!" some one shouted. The church
+was in smiles of joy. They were rocking to and fro with the ecstasy of
+the sermon, but the Rev. Elisha had not yet put on the cap sheaf.
+
+"Hol' on," he said, "befo' you shouts er befo' you sanctions. Fu' you
+may yet have to tu'n yo' backs erpon me, an' say, 'Lawd he'p the man!'
+I's a-hyeah to tell you that many's the time in this very pulpit,
+right under yo' very eyes, I has gone f'om meditation into slumber.
+But what was the reason? Was I a-shirkin' er was I lazy?"
+
+Shouts of "No! No!" from the congregation.
+
+"No, no," pursued the preacher, "I wasn't a-shirkin' ner I wasn't
+a-lazy, but the soul within me was a wo'kin' wid the min', an' as we
+all gwine ter do some day befo' long, early in de mornin', I done
+fu'git this ol' body. My haid fall on my breas', my eyes close, an' I
+see visions of anothah day to come. I see visions of a new Heaven an'
+a new earth, when we shell all be clothed in white raimen', an' we
+shell play ha'ps of gol', an' walk de golden streets of the New
+Jerusalem! That's what been a runnin' thoo my min', w'en I set up in
+the pulpit an' sleep under the Wo'd; but I want to ax you, was I
+wrong? I want to ax you, was I sinnin'? I want to p'int you right
+hyeah to the Wo'd, as it are read out in yo' hyeahin' ter-day, 'Ef he
+sleep, he shell do well.'"
+
+The Rev. Elisha ended his sermon amid the smiles and nods and tears of
+his congregation. No one had a harsh word for him now, and even
+Brother Dyer wiped his eyes and whispered to his next neighbor, "Dat
+man sholy did sleep to some pu'pose," although he knew that the dictum
+was a deathblow to his own pastoral hopes. The people thronged around
+the pastor as he descended from the pulpit, and held his hand as they
+had done of yore. One old woman went out, still mumbling under her
+breath, "Sleep on, Ed'ards, sleep on."
+
+There were no more church meetings after that, and no tendency to
+dismiss the pastor. On the contrary, they gave him a donation party
+next week, at which Sister Dicey helped him to receive his guests.
+
+
+
+
+THE INGRATE
+
+
+I
+
+
+Mr. Leckler was a man of high principle. Indeed, he himself had
+admitted it at times to Mrs. Leckler. She was often called into
+counsel with him. He was one of those large souled creatures with a
+hunger for unlimited advice, upon which he never acted. Mrs. Leckler
+knew this, but like the good, patient little wife that she was, she
+went on paying her poor tribute of advice and admiration. To-day her
+husband's mind was particularly troubled,--as usual, too, over a
+matter of principle. Mrs. Leckler came at his call.
+
+"Mrs. Leckler," he said, "I am troubled in my mind. I--in fact, I am
+puzzled over a matter that involves either the maintaining or
+relinquishing of a principle."
+
+"Well, Mr. Leckler?" said his wife, interrogatively.
+
+"If I had been a scheming, calculating Yankee, I should have been rich
+now; but all my life I have been too generous and confiding. I have
+always let principle stand between me and my interests." Mr. Leckler
+took himself all too seriously to be conscious of his pun, and went
+on: "Now this is a matter in which my duty and my principles seem to
+conflict. It stands thus: Josh has been doing a piece of plastering
+for Mr. Eckley over in Lexington, and from what he says, I think that
+city rascal has misrepresented the amount of work to me and so cut
+down the pay for it. Now, of course, I should not care, the matter of
+a dollar or two being nothing to me; but it is a very different matter
+when we consider poor Josh." There was deep pathos in Mr. Leckler's
+tone. "You know Josh is anxious to buy his freedom, and I allow him a
+part of whatever he makes; so you see it's he that's affected. Every
+dollar that he is cheated out of cuts off just so much from his
+earnings, and puts further away his hope of emancipation."
+
+If the thought occurred to Mrs. Leckler that, since Josh received only
+about one-tenth of what he earned, the advantage of just wages would
+be quite as much her husband's as the slave's, she did not betray it,
+but met the naive reasoning with the question, "But where does the
+conflict come in, Mr. Leckler?"
+
+"Just here. If Josh knew how to read and write and cipher--"
+
+"Mr. Leckler, are you crazy!"
+
+"Listen to me, my dear, and give me the benefit of your judgment. This
+is a very momentous question. As I was about to say, if Josh knew
+these things, he could protect himself from cheating when his work is
+at too great a distance for me to look after it for him."
+
+"But teaching a slave--"
+
+"Yes, that's just what is against my principles. I know how public
+opinion and the law look at it. But my conscience rises up in
+rebellion every time I think of that poor black man being cheated out
+of his earnings. Really, Mrs. Leckler, I think I may trust to Josh's
+discretion, and secretly give him such instructions as will permit him
+to protect himself."
+
+"Well, of course, it's just as you think best," said his wife.
+
+"I knew you would agree with me," he returned. "It's such a comfort to
+take counsel with you, my dear!" And the generous man walked out on to
+the veranda, very well satisfied with himself and his wife, and
+prospectively pleased with Josh. Once he murmured to himself, "I'll
+lay for Eckley next time."
+
+Josh, the subject of Mr. Leckler's charitable solicitations, was the
+plantation plasterer. His master had given him his trade, in order
+that he might do whatever such work was needed about the place; but he
+became so proficient in his duties, having also no competition among
+the poor whites, that he had grown to be in great demand in the
+country thereabout. So Mr. Leckler found it profitable, instead of
+letting him do chores and field work in his idle time, to hire him out
+to neighboring farms and planters. Josh was a man of more than
+ordinary intelligence; and when he asked to be allowed to pay for
+himself by working overtime, his master readily agreed,--for it
+promised more work to be done, for which he could allow the slave just
+what he pleased. Of course, he knew now that when the black man began
+to cipher this state of affairs would be changed; but it would mean
+such an increase of profit from the outside, that he could afford to
+give up his own little peculations. Anyway, it would be many years
+before the slave could pay the two thousand dollars, which price he
+had set upon him. Should he approach that figure, Mr. Leckler felt it
+just possible that the market in slaves would take a sudden rise.
+
+When Josh was told of his master's intention, his eyes gleamed with
+pleasure, and he went to his work with the zest of long hunger. He
+proved a remarkably apt pupil. He was indefatigable in doing the tasks
+assigned him. Even Mr. Leckler, who had great faith in his plasterer's
+ability, marveled at the speed which he had acquired the three R's. He
+did not know that on one of his many trips a free negro had given Josh
+the rudimentary tools of learning, and that since the slave had been
+adding to his store of learning by poring over signs and every bit of
+print that he could spell out. Neither was Josh so indiscreet as to
+intimate to his benefactor that he had been anticipated in his good
+intentions.
+
+It was in this way, working and learning, that a year passed away, and
+Mr. Leckler thought that his object had been accomplished. He could
+safely trust Josh to protect his own interests, and so he thought that
+it was quite time that his servant's education should cease.
+
+"You know, Josh," he said, "I have already gone against my principles
+and against the law for your sake, and of course a man can't stretch
+his conscience too far, even to help another who's being cheated; but
+I reckon you can take care of yourself now."
+
+"Oh, yes, suh, I reckon I kin," said Josh.
+
+"And it wouldn't do for you to be seen with any books about you now."
+
+"Oh, no, suh, su't'n'y not." He didn't intend to be seen with any
+books about him.
+
+It was just now that Mr. Leckler saw the good results of all he had
+done, and his heart was full of a great joy, for Eckley had been
+building some additions to his house, and sent for Josh to do the
+plastering for him. The owner admonished his slave, took him over a
+few examples to freshen his memory, and sent him forth with glee. When
+the job was done, there was a discrepancy of two dollars in what Mr.
+Eckley offered for it and the price which accrued from Josh's
+measurements. To the employer's surprise, the black man went over the
+figures with him and convinced him of the incorrectness of the
+payment,--and the additional two dollars were turned over.
+
+"Some o' Leckler's work," said Eckley, "teaching a nigger to cipher!
+Close-fisted old reprobate,--I've a mind to have the law on him." Mr.
+Leckler heard the story with great glee. "I laid for him that
+time--the old fox." But to Mrs. Leckler he said: "You see, my dear
+wife, my rashness in teaching Josh to figure for himself is
+vindicated. See what he has saved for himself."
+
+"What did he save?" asked the little woman indiscreetly.
+
+Her husband blushed and stammered for a moment, and then replied,
+"Well, of course, it was only twenty cents saved to him, but to a man
+buying his freedom every cent counts; and after all, it is not the
+amount, Mrs. Leckler, it's the principle of the thing."
+
+"Yes," said the lady meekly.
+
+
+II
+
+
+Unto the body it is easy for the master to say, "Thus far shalt thou
+go, and no farther." Gyves, chains and fetters will enforce that
+command. But what master shall say unto the mind, "Here do I set the
+limit of your acquisition. Pass it not"? Who shall put gyves upon the
+intellect, or fetter the movement of thought? Joshua Leckler, as
+custom denominated him, had tasted of the forbidden fruit, and his
+appetite had grown by what it fed on. Night after night he crouched
+in his lonely cabin, by the blaze of a fat pine brand, poring over the
+few books that he had been able to secure and smuggle in. His
+fellow-servants alternately laughed at him and wondered why he did not
+take a wife. But Joshua went on his way. He had no time for marrying
+or for love; other thoughts had taken possession of him. He was being
+swayed by ambitions other than the mere fathering of slaves for his
+master. To him his slavery was deep night. What wonder, then, that he
+should dream, and that through the ivory gate should come to him the
+forbidden vision of freedom? To own himself, to be master of his
+hands, feet, of his whole body--something would clutch at his heart as
+he thought of it; and the breath would come hard between his lips. But
+he met his master with an impassive face, always silent, always
+docile; and Mr. Leckler congratulated himself that so valuable and
+intelligent a slave should be at the same time so tractable. Usually
+intelligence in a slave meant discontent; but not so with Josh. Who
+more content than he? He remarked to his wife: "You see, my dear, this
+is what comes of treating even a nigger right."
+
+Meanwhile the white hills of the North were beckoning to the chattel,
+and the north winds were whispering to him to be a chattel no longer.
+Often the eyes that looked away to where freedom lay were filled with
+a wistful longing that was tragic in its intensity, for they saw the
+hardships and the difficulties between the slave and his goal and,
+worst of all, an iniquitous law,--liberty's compromise with bondage,
+that rose like a stone wall between him and hope,--a law that degraded
+every free-thinking man to the level of a slave-catcher. There it
+loomed up before him, formidable, impregnable, insurmountable. He
+measured it in all its terribleness, and paused. But on the other side
+there was liberty; and one day when he was away at work, a voice came
+out of the woods and whispered to him "Courage!"--and on that night
+the shadows beckoned him as the white hills had done, and the forest
+called to him, "Follow."
+
+"It seems to me that Josh might have been able to get home to-night,"
+said Mr. Leckler, walking up and down his veranda; "but I reckon it's
+just possible that he got through too late to catch a train." In the
+morning he said: "Well, he's not here yet; he must have had to do some
+extra work. If he doesn't get here by evening, I'll run up there."
+
+In the evening, he did take the train for Joshua's place of
+employment, where he learned that his slave had left the night before.
+But where could he have gone? That no one knew, and for the first time
+it dawned upon his master that Josh had run away. He raged; he fumed;
+but nothing could be done until morning, and all the time Leckler knew
+that the most valuable slave on his plantation was working his way
+toward the North and freedom. He did not go back home, but paced the
+floor all night long. In the early dawn he hurried out, and the hounds
+were put on the fugitive's track. After some nosing around they set
+off toward a stretch of woods. In a few minutes they came yelping
+back, pawing their noses and rubbing their heads against the ground.
+They had found the trail, but Josh had played the old slave trick of
+filling his tracks with cayenne pepper. The dogs were soothed, and
+taken deeper into the wood to find the trail. They soon took it up
+again, and dashed away with low bays. The scent led them directly to a
+little wayside station about six miles distant. Here it stopped.
+Burning with the chase, Mr. Leckler hastened to the station agent.
+Had he seen such a negro? Yes, he had taken the northbound train two
+nights before.
+
+"But why did you let him go without a pass?" almost screamed the
+owner.
+
+"I didn't," replied the agent. "He had a written pass, signed James
+Leckler, and I let him go on it."
+
+"Forged, forged!" yelled the master. "He wrote it himself."
+
+"Humph!" said the agent, "how was I to know that? Our niggers round
+here don't know how to write."
+
+Mr. Leckler suddenly bethought him to hold his peace. Josh was
+probably now in the arms of some northern abolitionist, and there was
+nothing to be done now but advertise; and the disgusted master spread
+his notices broadcast before starting for home. As soon as he arrived
+at his house, he sought his wife and poured out his griefs to her.
+
+"You see, Mrs. Leckler, this is what comes of my goodness of heart. I
+taught that nigger to read and write, so that he could protect
+himself,--and look how he uses his knowledge. Oh, the ingrate, the
+ingrate! The very weapon which I give him to defend himself against
+others he turns upon me. Oh, it's awful,--awful! I've always been too
+confiding. Here's the most valuable nigger on my plantation
+gone,--gone, I tell you,--and through my own kindness. It isn't his
+value, though, I'm thinking so much about. I could stand his loss, if
+it wasn't for the principle of the thing, the base ingratitude he has
+shown me. Oh, if I ever lay hands on him again!" Mr. Leckler closed
+his lips and clenched his fist with an eloquence that laughed at
+words.
+
+Just at this time, in one of the underground railway stations, six
+miles north of the Ohio, an old Quaker was saying to Josh: "Lie
+still,--thee'll be perfectly safe there. Here comes John Trader, our
+local slave catcher, but I will parley with him and send him away.
+Thee need not fear. None of thy brethren who have come to us have ever
+been taken back to bondage.--Good-evening, Friend Trader!" and Josh
+heard the old Quaker's smooth voice roll on, while he lay back half
+smothering in a bag, among other bags of corn and potatoes.
+
+It was after ten o'clock that night when he was thrown carelessly into
+a wagon and driven away to the next station, twenty-five miles to the
+northward. And by such stages, hiding by day and traveling by night,
+helped by a few of his own people who were blessed with freedom, and
+always by the good Quakers wherever found, he made his way into
+Canada. And on one never-to-be-forgotten morning he stood up,
+straightened himself, breathed God's blessed air, and knew himself
+free!
+
+
+III
+
+
+To Joshua Leckler this life in Canada was all new and strange. It was
+a new thing for him to feel himself a man and to have his manhood
+recognized by the whites with whom he came into free contact. It was
+new, too, this receiving the full measure of his worth in work. He
+went to his labor with a zest that he had never known before, and he
+took a pleasure in the very weariness it brought him. Ever and anon
+there came to his ears the cries of his brethren in the South.
+Frequently he met fugitives who, like himself, had escaped from
+bondage; and the harrowing tales that they told him made him burn to
+do something for those whom he had left behind him. But these
+fugitives and the papers he read told him other things. They said
+that the spirit of freedom was working in the United States, and
+already men were speaking out boldly in behalf of the manumission of
+the slaves; already there was a growing army behind that noble
+vanguard, Sumner, Phillips, Douglass, Garrison. He heard the names of
+Lucretia Mott and Harriet Beecher Stowe, and his heart swelled, for on
+the dim horizon he saw the first faint streaks of dawn.
+
+So the years passed. Then from the surcharged clouds a flash of
+lightning broke, and there was the thunder of cannon and the rain of
+lead over the land. From his home in the North he watched the storm as
+it raged and wavered, now threatening the North with its awful power,
+now hanging dire and dreadful over the South. Then suddenly from out
+the fray came a voice like the trumpet tone of God to him: "Thou and
+thy brothers are free!" Free, free, with the freedom not cherished by
+the few alone, but for all that had been bound. Free, with the freedom
+not torn from the secret night, but open to the light of heaven.
+
+When the first call for colored soldiers came, Joshua Leckler hastened
+down to Boston, and enrolled himself among those who were willing to
+fight to maintain their freedom. On account of his ability to read
+and write and his general intelligence, he was soon made an orderly
+sergeant. His regiment had already taken part in an engagement before
+the public roster of this band of Uncle Sam's niggers, as they were
+called, fell into Mr. Leckler's hands. He ran his eye down the column
+of names. It stopped at that of Joshua Leckler, Sergeant, Company F.
+He handed the paper to Mrs. Leckler with his finger on the place:
+
+"Mrs. Leckler," he said, "this is nothing less than a judgment on me
+for teaching a nigger to read and write. I disobeyed the law of my
+state and, as a result, not only lost my nigger, but furnished the
+Yankees with a smart officer to help them fight the South. Mrs.
+Leckler, I have sinned--and been punished. But I am content, Mrs.
+Leckler; it all came through my kindness of heart,--and your mistaken
+advice. But, oh, that ingrate, that ingrate!"
+
+
+
+
+THE CASE OF 'CA'LINE'
+
+A KITCHEN MONOLOGUE
+
+
+The man of the house is about to go into the dining-room when he hears
+voices that tell him that his wife has gone down to give the "hired
+help" a threatened going over. He quietly withdraws, closes the door
+noiselessly behind him and listens from a safe point of vantage.
+
+One voice is timid and hesitating; that is his wife. The other is
+fearlessly raised; that is her majesty, the queen who rules the
+kitchen, and from it the rest of the house.
+
+This is what he overhears:
+
+"Well, Mis' Ma'tin, hit do seem lak you jes' bent an' boun' to be
+a-fin'in' fault wid me w'en de Lawd knows I's doin' de ve'y bes' I
+kin. What 'bout de brekfus'? De steak too done an' de 'taters ain't
+done enough! Now, Miss Ma'tin, I jes' want to show you I cooked dat
+steak an' dem 'taters de same lengt' o' time. Seems to me dey ought to
+be done de same. Dat uz a thick steak, an' I jes' got hit browned
+thoo nice. What mo'd you want?
+
+"You didn't want it fried at all? Now, Mis' Ma'tin, 'clah to goodness!
+Who evah hyeah de beat o' dat? Don't you know dat fried meat is de
+bes' kin' in de worl'? W'y, de las' fambly dat I lived wid--dat uz ol'
+Jedge Johnson--he said dat I beat anybody fryin' he evah seen; said I
+fried evahthing in sight, an' he said my fried food stayed by him
+longer than anything he evah e't. Even w'en he paid me off he said it
+was 'case he thought somebody else ought to have de benefit of my
+wunnerful powahs. Huh, ma'am, I's used to de bes'. De Jedge paid me de
+highes' kin' o' comperments. De las' thing he say to me was, 'Ca'line,
+Ca'line,' he say, 'yo' cookin' is a pa'dox. It is crim'nal, dey ain't
+no 'sputin' dat, but it ain't action'ble.' Co'se, I didn't unnerstan'
+his langidge, but I knowed hit was comperments, 'case his wife, Mis'
+Jedge Johnson, got right jealous an' told him to shet his mouf.
+
+"Dah you goes. Now, who'd 'a' thought dat a lady of yo' raisin' an
+unnerstannin' would 'a' brung dat up. De mo'nin' you come an' ketch me
+settin' down an' de brekfus not ready, I was a-steadyin'. I's a mighty
+han' to steady, Mis' Ma'tin. 'Deed I steadies mos' all de time. But
+dat mo'nin' I got to steadyin' an' aftah while I sot down an' all my
+troubles come to my min'. I sho' has a heap o' trouble. I jes' sot
+thaih a-steadyin' 'bout 'em an' a-steadyin' tell bime-by, hyeah you
+comes.
+
+"No, ma'am, I wasn't 'sleep. I's mighty apt to nod w'en I's
+a-thinkin'. It's a kin' o' keepin' time to my idees. But bless yo'
+soul I wasn't 'sleep. I shets my eyes so's to see to think bettah. An'
+aftah all, Mistah Ma'tin wasn't mo' 'n half an houah late dat mo'nin'
+nohow, 'case w'en I did git up I sholy flew. Ef you jes' 'membahs
+'bout my steadyin' we ain't nevah gwine have no trouble long's I stays
+hyeah.
+
+"You say dat one night I stayed out tell one o'clock. W'y--oh, yes.
+Dat uz Thu'sday night. W'y la! Mis' Ma'tin, dat's de night my s'ciety
+meets, de Af'Ame'ican Sons an' Daughtahs of Judah. We had to
+'nitianate a new can'date dat night, an' la! I wish you'd 'a' been
+thaih, you'd 'a' killed yo'self a-laffin'.
+
+"You nevah did see sich ca'in's on in all yo' bo'n days. It was
+pow'ful funny. Broth' Eph'am Davis, he's ouah Mos' Wusshipful Rabbi,
+he says hit uz de mos' s'cessful 'nitination we evah had. Dat
+can'date pawed de groun' lak a hoss an' tried to git outen de winder.
+But I got to be mighty keerful how I talk: I do' know whethah you
+'long to any secut s'cieties er not. I wouldn't been so late even fu'
+dat, but Mistah Hi'am Smif, he gallanted me home an' you know a lady
+boun' to stan' at de gate an' talk to huh comp'ny a little while. You
+know how it is, Mis' Ma'tin.
+
+"I been en'tainin' my comp'ny in de pa'lor? Co'se I has; you wasn't
+usin' it. What you s'pose my frien's 'u'd think ef I'd ax 'em in de
+kitchen w'en dey wasn't no one in de front room? Co'se I ax 'em in de
+pa'lor. I do' want my frien's to think I's wo'kin' fu' no low-down
+people. W'y, Miss 'Liza Harris set down an' played mos' splendid on
+yo' pianna, an' she compermented you mos' high. S'pose I'd a tuck huh
+in de kitchen, whaih de comperments come in?
+
+"Yass'm, yass'm, I does tek home little things now an' den, dat I
+does, an' I ain't gwine to 'ny it. I jes' says to myse'f, I ain't
+wo'kin' fu' no strainers lak de people nex' do', what goes into
+tantrums ef de lady what cooks fu' 'em teks home a bit o' sugar. I
+'lows to myse'f I ain't wo'kin' fu' no sich folks; so sometimes I teks
+home jes' a weenchy bit o' somep'n' dat nobody couldn't want nohow,
+an' I knows you ain't gwine 'ject to dat. You do 'ject, you do 'ject!
+Huh!
+
+"I's got to come an' ax you, has I? Look a-hyeah, Mis' Ma'tin, I know
+I has to wo'k in yo' kitchen. I know I has to cook fu' you, but I want
+you to know dat even ef I does I's a lady. I's a lady, but I see you
+do' know how to 'preciate a lady w'en you meets one. You kin jes'
+light in an' git yo' own dinner. I wouldn't wo'k fu' you ef you uz
+made o' gol'. I nevah did lak to wo'k fu' strainers, nohow.
+
+"No, ma'am, I cain't even stay an' git de dinner. I know w'en I been
+insulted. Seems lak ef I stay in hyeah another minute I'll bile all
+over dis kitchen.
+
+"Who excited? Me excited? No, I ain't excited. I's mad. I do' lak
+nobody pesterin' 'roun' my kitchen, nohow, huh, uh, honey. Too many
+places in dis town waitin' fu' Ca'line Mason.
+
+"No, indeed, you needn't 'pologize to me! needn't 'pologize to me. I
+b'lieve in people sayin' jes' what dey mean, I does.
+
+"Would I stay, ef you 'crease my wages? Well--I reckon I could, but
+I--but I do' want no foolishness."
+
+(Sola.) "Huh! Did she think she was gwine to come down hyeah an' skeer
+me, huh, uh? Whaih's dat fryin' pan?"
+
+The man of the house hears the rustle of his wife's skirts as she
+beats a retreat and he goes upstairs and into the library whistling,
+"See, the Conquering Hero Comes."
+
+
+
+
+THE FINISH OF PATSY BARNES
+
+
+His name was Patsy Barnes, and he was a denizen of Little Africa. In
+fact, he lived on Douglass Street. By all the laws governing the
+relations between people and their names, he should have been
+Irish--but he was not. He was colored, and very much so. That was the
+reason he lived on Douglass Street. The negro has very strong within
+him the instinct of colonization and it was in accordance with this
+that Patsy's mother had found her way to Little Africa when she had
+come North from Kentucky.
+
+Patsy was incorrigible. Even into the confines of Little Africa had
+penetrated the truant officer and the terrible penalty of the
+compulsory education law. Time and time again had poor Eliza Barnes
+been brought up on account of the shortcomings of that son of hers.
+She was a hard-working, honest woman, and day by day bent over her
+tub, scrubbing away to keep Patsy in shoes and jackets, that would
+wear out so much faster than they could be bought. But she never
+murmured, for she loved the boy with a deep affection, though his
+misdeeds were a sore thorn in her side.
+
+She wanted him to go to school. She wanted him to learn. She had the
+notion that he might become something better, something higher than
+she had been. But for him school had no charms; his school was the
+cool stalls in the big livery stable near at hand; the arena of his
+pursuits its sawdust floor; the height of his ambition, to be a
+horseman. Either here or in the racing stables at the Fair-grounds he
+spent his truant hours. It was a school that taught much, and Patsy
+was as apt a pupil as he was a constant attendant. He learned strange
+things about horses, and fine, sonorous oaths that sounded eerie on
+his young lips, for he had only turned into his fourteenth year.
+
+A man goes where he is appreciated; then could this slim black boy be
+blamed for doing the same thing? He was a great favorite with the
+horsemen, and picked up many a dime or nickel for dancing or singing,
+or even a quarter for warming up a horse for its owner. He was not to
+be blamed for this, for, first of all, he was born in Kentucky, and
+had spent the very days of his infancy about the paddocks near
+Lexington, where his father had sacrificed his life on account of his
+love for horses. The little fellow had shed no tears when he looked at
+his father's bleeding body, bruised and broken by the fiery young
+two-year-old he was trying to subdue. Patsy did not sob or whimper,
+though his heart ached, for over all the feeling of his grief was a
+mad, burning desire to ride that horse.
+
+His tears were shed, however, when, actuated by the idea that times
+would be easier up North, they moved to Dalesford. Then, when he
+learned that he must leave his old friends, the horses and their
+masters, whom he had known, he wept. The comparatively meagre
+appointments of the Fair-grounds at Dalesford proved a poor
+compensation for all these. For the first few weeks Patsy had dreams
+of running away--back to Kentucky and the horses and stables. Then
+after a while he settled himself with heroic resolution to make the
+best of what he had, and with a mighty effort took up the burden of
+life away from his beloved home.
+
+Eliza Barnes, older and more experienced though she was, took up her
+burden with a less cheerful philosophy than her son. She worked hard,
+and made a scanty livelihood, it is true, but she did not make the
+best of what she had. Her complainings were loud in the land, and her
+wailings for her old home smote the ears of any who would listen to
+her.
+
+They had been living in Dalesford for a year nearly, when hard work
+and exposure brought the woman down to bed with pneumonia. They were
+very poor--too poor even to call in a doctor, so there was nothing to
+do but to call in the city physician. Now this medical man had too
+frequent calls into Little Africa, and he did not like to go there. So
+he was very gruff when any of its denizens called him, and it was even
+said that he was careless of his patients.
+
+Patsy's heart bled as he heard the doctor talking to his mother:
+
+"Now, there can't be any foolishness about this," he said. "You've got
+to stay in bed and not get yourself damp."
+
+"How long you think I got to lay hyeah, doctah?" she asked.
+
+"I'm a doctor, not a fortune-teller," was the reply. "You'll lie there
+as long as the disease holds you."
+
+"But I can't lay hyeah long, doctah, case I ain't got nuffin' to go
+on."
+
+"Well, take your choice: the bed or the boneyard."
+
+Eliza began to cry.
+
+"You needn't sniffle," said the doctor; "I don't see what you people
+want to come up here for anyhow. Why don't you stay down South where
+you belong? You come up here and you're just a burden and a trouble to
+the city. The South deals with all of you better, both in poverty and
+crime." He knew that these people did not understand him, but he
+wanted an outlet for the heat within him.
+
+There was another angry being in the room, and that was Patsy. His
+eyes were full of tears that scorched him and would not fall. The
+memory of many beautiful and appropriate oaths came to him; but he
+dared not let his mother hear him swear. Oh! to have a stone--to be
+across the street from that man!
+
+When the physician walked out, Patsy went to the bed, took his
+mother's hand, and bent over shamefacedly to kiss her. He did not know
+that with that act the Recording Angel blotted out many a curious damn
+of his.
+
+The little mark of affection comforted Eliza unspeakably. The
+mother-feeling overwhelmed her in one burst of tears. Then she dried
+her eyes and smiled at him.
+
+"Honey," she said; "mammy ain' gwine lay hyeah long. She be all right
+putty soon."
+
+"Nevah you min'," said Patsy with a choke in his voice. "I can do
+somep'n', an' we'll have anothah doctah."
+
+"La, listen at de chile; what kin you do?"
+
+"I'm goin' down to McCarthy's stable and see if I kin git some horses
+to exercise."
+
+A sad look came into Eliza's eyes as she said: "You'd bettah not go,
+Patsy; dem hosses'll kill you yit, des lak dey did yo' pappy."
+
+But the boy, used to doing pretty much as he pleased, was obdurate,
+and even while she was talking, put on his ragged jacket and left the
+room.
+
+Patsy was not wise enough to be diplomatic. He went right to the point
+with McCarthy, the liveryman.
+
+The big red-faced fellow slapped him until he spun round and round.
+Then he said, "Ye little devil, ye, I've a mind to knock the whole
+head off o' ye. Ye want harses to exercise, do ye? Well git on that
+'un, an' see what ye kin do with him."
+
+The boy's honest desire to be helpful had tickled the big, generous
+Irishman's peculiar sense of humor, and from now on, instead of giving
+Patsy a horse to ride now and then as he had formerly done, he put
+into his charge all the animals that needed exercise.
+
+It was with a king's pride that Patsy marched home with his first
+considerable earnings.
+
+They were small yet, and would go for food rather than a doctor, but
+Eliza was inordinately proud, and it was this pride that gave her
+strength and the desire of life to carry her through the days
+approaching the crisis of her disease.
+
+As Patsy saw his mother growing worse, saw her gasping for breath,
+heard the rattling as she drew in the little air that kept going her
+clogged lungs, felt the heat of her burning hands, and saw the pitiful
+appeal in her poor eyes, he became convinced that the city doctor was
+not helping her. She must have another. But the money?
+
+That afternoon, after his work with McCarthy, found him at the
+Fair-grounds. The spring races were on, and he thought he might get a
+job warming up the horse of some independent jockey. He hung around
+the stables, listening to the talk of men he knew and some he had
+never seen before. Among the latter was a tall, lanky man, holding
+forth to a group of men.
+
+"No, suh," he was saying to them generally, "I'm goin' to withdraw my
+hoss, because thaih ain't nobody to ride him as he ought to be rode. I
+haven't brought a jockey along with me, so I've got to depend on
+pick-ups. Now, the talent's set agin my hoss, Black Boy, because he's
+been losin' regular, but that hoss has lost for the want of ridin',
+that's all."
+
+The crowd looked in at the slim-legged, raw-boned horse, and walked
+away laughing.
+
+"The fools!" muttered the stranger. "If I could ride myself I'd show
+'em!"
+
+Patsy was gazing into the stall at the horse.
+
+"What are you doing thaih," called the owner to him.
+
+"Look hyeah, mistah," said Patsy, "ain't that a bluegrass hoss?"
+
+"Of co'se it is, an' one o' the fastest that evah grazed."
+
+"I'll ride that hoss, mistah."
+
+"What do you know 'bout ridin'?"
+
+"I used to gin'ally be' roun' Mistah Boone's paddock in Lexington,
+an'--"
+
+"Aroun' Boone's paddock--what! Look here, little nigger, if you can
+ride that hoss to a winnin' I'll give you more money than you ever
+seen before."
+
+"I'll ride him."
+
+Patsy's heart was beating very wildly beneath his jacket. That horse.
+He knew that glossy coat. He knew that raw-boned frame and those
+flashing nostrils. That black horse there owed something to the orphan
+he had made.
+
+The horse was to ride in the race before the last. Somehow out of odds
+and ends, his owner scraped together a suit and colors for Patsy. The
+colors were maroon and green, a curious combination. But then it was a
+curious horse, a curious rider, and a more curious combination that
+brought the two together.
+
+Long before the time for the race Patsy went into the stall to become
+better acquainted with his horse. The animal turned its wild eyes upon
+him and neighed. He patted the long, slender head, and grinned as the
+horse stepped aside as gently as a lady.
+
+"He sholy is full o' ginger," he said to the owner, whose name he had
+found to be Brackett.
+
+"He'll show 'em a thing or two," laughed Brackett.
+
+"His dam was a fast one," said Patsy, unconsciously.
+
+Brackett whirled on him in a flash. "What do you know about his dam?"
+he asked.
+
+The boy would have retracted, but it was too late. Stammeringly he
+told the story of his father's death and the horse's connection
+therewith.
+
+"Well," said Brackett, "if you don't turn out a hoodoo, you're a
+winner, sure. But I'll be blessed if this don't sound like a story!
+But I've heard that story before. The man I got Black Boy from, no
+matter how I got him, you're too young to understand the ins and outs
+of poker, told it to me."
+
+When the bell sounded and Patsy went out to warm up, he felt as if he
+were riding on air. Some of the jockeys laughed at his get-up, but
+there was something in him--or under him, maybe--that made him scorn
+their derision. He saw a sea of faces about him, then saw no more.
+Only a shining white track loomed ahead of him, and a restless steed
+was cantering with him around the curve. Then the bell called him back
+to the stand.
+
+They did not get away at first, and back they trooped. A second trial
+was a failure. But at the third they were off in a line as straight
+as a chalk-mark. There were Essex and Firefly, Queen Bess and
+Mosquito, galloping away side by side, and Black Boy a neck ahead.
+Patsy knew the family reputation of his horse for endurance as well as
+fire, and began riding the race from the first. Black Boy came of
+blood that would not be passed, and to this his rider trusted. At the
+eighth the line was hardly broken, but as the quarter was reached
+Black Boy had forged a length ahead, and Mosquito was at his flank.
+Then, like a flash, Essex shot out ahead under whip and spur, his
+jockey standing straight in the stirrups.
+
+The crowd in the stand screamed; but Patsy smiled as he lay low over
+his horse's neck. He saw that Essex had made her best spurt. His only
+fear was for Mosquito, who hugged and hugged his flank. They were
+nearing the three-quarter post, and he was tightening his grip on the
+black. Essex fell back; his spurt was over. The whip fell unheeded on
+his sides. The spurs dug him in vain.
+
+Black Boy's breath touches the leader's ear. They are neck and
+neck--nose to nose. The black stallion passes him.
+
+Another cheer from the stand, and again Patsy smiles as they turn into
+the stretch. Mosquito has gained a head. The colored boy flashes one
+glance at the horse and rider who are so surely gaining upon him, and
+his lips close in a grim line. They are half-way down the stretch, and
+Mosquito's head is at the stallion's neck.
+
+For a single moment Patsy thinks of the sick woman at home and what
+that race will mean to her, and then his knees close against the
+horse's sides with a firmer dig. The spurs shoot deeper into the
+steaming flanks. Black Boy shall win; he must win. The horse that has
+taken away his father shall give him back his mother. The stallion
+leaps away like a flash, and goes under the wire--a length ahead.
+
+Then the band thundered, and Patsy was off his horse, very warm and
+very happy, following his mount to the stable. There, a little later,
+Brackett found him. He rushed to him, and flung his arms around him.
+
+"You little devil," he cried, "you rode like you were kin to that
+hoss! We've won! We've won!" And he began sticking banknotes at the
+boy. At first Patsy's eyes bulged, and then he seized the money and
+got into his clothes.
+
+"Goin' out to spend it?" asked Brackett.
+
+"I'm goin' for a doctah fu' my mother," said Patsy, "she's sick."
+
+"Don't let me lose sight of you."
+
+"Oh, I'll see you again. So long," said the boy.
+
+An hour later he walked into his mother's room with a very big doctor,
+the greatest the druggist could direct him to. The doctor left his
+medicines and his orders, but, when Patsy told his story, it was
+Eliza's pride that started her on the road to recovery. Patsy did not
+tell his horse's name.
+
+
+
+
+ONE MAN'S FORTUNES
+
+
+Part I
+
+
+When Bertram Halliday left the institution which, in the particular
+part of the middle west where he was born, was called the state
+university, he did not believe, as young graduates are reputed to,
+that he had conquered the world and had only to come into his kingdom.
+He knew that the battle of life was, in reality, just beginning and,
+with a common sense unusual to his twenty-three years but born out of
+the exigencies of a none-too-easy life, he recognized that for him the
+battle would be harder than for his white comrades.
+
+Looking at his own position, he saw himself the member of a race
+dragged from complacent savagery into the very heat and turmoil of a
+civilization for which it was in nowise prepared; bowed beneath a yoke
+to which its shoulders were not fitted, and then, without warning,
+thrust forth into a freedom as absurd as it was startling and
+overwhelming. And yet, he felt, as most young men must feel, an
+individual strength that would exempt him from the workings of the
+general law. His outlook on life was calm and unfrightened. Because he
+knew the dangers that beset his way, he feared them less. He felt
+assured because with so clear an eye he saw the weak places in his
+armor which the world he was going to meet would attack, and these he
+was prepared to strengthen. Was it not the fault of youth and
+self-confessed weakness, he thought, to go into the world always
+thinking of it as a foe? Was not this great Cosmopolis, this dragon of
+a thousand talons kind as well as cruel? Had it not friends as well as
+enemies? Yes. That was it: the outlook of young men, of colored young
+men in particular, was all wrong,--they had gone at the world in the
+wrong spirit. They had looked upon it as a terrible foeman and forced
+it to be one. He would do it, oh, so differently. He would take the
+world as a friend. He would even take the old, old world under his
+wing.
+
+They sat in the room talking that night, he and Webb Davis and Charlie
+McLean. It was the last night they were to be together in so close a
+relation. The commencement was over. They had their sheepskins. They
+were pitched there on the bed very carelessly to be the important
+things they were,--the reward of four years digging in Greek and
+Mathematics.
+
+They had stayed after the exercises of the day just where they had
+first stopped. This was at McLean's rooms, dismantled and topsy-turvy
+with the business of packing. The pipes were going and the talk kept
+pace. Old men smoke slowly and in great whiffs with long intervals of
+silence between their observations. Young men draw fast and say many
+and bright things, for young men are wise,--while they are young.
+
+"Now, it's just like this," Davis was saying to McLean, "Here we are,
+all three of us turned out into the world like a lot of little
+sparrows pitched out of the nest, and what are we going to do? Of
+course it's easy enough for you, McLean, but what are my grave friend
+with the nasty black briar, and I, your humble servant, to do? In what
+wilderness are we to pitch our tents and where is our manna coming
+from?"
+
+"Oh, well, the world owes us all a living," said McLean.
+
+"Hackneyed, but true. Of course it does; but every time a colored man
+goes around to collect, the world throws up its hands and yells
+'insolvent'--eh, Halliday?"
+
+Halliday took his pipe from his mouth as if he were going to say
+something. Then he put it back without speaking and looked
+meditatively through the blue smoke.
+
+"I'm right," Davis went on, "to begin with, we colored people haven't
+any show here. Now, if we could go to Central or South America, or
+some place like that,--but hang it all, who wants to go thousands of
+miles away from home to earn a little bread and butter?"
+
+"There's India and the young Englishmen, if I remember rightly," said
+McLean.
+
+"Oh, yes, that's all right, with the Cabots and Drake and Sir John
+Franklin behind them. Their traditions, their blood, all that they
+know makes them willing to go 'where there ain't no ten commandments
+and a man can raise a thirst,' but for me, home, if I can call it
+home."
+
+"Well, then, stick it out."
+
+"That's easy enough to say, McLean; but ten to one you've got some
+snap picked out for you already, now 'fess up, ain't you?"
+
+"Well, of course I'm going in with my father, I can't help that, but
+I've got--"
+
+"To be sure," broke in Davis, "you go in with your father. Well, if
+all I had to do was to step right out of college into my father's
+business with an assured salary, however small, I shouldn't be falling
+on my own neck and weeping to-night. But that's just the trouble with
+us; we haven't got fathers before us or behind us, if you'd rather."
+
+"More luck to you, you'll be a father before or behind some one else;
+you'll be an ancestor."
+
+"It's more profitable being a descendant, I find."
+
+A glow came into McLean's face and his eyes sparkled as he replied:
+"Why, man, if I could, I'd change places with you. You don't deserve
+your fate. What is before you? Hardships, perhaps, and long waiting.
+But then, you have the zest of the fight, the joy of the action and
+the chance of conquering. Now what is before me,--me, whom you are
+envying? I go out of here into a dull counting-room. The way is
+prepared for me. Perhaps I shall have no hardships, but neither have I
+the joy that comes from pains endured. Perhaps I shall have no battle,
+but even so, I lose the pleasure of the fight and the glory of
+winning. Your fate is infinitely to be preferred to mine."
+
+"Ah, now you talk with the voluminous voice of the centuries,"
+bantered Davis. "You are but echoing the breath of your Nelsons, your
+Cabots, your Drakes and your Franklins. Why, can't you see, you
+sentimental idiot, that it's all different and has to be different
+with us? The Anglo-Saxon race has been producing that fine frenzy in
+you for seven centuries and more. You come, with the blood of
+merchants, pioneers and heroes in your veins, to a normal battle. But
+for me, my forebears were savages two hundred years ago. My people
+learn to know civilization by the lowest and most degrading contact
+with it, and thus equipped or unequipped I tempt, an abnormal contest.
+Can't you see the disproportion?"
+
+"If I do, I can also see the advantage of it."
+
+"For the sake of common sense, Halliday," said Davis, turning to his
+companion, "don't sit there like a clam; open up and say something to
+convince this Don Quixote who, because he himself, sees only
+windmills, cannot be persuaded that we have real dragons to fight."
+
+"Do you fellows know Henley?" asked Halliday, with apparent
+irrelevance.
+
+"I know him as a critic," said McLean.
+
+"I know him as a name," echoed the worldly Davis, "but--"
+
+"I mean his poems," resumed Halliday, "he is the most virile of the
+present-day poets. Kipling is virile, but he gives you the man in hot
+blood with the brute in him to the fore; but the strong masculinity of
+Henley is essentially intellectual. It is the mind that is conquering
+always."
+
+"Well, now that you have settled the relative place in English letters
+of Kipling and Henley, might I be allowed humbly to ask what in the
+name of all that is good has that to do with the question before the
+house?"
+
+"I don't know your man's poetry," said McLean, "but I do believe that
+I can see what you are driving at."
+
+"Wonderful perspicacity, oh, youth!"
+
+"If Webb will agree not to run, I'll spring on you the poem that seems
+to me to strike the keynote of the matter in hand."
+
+"Oh, well, curiosity will keep me. I want to get your position, and I
+want to see McLean annihilated."
+
+In a low, even tone, but without attempt at dramatic effect, Halliday
+began to recite:
+
+    "Out of the night that covers me,
+        Black as the pit from pole to pole,
+    I thank whatever gods there be
+        For my unconquerable soul!
+
+    "In the fell clutch of circumstance,
+        I have not winced nor cried aloud.
+    Under the bludgeonings of chance,
+        My head is bloody, but unbowed.
+
+    "Beyond this place of wrath and tears
+        Looms but the horror of the shade,
+    And yet the menace of the years
+        Finds, and shall find me unafraid.
+
+    "It matters not how strait the gate,
+        How charged with punishments the scroll,
+    I am the master of my fate,
+        I am the captain of my soul."
+
+"That's it," exclaimed McLean, leaping to his feet, "that's what I
+mean. That's the sort of a stand for a man to take."
+
+Davis rose and knocked the ashes from his pipe against the
+window-sill. "Well, for two poetry-spouting, poetry-consuming,
+sentimental idiots, commend me to you fellows. Master of my fate,
+captain of my soul, be dashed! Old Jujube, with his bone-pointed
+hunting spear, began determining a couple of hundred years ago what I
+should be in this year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and
+ninety-four. J. Webb Davis, senior, added another brick to this
+structure, when he was picking cotton on his master's plantation forty
+years ago."
+
+"And now," said Halliday, also rising, "don't you think it fair that
+you should start out with the idea of adding a few bricks of your own,
+and all of a better make than those of your remote ancestor, Jujube,
+or that nearer one, your father?"
+
+"Spoken like a man," said McLean.
+
+"Oh, you two are so hopelessly young," laughed Davis.
+
+
+PART II
+
+
+After the two weeks' rest which he thought he needed, and consequently
+promised himself, Halliday began to look about him for some means of
+making a start for that success in life which he felt so sure of
+winning.
+
+With this end in view he returned to the town where he was born. He
+had settled upon the law as a profession, and had studied it for a
+year or two while at college. He would go back to Broughton now to
+pursue his studies, but of course, he needed money. No difficulty,
+however, presented itself in the getting of this for he knew several
+fellows who had been able to go into offices, and by collecting and
+similar duties make something while they studied. Webb Davis would
+have said, "but they were white," but Halliday knew what his own reply
+would have been: "What a white man can do, I can do."
+
+Even if he could not go to studying at once, he could go to work and
+save enough money to go on with his course in a year or two. He had
+lots of time before him, and he only needed a little start. What
+better place then, to go to than Broughton, where he had first seen
+the light? Broughton, that had known him, boy and man. Broughton that
+had watched him through the common school and the high school, and had
+seen him go off to college with some pride and a good deal of
+curiosity. For even in middle west towns of such a size, that is,
+between seventy and eighty thousand souls, a "smart negro" was still a
+freak.
+
+So Halliday went back home because the people knew him there and would
+respect his struggles and encourage his ambitions.
+
+He had been home two days, and the old town had begun to take on its
+remembered aspect as he wandered through the streets and along the
+river banks. On this second day he was going up Main street deep in a
+brown study when he heard his name called by a young man who was
+approaching him, and saw an outstretched hand.
+
+"Why, how de do, Bert, how are you? Glad to see you back. I hear you
+have been astonishing them up at college."
+
+Halliday's reverie had been so suddenly broken into that for a moment,
+the young fellow's identity wavered elusively before his mind and then
+it materialized, and his consciousness took hold of it. He remembered
+him, not as an intimate, but as an acquaintance whom he had often met
+upon the football and baseball fields.
+
+"How do you do? It's Bob Dickson," he said, shaking the proffered
+hand, which at the mention of the name, had grown unaccountably cold
+in his grasp.
+
+"Yes, I'm Mr. Dickson," said the young man, patronizingly. "You seem
+to have developed wonderfully, you hardly seem like the same Bert
+Halliday I used to know."
+
+"Yes, but I'm the same Mr. Halliday."
+
+"Oh--ah--yes," said the young man, "well, I'm glad to have seen you.
+Ah--good-bye, Bert."
+
+"Good-bye, Bob."
+
+"Presumptuous darky!" murmured Mr. Dickson.
+
+"Insolent puppy!" said Mr. Halliday to himself.
+
+But the incident made no impression on his mind as bearing upon his
+status in the public eye. He only thought the fellow a cad, and went
+hopefully on. He was rather amused than otherwise. In this frame of
+mind, he turned into one of the large office-buildings that lined the
+street and made his way to a business suite over whose door was the
+inscription, "H.G. Featherton, Counsellor and Attorney-at-Law." Mr.
+Featherton had shown considerable interest in Bert in his school days,
+and he hoped much from him.
+
+As he entered the public office, a man sitting at the large desk in
+the centre of the room turned and faced him. He was a fair man of an
+indeterminate age, for you could not tell whether those were streaks
+of grey shining in his light hair, or only the glint which it took on
+in the sun. His face was dry, lean and intellectual. He smiled now
+and then, and his smile was like a flash of winter lightning, so cold
+and quick it was. It went as suddenly as it came, leaving the face as
+marbly cold and impassive as ever. He rose and extended his hand,
+"Why--why--ah--Bert, how de do, how are you?"
+
+"Very well, I thank you, Mr. Featherton."
+
+"Hum, I'm glad to see you back, sit down. Going to stay with us, you
+think?"
+
+"I'm not sure, Mr. Featherton; it all depends upon my getting
+something to do."
+
+"You want to go to work, do you? Hum, well, that's right. It's work
+makes the man. What do you propose to do, now since you've graduated?"
+
+Bert warmed at the evident interest of his old friend. "Well, in the
+first place, Mr. Featherton," he replied, "I must get to work and make
+some money. I have heard of fellows studying and supporting themselves
+at the same time, but I musn't expect too much. I'm going to study
+law."
+
+The attorney had schooled his face into hiding any emotion he might
+feel, and it did not betray him now. He only flashed one of his quick
+cold smiles and asked,
+
+"Don't you think you've taken rather a hard profession to get on in?"
+
+"No doubt. But anything I should take would be hard. It's just like
+this, Mr. Featherton," he went on, "I am willing to work and to work
+hard, and I am not looking for any snap."
+
+Mr. Featherton was so unresponsive to this outburst that Bert was
+ashamed of it the minute it left his lips. He wished this man would
+not be so cold and polite and he wished he would stop putting the ends
+of his white fingers together as carefully as if something depended
+upon it.
+
+"I say the law is a hard profession to get on in, and as a friend I
+say that it will be harder for you. Your people have not the money to
+spend in litigation of any kind."
+
+"I should not cater for the patronage of my own people alone."
+
+"Yes, but the time has not come when a white person will employ a
+colored attorney."
+
+"Do you mean to say that the prejudice here at home is such that if I
+were as competent as a white lawyer a white person would not employ
+me?"
+
+"I say nothing about prejudice at all. It's nature. They have their
+own lawyers; why should they go outside of their own to employ a
+colored man?"
+
+"But I am of their own. I am an American citizen, there should be no
+thought of color about it."
+
+"Oh, my boy, that theory is very nice, but State University democracy
+doesn't obtain in real life."
+
+"More's the pity, then, for real life."
+
+"Perhaps, but we must take things as we find them, not as we think
+they ought to be. You people are having and will have for the next ten
+or a dozen years the hardest fight of your lives. The sentiment of
+remorse and the desire for atoning which actuated so many white men to
+help negroes right after the war has passed off without being replaced
+by that sense of plain justice which gives a black man his due, not
+because of, nor in spite of, but without consideration of his color."
+
+"I wonder if it can be true, as my friend Davis says, that a colored
+man must do twice as much and twice as well as a white man before he
+can hope for even equal chances with him? That white mediocrity
+demands black genius to cope with it?"
+
+"I am afraid your friend has philosophized the situation about right."
+
+"Well, we have dealt in generalities," said Bert, smiling, "let us
+take up the particular and personal part of this matter. Is there any
+way you could help me to a situation?"
+
+"Well,--I should be glad to see you get on, Bert, but as you see, I
+have nothing in my office that you could do. Now, if you don't mind
+beginning at the bottom--"
+
+"That's just what I expected to do."
+
+"--Why I could speak to the head-waiter of the hotel where I stay.
+He's a very nice colored man and I have some influence with him. No
+doubt Charlie could give you a place."
+
+"But that's a work I abhor."
+
+"Yes, but you must begin at the bottom, you know. All young men must."
+
+"To be sure, but would you have recommended the same thing to your
+nephew on his leaving college?"
+
+"Ah--ah--that's different."
+
+"Yes," said Halliday, rising, "it is different. There's a different
+bottom at which black and white young men should begin, and by a
+logical sequence, a different top to which they should aspire.
+However, Mr. Featherton, I'll ask you to hold your offer in abeyance.
+If I can find nothing else, I'll ask you to speak to the head-waiter.
+Good-morning."
+
+"I'll do so with pleasure," said Mr. Featherton, "and good-morning."
+
+As the young man went up the street, an announcement card in the
+window of a publishing house caught his eye. It was the announcement
+of the next Sunday's number in a series of addresses which the local
+business men were giving before the Y.M.C.A. It read, "'How a
+Christian young man can get on in the law'--an address by a Christian
+lawyer--H.G. Featherton."
+
+Bert laughed. "I should like to hear that address," he said. "I wonder
+if he'll recommend them to his head-waiter. No, 'that's different.'
+All the addresses and all the books written on how to get on, are
+written for white men. We blacks must solve the question for
+ourselves."
+
+He had lost some of the ardor with which he had started out but he was
+still full of hope. He refused to accept Mr. Featherton's point of
+view as general or final. So he hailed a passing car that in the
+course of a half hour set him down at the door of the great factory
+which, with its improvements, its army of clerks and employees, had
+built up one whole section of the town. He felt especially hopeful in
+attacking this citadel, because they were constantly advertising for
+clerks and their placards plainly stated that preference would be
+given to graduates of the local high school. The owners were
+philanthropists in their way. Well, what better chance could there be
+before him? He had graduated there and stood well in his classes, and
+besides, he knew that a number of his classmates were holding good
+positions in the factory. So his voice was cheerful as he asked to see
+Mr. Stockard, who had charge of the clerical department.
+
+Mr. Stockard was a fat, wheezy young man, with a reputation for humor
+based entirely upon his size and his rubicund face, for he had really
+never said anything humorous in his life. He came panting into the
+room now with a "Well, what can I do for you?"
+
+"I wanted to see you about a situation"--began Halliday.
+
+"Oh, no, no, you don't want to see me," broke in Stockard, "you want
+to see the head janitor."
+
+"But I don't want to see the head janitor. I want to see the head of
+the clerical department."
+
+"You want to see the head of the clerical department!"
+
+"Yes, sir, I see you are advertising for clerks with preference given
+to the high school boys. Well, I am an old high school boy, but have
+been away for a few years at college."
+
+Mr. Stockard opened his eyes to their widest extent, and his jaw
+dropped. Evidently he had never come across such presumption before.
+
+"We have nothing for you," he wheezed after awhile.
+
+"Very well, I should be glad to drop in again and see you," said
+Halliday, moving to the door. "I hope you will remember me if anything
+opens."
+
+Mr. Stockard did not reply to this or to Bert's good-bye. He stood in
+the middle of the floor and stared at the door through which the
+colored man had gone, then he dropped into a chair with a gasp.
+
+"Well, I'm dumbed!" he said.
+
+A doubt had begun to arise in Bertram Halliday's mind that turned him
+cold and then hot with a burning indignation. He could try nothing
+more that morning. It had brought him nothing but rebuffs. He
+hastened home and threw himself down on the sofa to try and think out
+his situation.
+
+"Do they still require of us bricks without straw? I thought all that
+was over. Well, I suspect that I will have to ask Mr. Featherton to
+speak to his head-waiter in my behalf. I wonder if the head-waiter
+will demand my diploma. Webb Davis, you were nearer right than I
+thought."
+
+He spent the day in the house thinking and planning.
+
+
+PART III
+
+
+Halliday was not a man to be discouraged easily, and for the next few
+weeks he kept up an unflagging search for work. He found that there
+were more Feathertons and Stockards than he had ever looked to find.
+Everywhere that he turned his face, anything but the most menial work
+was denied him. He thought once of going away from Broughton, but
+would he find it any better anywhere else, he asked himself? He
+determined to stay and fight it out there for two reasons. First,
+because he held that it would be cowardice to run away, and secondly,
+because he felt that he was not fighting a local disease, but was
+bringing the force of his life to bear upon a national evil. Broughton
+was as good a place to begin curative measures as elsewhere.
+
+There was one refuge which was open to him, and which he fought
+against with all his might. For years now, from as far back as he
+could remember, the colored graduates had "gone South to teach." This
+course was now recommended to him. Indeed, his own family quite
+approved of it, and when he still stood out against the scheme, people
+began to say that Bertram Halliday did not want work; he wanted to be
+a gentleman.
+
+But Halliday knew that the South had plenty of material, and year by
+year was raising and training her own teachers. He knew that the time
+would come, if it were not present when it would be impossible to go
+South to teach, and he felt it to be essential that the North should
+be trained in a manner looking to the employment of her own negroes.
+So he stayed. But he was only human, and when the tide of talk anent
+his indolence began to ebb and flow about him, he availed himself of
+the only expedient that could arrest it.
+
+When he went back to the great factory where he had seen and talked
+with Mr. Stockard, he went around to another door and this time asked
+for the head janitor. This individual, a genial Irishman, took stock
+of Halliday at a glance.
+
+"But what do ye want to be doin' sich wurruk for, whin ye've been
+through school?" he asked.
+
+"I am doing the only thing I can get to do," was the answer.
+
+"Well," said the Irishman, "ye've got sinse, anyhow."
+
+Bert found himself employed as an under janitor at the factory at a
+wage of nine dollars a week. At this, he could pay his share to keep
+the house going, and save a little for the period of study he still
+looked forward to. The people who had accused him of laziness now made
+a martyr of him, and said what a pity it was for a man with such an
+education and with so much talent to be so employed menially.
+
+He did not neglect his studies, but read at night, whenever the day's
+work had not made both brain and body too weary for the task.
+
+In this way his life went along for over a year when one morning a
+note from Mr. Featherton summoned him to that gentleman's office. It
+is true that Halliday read the note with some trepidation. His bitter
+experience had not yet taught him how not to dream. He was not yet old
+enough for that. "Maybe," he thought, "Mr. Featherton has relented,
+and is going to give me a chance anyway. Or perhaps he wanted me to
+prove my metal before he consented to take me up. Well, I've tried to
+do it, and if that's what he wanted, I hope he's satisfied." The note
+which seemed written all over with joyful tidings shook in his hand.
+
+The genial manner with which Mr. Featherton met him reaffirmed in his
+mind the belief that at last the lawyer had determined to give him a
+chance. He was almost deferential as he asked Bert into his private
+office, and shoved a chair forward for him.
+
+"Well, you've been getting on, I see," he began.
+
+"Oh, yes," replied Bert, "I have been getting on by hook and crook."
+
+"Hum, done any studying lately?"
+
+"Yes, but not as much as I wish to. Coke and Wharton aren't any
+clearer to a head grown dizzy with bending over mops, brooms and
+heavy trucks all day."
+
+"No, I should think not. Ah--oh--well, Bert, how should you like to
+come into my office and help around, do such errands as I need and
+help copy my papers?"
+
+"I should be delighted."
+
+"It would only pay you five dollars a week, less than what you are
+getting now, I suppose, but it will be more genteel."
+
+"Oh, now, that I have had to do it, I don't care so much about the
+lack of gentility of my present work, but I prefer what you offer
+because I shall have a greater chance to study."
+
+"Well, then, you may as well come in on Monday. The office will be
+often in your charge, as I am going to be away a great deal in the
+next few months. You know I am going to make the fight for nomination
+to the seat on the bench which is vacant this fall."
+
+"Indeed. I have not so far taken much interest in politics, but I will
+do all in my power to help you with both nomination and election."
+
+"Thank you," said Mr. Featherton, "I am sure you can be of great
+service to me as the vote of your people is pretty heavy in Broughton.
+I have always been a friend to them, and I believe I can depend upon
+their support. I shall be glad of any good you can do me with them."
+
+Bert laughed when he was out on the street again. "For value
+received," he said. He thought less of Mr. Featherton's generosity
+since he saw it was actuated by self-interest alone, but that in no
+wise destroyed the real worth of the opportunity that was now given
+into his hands. Featherton, he believed, would make an excellent
+judge, and he was glad that in working for his nomination his
+convictions so aptly fell in with his inclinations.
+
+His work at the factory had put him in touch with a larger number of
+his people than he could have possibly met had he gone into the office
+at once. Over them, his naturally bright mind exerted some influence.
+As a simple laborer he had fellowshipped with them but they
+acknowledged and availed themselves of his leadership, because they
+felt instinctively in him a power which they did not have. Among them
+now he worked sedulously. He held that the greater part of the battle
+would be in the primaries, and on the night when they convened, he had
+his friends out in force in every ward which went to make up the
+third judicial district. Men who had never seen the inside of a
+primary meeting before were there actively engaged in this.
+
+The _Diurnal_ said next morning that the active interest of the
+hard-working, church-going colored voters, who wanted to see a
+Christian judge on the bench had had much to do with the nomination of
+Mr. Featherton.
+
+The success at the primaries did not tempt Halliday to relinquish his
+efforts on his employer's behalf. He was indefatigable in his cause.
+On the west side where the colored population had largely colonized,
+he made speeches and held meetings clear up to election day. The fight
+had been between two factions of the party and after the nomination it
+was feared that the defection of the part defeated in the primaries
+might prevent the ratification of the nominee at the polls. But before
+the contest was half over all fears for him were laid. What he had
+lost in the districts where the skulking faction was strong, he made
+up in the wards where the colored vote was large. He was
+overwhelmingly elected.
+
+Halliday smiled as he sat in the office and heard the congratulations
+poured in upon Judge Featherton.
+
+"Well, it's wonderful," said one of his visitors, "how the colored
+boys stood by you."
+
+"Yes, I have been a friend to the colored people, and they know it,"
+said Featherton.
+
+It would be some months before His Honor would take his seat on the
+bench, and during that time, Halliday hoped to finish his office
+course.
+
+He was surprised when Featherton came to him a couple of weeks after
+the election and said, "Well, Bert, I guess I can get along now. I'll
+be shutting up this office pretty soon. Here are your wages and here
+is a little gift I wish to add out of respect to you for your kindness
+during my run for office."
+
+Bert took the wages, but the added ten dollar note he waved aside.
+"No, I thank you, Mr. Featherton," he said, "what I did, I did from a
+belief in your fitness for the place, and out of loyalty to my
+employer. I don't want any money for it."
+
+"Then let us say that I have raised your wages to this amount."
+
+"No, that would only be evasion. I want no more than you promised to
+give me."
+
+"Very well, then accept my thanks, anyway."
+
+What things he had at the office Halliday took away that night. A
+couple of days later he remembered a book which he had failed to get
+and returned for it. The office was as usual. Mr. Featherton was a
+little embarrassed and nervous. At Halliday's desk sat a young white
+man about his own age. He was copying a deed for Mr. Featherton.
+
+
+PARY IV
+
+
+Bertram Halliday went home, burning with indignation at the treatment
+he had received at the hands of the Christian judge.
+
+"He has used me as a housemaid would use a lemon," he said, "squeezed
+all out of me he could get, and then flung me into the street. Well,
+Webb was nearer right than I thought."
+
+He was now out of everything. His place at the factory had been
+filled, and no new door opened to him. He knew what reward a search
+for work brought a man of his color in Broughton so he did not bestir
+himself to go over the old track again. He thanked his stars that he,
+at least, had money enough to carry him away from the place and he
+determined to go. His spirit was quelled, but not broken.
+
+Just before leaving, he wrote to Davis.
+
+"My dear Webb!" the letter ran, "you, after all, were right. We have
+little or no show in the fight for life among these people. I have
+struggled for two years here at Broughton, and now find myself back
+where I was when I first stepped out of school with a foolish faith in
+being equipped for something. One thing, my eyes have been opened
+anyway, and I no longer judge so harshly the shiftless and unambitious
+among my people. I hardly see how a people, who have so much to
+contend with and so little to hope for, can go on striving and
+aspiring. But the very fact that they do, breeds in me a respect for
+them. I now see why so many promising young men, class orators,
+valedictorians and the like fall by the wayside and are never heard
+from after commencement day. I now see why the sleeping and dining-car
+companies are supplied by men with better educations than half the
+passengers whom they serve. They get tired of swimming always against
+the tide, as who would not? and are content to drift.
+
+"I know that a good many of my friends would say that I am whining.
+Well, suppose I am, that's the business of a whipped cur. The dog on
+top can bark, but the under dog must howl.
+
+"Nothing so breaks a man's spirit as defeat, constant, unaltering,
+hopeless defeat. That's what I've experienced. I am still studying law
+in a half-hearted way for I don't know what I am going to do with it
+when I have been admitted. Diplomas don't draw clients. We have been
+taught that merit wins. But I have learned that the adages, as well as
+the books and the formulas were made by and for others than us of the
+black race.
+
+"They say, too, that our brother Americans sympathize with us, and
+will help us when we help ourselves. Bah! The only sympathy that I
+have ever seen on the part of the white man was not for the negro
+himself, but for some portion of white blood that the colored man had
+got tangled up in his veins.
+
+"But there, perhaps my disappointment has made me sour, so think no
+more of what I have said. I am going now to do what I abhor. Going
+South to try to find a school. It's awful. But I don't want any one to
+pity me. There are several thousands of us in the same position.
+
+"I am glad you are prospering. You were better equipped than I was
+with a deal of materialism and a dearth of ideals. Give us a line when
+you are in good heart.
+
+    "Yours, HALLIDAY.
+
+"P.S.--Just as I finished writing I had a note from Judge Featherton
+offering me the court messengership at five dollars a week. I am
+twenty-five. The place was held before by a white boy of fifteen. I
+declined. 'Southward Ho!'"
+
+Davis was not without sympathy as he read his friend's letter in a
+city some distance away. He had worked in a hotel, saved money enough
+to start a barber-shop and was prospering. His white customers joked
+with him and patted him on the back, and he was already known to have
+political influence. Yes, he sympathized with Bert, but he laughed
+over the letter and jingled the coins in his pockets.
+
+"Thank heaven," he said, "that I have no ideals to be knocked into a
+cocked hat. A colored man has no business with ideals--not in _this_
+nineteenth century!"
+
+
+
+
+JIM'S PROBATION
+
+
+For so long a time had Jim been known as the hardest sinner on the
+plantation that no one had tried to reach the heart under his outward
+shell even in camp-meeting and revival times. Even good old Brother
+Parker, who was ever looking after the lost and straying sheep, gave
+him up as beyond recall.
+
+"Dat Jim," he said, "Oomph, de debbil done got his stamp on dat boy,
+an' dey ain' no use in tryin' to scratch hit off."
+
+"But Parker," said his master, "that's the very sort of man you want
+to save. Don't you know it's your business as a man of the gospel to
+call sinners to repentance?"
+
+"Lawd, Mas' Mordaunt," exclaimed the old man, "my v'ice done got
+hoa'se callin' Jim, too long ergo to talk erbout. You jes' got to let
+him go 'long, maybe some o' dese days he gwine slip up on de gospel
+an' fall plum' inter salvation."
+
+Even Mandy, Jim's wife, had attempted to urge the old man to some more
+active efforts in her husband's behalf. She was a pillar of the
+church herself, and was woefully disturbed about the condition of
+Jim's soul. Indeed, it was said that half of the time it was Mandy's
+prayers and exhortations that drove Jim into the woods with his dog
+and his axe, or an old gun that he had come into possession of from
+one of the younger Mordaunts.
+
+Jim was unregenerate. He was a fighter, a hard drinker, fiddled on
+Sunday, and had been known to go out hunting on that sacred day. So it
+startled the whole place when Mandy announced one day to a few of her
+intimate friends that she believed "Jim was under conviction." He had
+stolen out hunting one Sunday night and in passing through the swamp
+had gotten himself thoroughly wet and chilled, and this had brought on
+an attack of acute rheumatism, which Mandy had pointed out to him as a
+direct judgment of heaven. Jim scoffed at first, but Mandy grew more
+and more earnest, and finally, with the racking of the pain, he waxed
+serious and determined to look to the state of his soul as a means to
+the good of his body.
+
+"Hit do seem," Mandy said, "dat Jim feel de weight o' his sins mos'
+powahful."
+
+"I reckon hit's de rheumatics," said Dinah.
+
+    [Illustration: JIM.]
+
+"Don' mek no diffunce what de inst'ument is," Mandy replied, "hit's de
+'sult, hit's de 'sult."
+
+When the news reached Stuart Mordaunt's ears he became intensely
+interested. Anything that would convert Jim, and make a model
+Christian of him would be providential on that plantation. It would
+save the overseers many an hour's worry; his horses, many a secret
+ride; and the other servants, many a broken head. So he again went
+down to labor with Parker in the interest of the sinner.
+
+"Is he mou'nin' yit?" said Parker.
+
+"No, not yet, but I think now is a good time to sow the seeds in his
+mind."
+
+"Oomph," said the old man, "reckon you bettah let Jim alone twell dem
+sins o' his'n git him to tossin' an' cryin' an' a mou'nin'. Den'll be
+time enough to strive wid him. I's allus willin' to do my pa't, Mas'
+Stuart, but w'en hit comes to ol' time sinnahs lak Jim, I believe in
+layin' off, an' lettin' de sperit do de strivin'."
+
+"But Parker," said his master, "you yourself know that the Bible says
+that the spirit will not always strive."
+
+"Well, la den, mas', you don' spec' I gwine outdo de sperit."
+
+But Stuart Mordaunt was particularly anxious that Jim's steps might be
+turned in the right direction. He knew just what a strong hold over
+their minds the Negroes' own emotional religion had, and he felt that
+could he once get Jim inside the pale of the church, and put him on
+guard of his salvation, it would mean the loss of fewer of his shoats
+and pullets. So he approached the old preacher, and said in a
+confidential tone.
+
+"Now look here, Parker, I've got a fine lot of that good old tobacco
+you like so up to the big house, and I'll tell you what I'll do. If
+you'll just try to work on Jim, and get his feet in the right path,
+you can come up and take all you want."
+
+"Oom-oomph," said the old man, "dat sho' is monst'ous fine terbaccer,
+Mas' Stua't."
+
+"Yes, it is, and you shall have all you want of it."
+
+"Well, I'll have a little wisit wid Jim, an' des' see how much he
+'fected, an' if dey any stroke to be put in fu' de gospel ahmy, you
+des' count on me ez a mighty strong wa'ior. Dat boy been layin' heavy
+on my mind fu' lo, dese many days."
+
+As a result of this agreement, the old man went down to Jim's cabin on
+a night when that interesting sinner was suffering particularly from
+his rheumatic pains.
+
+"Well, Jim," the preacher said, "how you come on?"
+
+"Po'ly, po'ly," said Jim, "I des' plum' racked an' 'stracted f'om haid
+to foot."
+
+"Uh, huh, hit do seem lak to me de Bible don' tell nuffin' else but de
+trufe."
+
+"What de Bible been sayin' now?" asked Jim suspiciously.
+
+"Des' what it been sayin' all de res' o' de time. 'Yo' sins will fin'
+you out'"
+
+Jim groaned and turned uneasily in his chair. The old man saw that he
+had made a point and pursued it.
+
+"Don' you reckon now, Jim, ef you was a bettah man dat you wouldn'
+suffah so?"
+
+"I do' know, I do' know nuffin' 'bout hit."
+
+"Now des' look at me. I ben a-trompin' erlong in dis low groun' o'
+sorrer fu' mo' den seventy yeahs, an' I hain't got a ache ner a pain.
+Nevah had no rheumatics in my life, an' yere you is, a young man, in a
+mannah o' speakin', all twinged up wid rheumatics. Now what dat p'int
+to? Hit mean de Lawd tek keer o' dem dat's his'n. Now Jim, you bettah
+come ovah on de Lawd's side, an' git erway f'om yo' ebil doin's."
+
+Jim groaned again, and lifted his swollen leg with an effort just as
+Brother Parker said, "Let us pray."
+
+The prayer itself was less effective than the request was just at that
+time for Jim was so stiff that it made him fairly howl with pain to
+get down on his knees. The old man's supplication was loud, deep, and
+diplomatic, and when they arose from their knees there were tears in
+Jim's eyes, but whether from cramp or contrition it is not safe to
+say. But a day or two after, the visit bore fruit in the appearance of
+Jim at meeting where he sat on one of the very last benches, his
+shoulders hunched, and his head bowed, unmistakable signs of the
+convicted sinner.
+
+The usual term of mourning passed, and Jim was converted, much to
+Mandy's joy, and Brother Parker's delight. The old man called early on
+his master after the meeting, and announced the success of his labors.
+Stuart Mordaunt himself was no less pleased than the preacher. He
+shook Parker warmly by the hand, patted him on the shoulder, and
+called him a "sly old fox." And then he took him to the cupboard, and
+gave him of his store of good tobacco, enough to last him for months.
+Something else, too, he must have given him, for the old man came away
+from the cupboard grinning broadly, and ostentatiously wiping his
+mouth with the back of his hand.
+
+"Great work you've done, Parker, a great work."
+
+"Yes, yes, Mas'," grinned the old man, "now ef Jim can des' stan' out
+his p'obation, hit'll be montrous fine."
+
+"His probation!" exclaimed the master.
+
+"Oh yes suh, yes suh, we has all de young convu'ts stan' a p'obation
+o' six months, fo' we teks 'em reg'lar inter de chu'ch. Now ef Jim
+will des' stan' strong in de faif--"
+
+"Parker," said Mordaunt, "you're an old wretch, and I've got a mind to
+take every bit of that tobacco away from you. No. I'll tell you what
+I'll do."
+
+He went back to the cupboard and got as much again as he had given
+Parker, and handed it to him saying,
+
+"I think it will be better for all concerned if Jim's probation only
+lasts two months. Get him into the fold, Parker, get him into the
+fold!" And he shoved the ancient exhorter out of the door.
+
+It grieved Jim that he could not go 'possum hunting on Sundays any
+more, but shortly after he got religion, his rheumatism seemed to take
+a turn for the better and he felt that the result was worth the
+sacrifice. But as the pain decreased in his legs and arms, the longing
+for his old wicked pleasures became stronger and stronger upon him
+though Mandy thought that he was living out the period of his
+probation in the most exemplary manner, and inwardly rejoiced.
+
+It was two weeks before he was to be regularly admitted to church
+fellowship. His industrious spouse had decked him out in a bleached
+cotton shirt in which to attend divine service. In the morning Jim was
+there. The sermon which Brother Parker preached was powerful, but
+somehow it failed to reach this new convert. His gaze roved out of the
+window toward the dark line of the woods beyond, where the frost still
+glistened on the trees and where he knew the persimmons were hanging
+ripe. Jim was present at the afternoon service also, for it was a
+great day; and again, he was preoccupied. He started and clasped his
+hands together until the bones cracked, when a dog barked somewhere
+out on the hill. The sun was going down over the tops of the woodland
+trees, throwing the forest into gloom, as they came out of the log
+meeting-house. Jim paused and looked lovingly at the scene, and sighed
+as he turned his steps back toward the cabin.
+
+That night Mandy went to church alone. Jim had disappeared. Nowhere
+around was his axe, and Spot, his dog, was gone. Mandy looked over
+toward the woods whose tops were feathered against the frosty sky, and
+away off, she heard a dog bark.
+
+Brother Parker was feeling his way home from meeting late that night,
+when all of a sudden, he came upon a man creeping toward the quarters.
+The man had an axe and a dog, and over his shoulders hung a bag in
+which the outlines of a 'possum could be seen.
+
+"Hi, oh, Brothah Jim, at it agin?"
+
+Jim did not reply. "Well, des' heish up an' go 'long. We got to mek
+some 'lowances fu' you young convu'ts. Wen you gwine cook dat 'possum,
+Brothah Jim?"
+
+"I do' know, Brothah Pahkah. He so po', I 'low I haveter keep him and
+fatten him fu' awhile."
+
+"Uh, huh! well, so long, Jim."
+
+"So long, Brothah Pahkah." Jim chuckled as he went away. "I 'low I
+fool dat ol' fox. Wanter come down an' eat up my one little 'possum,
+do he? huh, uh!"
+
+So that very night Jim scraped his possum, and hung it out-of-doors,
+and the next day, brown as the forest whence it came, it lay on a
+great platter on Jim's table. It was a fat possum too. Jim had just
+whetted his knife, and Mandy had just finished the blessing when the
+latch was lifted and Brother Parker stepped in.
+
+"Hi, oh, Brothah Jim, I's des' in time."
+
+Jim sat with his mouth open. "Draw up a cheer, Brothah Pahkah," said
+Mandy. Her husband rose, and put his hand over the possum.
+
+"Wha--wha'd you come hyeah fu'?" he asked.
+
+"I thought I'd des' come in an' tek a bite wid you."
+
+"Ain' gwine tek no bite wid me," said Jim.
+
+"Heish," said Mandy, "wha' kin' o' way is dat to talk to de preachah?"
+
+"Preachah er no preachah, you hyeah what I say," and he took the
+possum, and put it on the highest shelf.
+
+"Wha's de mattah wid you, Jim; dat's one o' de' 'quiahments o' de
+chu'ch."
+
+The angry man turned to the preacher.
+
+"Is it one o' de 'quiahments o' de chu'ch dat you eat hyeah
+ter-night?"
+
+"Hit sholy am usual fu' de shepherd to sup wherevah he stop," said
+Parker suavely.
+
+"Ve'y well, ve'y well," said Jim, "I wants you to know dat I 'specs to
+stay out o' yo' chu'ch. I's got two weeks mo' p'obation. You tek hit
+back, an' gin hit to de nex' niggah you ketches wid a 'possum."
+
+Mandy was horrified. The preacher looked longingly at the possum, and
+took up his hat to go.
+
+There were two disappointed men on the plantation when he told his
+master the next day the outcome of Jim's probation.
+
+
+
+
+UNCLE SIMON'S SUNDAYS OUT
+
+
+Mr. Marston sat upon his wide veranda in the cool of the summer
+Sabbath morning. His hat was off, the soft breeze was playing with his
+brown hair, and a fragrant cigar was rolled lazily between his lips.
+He was taking his ease after the fashion of a true gentleman. But his
+eyes roamed widely, and his glance rested now on the blue-green sweep
+of the great lawn, again on the bright blades of the growing corn, and
+anon on the waving fields of tobacco, and he sighed a sigh of
+ineffable content. The breath had hardly died on his lips when the
+figure of an old man appeared before him, and, hat in hand, shuffled
+up the wide steps of the porch.
+
+It was a funny old figure, stooped and so one-sided that the tail of
+the long and shabby coat he wore dragged on the ground. The face was
+black and shrewd, and little patches of snow-white hair fringed the
+shiny pate.
+
+"Good-morning, Uncle Simon," said Mr. Marston, heartily.
+
+"Mornin' Mas' Gawge. How you come on?"
+
+"I'm first-rate. How are you? How are your rheumatics coming on?"
+
+"Oh, my, dey's mos' nigh well. Dey don' trouble me no mo'!"
+
+"Most nigh well, don't trouble you any more?"
+
+"Dat is none to speak of."
+
+"Why, Uncle Simon, who ever heard tell of a man being cured of his
+aches and pains at your age?"
+
+"I ain' so powahful ol', Mas', I ain' so powahful ol'."
+
+"You're not so powerful old! Why, Uncle Simon, what's taken hold of
+you? You're eighty if a day."
+
+"Sh--sh, talk dat kin' o' low, Mastah, don' 'spress yo'se'f so loud!"
+and the old man looked fearfully around as if he feared some one might
+hear the words.
+
+The master fell back in his seat in utter surprise.
+
+"And, why, I should like to know, may I not speak of your age aloud?"
+
+Uncle Simon showed his two or three remaining teeth in a broad grin as
+he answered:
+
+"Well, Mastah, I's 'fraid ol' man Time mought hyeah you an' t'ink he
+done let me run too long." He chuckled, and his master joined him with
+a merry peal of laughter.
+
+"All right, then, Simon," he said, "I'll try not to give away any of
+your secrets to old man Time. But isn't your age written down
+somewhere?"
+
+"I reckon it's in dat ol' Bible yo' pa gin me."
+
+"Oh, let it alone then, even Time won't find it there."
+
+The old man shifted the weight of his body from one leg to the other
+and stood embarrassedly twirling his ancient hat in his hands. There
+was evidently something more that he wanted to say. He had not come to
+exchange commonplaces with his master about age or its ailments.
+
+"Well, what is it now, Uncle Simon?" the master asked, heeding the
+servant's embarrassment, "I know you've come up to ask or tell me
+something. Have any of your converts been backsliding, or has Buck
+been misbehaving again?"
+
+"No, suh, de converts all seem to be stan'in' strong in de faif, and
+Buck, he actin' right good now."
+
+"Doesn't Lize bring your meals regular, and cook them good?"
+
+"Oh, yes, suh, Lize ain' done nuffin'. Dey ain' nuffin' de mattah at
+de quahtahs, nuffin' 't'al."
+
+"Well, what on earth then--"
+
+"Hol' on, Mas', hol' on! I done tol' you dey ain' nuffin' de mattah
+'mong de people, an' I ain' come to 'plain 'bout nuffin'; but--but--I
+wants to speak to you 'bout somefin' mighty partic'ler."
+
+"Well, go on, because it will soon be time for you to be getting down
+to the meeting-house to exhort the hands."
+
+"Dat's jes' what I want to speak 'bout, dat 'zortin'."
+
+"Well, you've been doing it for a good many years now."
+
+"Dat's de very idee, dat's in my haid now. Mas' Gawge, huccume you
+read me so nigh right?"
+
+"Oh, that's not reading anything, that's just truth. But what do you
+mean, Uncle Simon, you don't mean to say that you want to resign. Why
+what would your old wife think if she was living?"
+
+"No, no, Mas' Gawge, I don't ezzactly want to 'sign, but I'd jes' lak
+to have a few Sundays off."
+
+"A few Sundays off! Well, now, I do believe that you are crazy. What
+on earth put that into your head?"
+
+"Nuffin', Mas' Gawge, I wants to be away f'om my Sabbaf labohs fu' a
+little while, dat's all."
+
+"Why, what are the hands going to do for some one to exhort them on
+Sunday. You know they've got to shout or burst, and it used to be your
+delight to get them stirred up until all the back field was ringing."
+
+"I do' say dat I ain' gwine try an' do dat some mo', Mastah, min' I
+do' say dat. But in de mean time I's got somebody else to tek my
+place, one dat I trained up in de wo'k right undah my own han'. Mebbe
+he ain' endowed wif de sperrit as I is, all men cain't be gifted de
+same way, but dey ain't no sputin' he is powahful. Why, he can handle
+de Scriptures wif bof han's, an' you kin hyeah him prayin' fu' two
+miles."
+
+"And you want to put this wonder in your place?"
+
+"Yes, suh, fu' a while, anyhow."
+
+"Uncle Simon, aren't you losing your religion?"
+
+"Losin' my u'ligion? Who, me losin' my u'ligion! No, suh."
+
+"Well, aren't you afraid you'll lose it on the Sundays that you spend
+out of your meeting-house?"
+
+"Now, Mas' Gawge, you a white man, an' you my mastah, an' you got
+larnin'. But what kin' o' argyment is dat? Is dat good jedgment?"
+
+"Well, now if it isn't, you show me why, you're a logician." There was
+a twinkle in the eye of George Marston as he spoke.
+
+"No, I ain' no 'gician, Mastah," the old man contended. "But what kin'
+o' u'ligion you spec' I got anyhow? Hyeah me been sto'in' it up fu'
+lo, dese many yeahs an' ain' got enough to las' ovah a few Sundays.
+What kin' o' u'ligion is dat?"
+
+The master laughed, "I believe you've got me there, Uncle Simon; well
+go along, but see that your flock is well tended."
+
+"Thanky, Mas' Gawge, thanky. I'll put a shepherd in my place dat'll
+put de food down so low dat de littles' lambs kin enjoy it, but'll mek
+it strong enough fu' de oldes' ewes." And with a profound bow the old
+man went down the steps and hobbled away.
+
+As soon as Uncle Simon was out of sight, George Marston threw back his
+head and gave a long shout of laughter.
+
+"I wonder," he mused, "what crotchet that old darkey has got into his
+head now. He comes with all the air of a white divine to ask for a
+vacation. Well, I reckon he deserves it. He had me on the religious
+argument, too. He's got his grace stored." And another peal of her
+husband's laughter brought Mrs. Marston from the house.
+
+"George, George, what is the matter. What amuses you so that you
+forget that this is the Sabbath day?"
+
+"Oh, don't talk to me about Sunday any more, when it comes to the pass
+that the Reverend Simon Marston wants a vacation. It seems that the
+cares of his parish have been too pressing upon him and he wishes to
+be away for some time. He does not say whether he will visit Europe or
+the Holy Land, however, we shall expect him to come back with much new
+and interesting material for the edification of his numerous
+congregation."
+
+"I wish you would tell me what you mean by all this."
+
+Thus adjured, George Marston curbed his amusement long enough to
+recount to his wife the particulars of his interview with Uncle Simon.
+
+"Well, well, and you carry on so, only because one of the servants
+wishes his Sundays to himself for awhile? Shame on you!"
+
+"Mrs. Marston," said her husband, solemnly, "you are
+hopeless--positively, undeniably, hopeless. I do not object to your
+failing to see the humor in the situation, for you are a woman; but
+that you should not be curious as to the motives which actuate Uncle
+Simon, that you should be unmoved by a burning desire to know why this
+staunch old servant who has for so many years pictured hell each
+Sunday to his fellow-servants should wish a vacation--that I can
+neither understand nor forgive."
+
+"Oh, I can see why easily enough, and so could you, if you were not so
+intent on laughing at everything. The poor old man is tired and wants
+rest, that's all." And Mrs. Marston turned into the house with a
+stately step, for she was a proud and dignified lady.
+
+"And that reason satisfies you? Ah, Mrs. Marston, Mrs. Marston, you
+discredit your sex!" her husband sighed, mockingly after her.
+
+There was perhaps some ground for George Marston's perplexity as to
+Uncle Simon's intentions. His request for "Sundays off" was so
+entirely out of the usual order of things. The old man, with the other
+servants on the plantation had been bequeathed to Marston by his
+father. Even then, Uncle Simon was an old man, and for many years in
+the elder Marston's time had been the plantation exhorter. In this
+position he continued, and as his age increased, did little of
+anything else. He had a little log house built in a stretch of woods
+convenient to the quarters, where Sunday after Sunday he held forth to
+as many of the hands as could be encouraged to attend.
+
+With time, the importance of his situation grew upon him. He would
+have thought as soon of giving up his life as his pulpit to any one
+else. He was never absent a single meeting day in all that time.
+Sunday after Sunday he was in his place expounding his doctrine. He
+had grown officious, too, and if any of his congregation were away
+from service, Monday morning found him early at their cabins to find
+out the reason why.
+
+After a life, then, of such punctilious rigidity, it is no wonder that
+his master could not accept Mrs. Marston's simple excuse for Uncle
+Simon's dereliction, "that the old man needed rest." For the time
+being, the good lady might have her way, as all good ladies should,
+but as for him, he chose to watch and wait and speculate.
+
+Mrs. Marston, however, as well as her husband, was destined to hear
+more that day of Uncle Simon's strange move, for there was one other
+person on the place who was not satisfied with Uncle Simon's
+explanation of his conduct, and yet could not as easily as the
+mistress formulate an opinion of her own. This was Lize, who did about
+the quarters and cooked the meals of the older servants who were no
+longer in active service.
+
+It was just at the dinner hour that she came hurrying up to the "big
+house," and with the freedom of an old and privileged retainer went
+directly to the dining-room.
+
+"Look hyeah, Mis' M'ree," she exclaimed, without the formality of
+prefacing her remarks, "I wants to know whut's de mattah wif Brothah
+Simon--what mek him ac' de way he do?"
+
+"Why, I do not know, Eliza, what has Uncle Simon been doing?"
+
+"Why, some o' you all mus' know, lessn' he couldn' 'a' done hit. Ain'
+he ax you nuffin', Marse Gawge?"
+
+"Yes, he did have some talk with me."
+
+"Some talk! I reckon he did have some talk wif somebody!"
+
+"Tell us, Lize," Mr. Marston said, "what has Uncle Simon done?"
+
+"He done brung somebody else, dat young Merrit darky, to oc'py his
+pu'pit. He in'juce him, an' 'en he say dat he gwine be absent a few
+Sundays, an' 'en he tek hissef off, outen de chu'ch, widout even
+waitin' fu' de sehmont."
+
+"Well, didn't you have a good sermon?"
+
+"It mought 'a' been a good sehmont, but dat ain' whut I ax you. I want
+to know whut de mattah wif Brothah Simon."
+
+"Why, he told me that the man he put over you was one of the most
+powerful kind, warranted to make you shout until the last bench was
+turned over."
+
+"Oh, some o' dem, dey shouted enough, dey shouted dey fill. But dat
+ain' whut I's drivin' at yit. Whut I wan' 'o know, whut mek Brothah
+Simon do dat?"
+
+"Well, I'll tell you, Lize," Marston began, but his wife cut him off.
+
+"Now, George," she said, "you shall not trifle with Eliza in that
+manner." Then turning to the old servant, she said: "Eliza, it means
+nothing. Do not trouble yourself about it. You know Uncle Simon is
+old; he has been exhorting for you now for many years, and he needs a
+little rest these Sundays. It is getting toward midsummer, and it is
+warm and wearing work to preach as Uncle Simon does."
+
+Lize stood still, with an incredulous and unsatisfied look on her
+face. After a while she said, dubiously shaking her head:
+
+"Huh uh! Miss M'ree, dat may 'splain t'ings to you, but hit ain' mek
+'em light to me yit."
+
+"Now, Mrs. Marston"--began her husband, chuckling.
+
+"Hush, I tell you, George. It's really just as I tell you, Eliza, the
+old man is tired and needs rest!"
+
+Again the old woman shook her head, "Huh uh," she said, "ef you'd' a'
+seen him gwine lickety split outen de meetin'-house you wouldn' a
+thought he was so tiahed."
+
+Marston laughed loud and long at this. "Well, Mrs. Marston," he
+bantered, "even Lize is showing a keener perception of the fitness of
+things than you."
+
+"There are some things I can afford to be excelled in by my husband
+and my servants. For my part, I have no suspicion of Uncle Simon, and
+no concern about him either one way or the other."
+
+"'Scuse me, Miss M'ree," said Lize, "I didn' mean no ha'm to you, but
+I ain' a trustin' ol' Brothah Simon, I tell you."
+
+"I'm not blaming you, Eliza; you are sensible as far as you know."
+
+"Ahem," said Mr. Marston.
+
+Eliza went out mumbling to herself, and Mr. Marston confined his
+attentions to his dinner; he chuckled just once, but Mrs. Marston met
+his levity with something like a sniff.
+
+On the first two Sundays that Uncle Simon was away from his
+congregation nothing was known about his whereabouts. On the third
+Sunday he was reported to have been seen making his way toward the
+west plantation. Now what did this old man want there? The west
+plantation, so called, was a part of the Marston domain, but the land
+there was worked by a number of slaves which Mrs. Marston had brought
+with her from Louisiana, where she had given up her father's gorgeous
+home on the Bayou Lafourche, together with her proud name of Marie
+St. Pierre for George Marston's love. There had been so many
+bickerings between the Marston servants and the contingent from
+Louisiana that the two sets had been separated, the old remaining on
+the east side and the new ones going to the west. So, to those who had
+been born on the soil the name of the west plantation became a
+reproach. It was a synonym for all that was worldly, wicked and
+unregenerate. The east plantation did not visit with the west. The
+east gave a dance, the west did not attend. The Marstons and St.
+Pierres in black did not intermarry. If a Marston died, a St. Pierre
+did not sit up with him. And so the division had kept up for years.
+
+It was hardly to be believed then that Uncle Simon Marston, the very
+patriarch of the Marston flock, was visiting over the border. But on
+another Sunday he was seen to go straight to the west plantation.
+
+At her first opportunity Lize accosted him:--
+
+"Look a-hyeah, Brothah Simon, whut's dis I been hyeahin' 'bout you,
+huh?"
+
+"Well, sis' Lize, I reckon you'll have to tell me dat yo' se'f, 'case
+I do' know. Whut you been hyeahin'?"
+
+"Brothah Simon, you's a ol' man, you's ol'."
+
+"Well, sis' Lize, dah was Methusalem."
+
+"I ain' jokin', Brothah Simon, I ain' jokin', I's a talkin' right
+straightfo'wa'd. Yo' conduc' don' look right. Hit ain' becomin' to you
+as de shepherd of a flock."
+
+"But whut I been doin', sistah, whut I been doin'?"
+
+"You know."
+
+"I reckon I do, but I wan' see whethah you does er not."
+
+"You been gwine ovah to de wes' plantation, dat's whut you been doin'.
+You can' 'ny dat, you's been seed!"
+
+"I do' wan' 'ny it. Is dat all?"
+
+"Is dat all!" Lize stood aghast. Then she said slowly and wonderingly,
+"Brothah Simon, is you losin' yo' senses er yo' grace?"
+
+"I ain' losin' one ner 'tothah, but I do' see no ha'm in gwine ovah to
+de wes' plantation."
+
+"You do' see no ha'm in gwine ovah to de wes' plantation! You stan'
+hyeah in sight o' Gawd an' say dat?"
+
+"Don't git so 'cited, sis' Lize, you mus' membah dat dey's souls on de
+wes' plantation, jes' same as dey is on de eas'."
+
+"Yes, an' dey's souls in hell, too," the old woman fired back.
+
+"Cose dey is, but dey's already damned; but dey's souls on de wes'
+plantation to be saved."
+
+"Oomph, uh, uh, uh!" grunted Lize.
+
+"You done called me de shepherd, ain't you, sistah? Well, sayin' I is,
+when dey's little lambs out in de col' an' dey ain' got sense 'nough
+to come in, er dey do' know de way, whut do de shepherd do? Why, he go
+out, an' he hunt up de po' shiverin', bleatin' lambs and brings 'em
+into de fol'. Don't you bothah 'bout de wes' plantation, sis' Lize."
+And Uncle Simon hobbled off down the road with surprising alacrity,
+leaving his interlocutor standing with mouth and eyes wide open.
+
+"Well, I nevah!" she exclaimed when she could get her lips together,
+"I do believe de day of jedgmen' is at han'."
+
+Of course this conversation was duly reported to the master and
+mistress, and called forth some strictures from Mrs. Marston on Lize's
+attempted interference with the old man's good work.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Eliza, that you ought. After the
+estrangement of all this time if Uncle Simon can effect a
+reconciliation between the west and the east plantations, you ought
+not to lay a straw in his way. I am sure there is more of a real
+Christian spirit in that than in shouting and singing for hours, and
+then coming out with your heart full of malice. You need not laugh,
+Mr. Marston, you need not laugh at all. I am very much in earnest, and
+I do hope that Uncle Simon will continue his ministrations on the
+other side. If he wants to, he can have a room built in which to lead
+their worship."
+
+"But you do' want him to leave us altogethah?"
+
+"If you do not care to share your meeting-house with them, they can
+have one of their own."
+
+"But, look hyeah, Missy, dem Lousiany people, dey bad--an' dey hoodoo
+folks, an' dey Cath'lics--"
+
+"Eliza!"
+
+"'Scuse me, Missy, chile, bless yo' hea't, you know I do' mean no ha'm
+to you. But somehow I do' feel right in my hea't 'bout Brothah Simon."
+
+"Never mind, Eliza, it is only evil that needs to be watched, the good
+will take care of itself."
+
+It was not one, nor two, nor three Sundays that Brother Simon was away
+from his congregation, but six passed before he was there again. He
+was seen to be very busy tinkering around during the week, and then
+one Sunday he appeared suddenly in his pulpit. The church nodded and
+smiled a welcome to him. There was no change in him. If anything he
+was more fiery than ever. But, there was a change. Lize, who was
+news-gatherer and carrier extraordinary, bore the tidings to her
+owners. She burst into the big house with the cry of "Whut I tell you!
+Whut I tell you!"
+
+"Well, what now," exclaimed both Mr. and Mrs. Marston.
+
+"Didn' I tell you ol' Simon was up to some'p'n?"
+
+"Out with it," exclaimed her master, "out with it, I knew he was up to
+something, too."
+
+"George, try to remember who you are."
+
+"Brothah Simon come in chu'ch dis mo'nin' an' he 'scended up de
+pulpit--"
+
+"Well, what of that, are you not glad he is back?"
+
+"Hol' on, lemme tell you--he 'scended up de pu'pit, an' 'menced his
+disco'se. Well, he hadn't no sooner got sta'ted when in walked one o'
+dem brazen Lousiany wenches--"
+
+"Eliza!"
+
+"Hol' on, Miss M'ree, she walked in lak she owned de place, an'
+flopped huhse'f down on de front seat."
+
+"Well, what if she did," burst in Mrs. Marston, "she had a right. I
+want you to understand, you and the rest of your kind, that that
+meeting-house is for any of the hands that care to attend it. The
+woman did right. I hope she'll come again."
+
+"I hadn' got done yit, Missy. Jes' ez soon ez de sehmont was ovah,
+whut mus' Brothah Simon, de 'zortah, min' you, whut mus' he do but
+come hoppin' down f'om de pu'pit, an' beau dat wench home! 'Scorted
+huh clah 'crost de plantation befo' evahbody's face. Now whut you call
+dat?"
+
+"I call it politeness, that is what I call it. What are you laughing
+at, Mr. Marston? I have no doubt that the old man was merely trying to
+set an example of courtesy to some of the younger men, or to protect
+the woman from the insults that the other members of the congregation
+would heap upon her. Mr. Marston, I do wish you would keep your face
+serious. There is nothing to laugh at in this matter. A worthy old man
+tries to do a worthy work, his fellow-servants cavil at him, and his
+master, who should encourage him, laughs at him for his pains."
+
+"I assure you, my dear, I'm not laughing at Uncle Simon."
+
+"Then at me, perhaps; that is infinitely better."
+
+"And not at you, either; I'm amused at the situation."
+
+"Well, Manette ca'ied him off dis mo'nin'," resumed Eliza.
+
+"Manette!" exclaimed Mrs. Marston.
+
+"It was Manette he was a beauin'. Evahbody say he likin' huh moughty
+well, an' dat he look at huh all th'oo preachin'."
+
+"Oh my! Manette's one of the nicest girls I brought from St. Pierre. I
+hope--oh, but then she is a young woman, she would not think of being
+foolish over an old man."
+
+"I do' know, Miss M'ree. De ol' men is de wuss kin'. De young oomans
+knows how to tek de young mans, 'case dey de same age, an' dey been
+lu'nin' dey tricks right along wif dem'; but de ol' men, dey got sich
+a long sta't ahaid, dey been lu'nin' so long. Ef I had a darter, I
+wouldn' be afeard to let huh tek keer o' huhse'f wif a young man, but
+ef a ol' man come a cou'tin' huh, I'd keep my own two eyes open."
+
+"Eliza, you're a philosopher," said Mr. Marston. "You're one of the
+few reasoners of your sex."
+
+"It is all nonsense," said his wife. "Why Uncle Simon is old enough to
+be Manette's grandfather."
+
+"Love laughs at years."
+
+"And you laugh at everything."
+
+"That's the difference between love and me, my dear Mrs. Marston."
+
+"Do not pay any attention to your master, Eliza, and do not be so
+suspicious of every one. It is all right. Uncle Simon had Manette
+over, because he thought the service would do her good."
+
+"Yes'm, I 'low she's one o' de young lambs dat he gone out in de col'
+to fotch in. Well, he tek'n' moughty good keer o' dat lamb."
+
+Mrs. Marston was compelled to laugh in spite of herself. But when
+Eliza was gone, she turned to her husband, and said:
+
+"George, dear, do you really think there is anything in it?"
+
+"I thoroughly agree with you, Mrs. Marston, in the opinion that Uncle
+Simon needed rest, and I may add on my own behalf, recreation."
+
+"Pshaw! I do not believe it."
+
+All doubts, however, were soon dispelled. The afternoon sun drove Mr.
+Marston to the back veranda where he was sitting when Uncle Simon
+again approached and greeted him.
+
+"Well, Uncle Simon, I hear that you're back in your pulpit again?"
+
+"Yes, suh, I's done 'sumed my labohs in de Mastah's vineya'd."'
+
+"Have you had a good rest of it?"
+
+"Well, I ain' ezzackly been restin'," said the aged man, scratching
+his head. "I's been pu'su'in' othah 'ployments."
+
+"Oh, yes, but change of work is rest. And how's the rheumatism, now,
+any better?"
+
+"Bettah? Why, Mawse Gawge, I ain' got a smidgeon of hit. I's jes'
+limpin' a leetle bit on 'count o' habit."
+
+"Well, it's good if one can get well, even if his days are nearly
+spent."
+
+"Heish, Mas' Gawge. I ain' t'inkin' 'bout dyin'."
+
+"Aren't you ready yet, in all these years?"
+
+"I hope I's ready, but I hope to be spaihed a good many yeahs yit."
+
+"To do good, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, suh; yes, suh. Fac' is, Mawse Gawge, I jes' hop up to ax you
+some'p'n."
+
+"Well, here I am."
+
+"I want to ax you--I want to ax you--er--er--I want--"
+
+"Oh, speak out. I haven't time to be bothering here all day."
+
+"Well, you know, Mawse Gawge, some o' us ain' nigh ez ol' ez dey
+looks."
+
+"That's true. A person, now, would take you for ninety, and to my
+positive knowledge, you're not more than eighty-five."
+
+"Oh, Lawd. Mastah, do heish."
+
+"I'm not flattering you, that's the truth."
+
+"Well, now, Mawse Gawge, couldn' you mek me' look lak eighty-fo', an'
+be a little youngah?"
+
+"Why, what do you want to be younger for?"
+
+"You see, hit's jes' lak dis, Mawse Gawge. I come up hyeah to ax
+you--I want--dat is--me an' Manette, we wants to git ma'ied."
+
+"Get married!" thundered Marston. "What you, you old scarecrow, with
+one foot in the grave!"
+
+"Heish, Mastah, 'buse me kin' o' low. Don't th'ow yo' words 'roun' so
+keerless."
+
+"This is what you wanted your Sundays off for, to go sparking
+around--you an exhorter, too."
+
+"But I's been missin' my po' ol' wife so much hyeah lately."
+
+"You've been missing her, oh, yes, and so you want to get a woman
+young enough to be your granddaughter to fill her place."
+
+"Well, Mas' Gawge, you know, ef I is ol' an' feeble, ez you say, I
+need a strong young han' to he'p me down de hill, an' ef Manette don'
+min' spa'in' a few mont's er yeahs--"
+
+"That'll do, I'll see what your mistress says. Come back in an hour."
+
+A little touched, and a good deal amused, Marston went to see his
+wife. He kept his face straight as he addressed her. "Mrs. Marston,
+Manette's hand has been proposed for."
+
+"George!"
+
+"The Rev. Simon Marston has this moment come and solemnly laid his
+heart at my feet as proxy for Manette."
+
+"He shall not have her, he shall not have her!" exclaimed the lady,
+rising angrily.
+
+"But remember, Mrs. Marston, it will keep her coming to meeting."
+
+"I do not care; he is an old hypocrite, that is what he is."
+
+"Think, too, of what a noble work he is doing. It brings about a
+reconciliation between the east and west plantations, for which we
+have been hoping for years. You really oughtn't to lay a straw in his
+way."
+
+"He's a sneaking, insidious, old scoundrel."
+
+"Such poor encouragement from his mistress for a worthy old man, who
+only needs rest!"
+
+"George!" cried Mrs. Marston, and she sank down in tears, which turned
+to convulsive laughter as her husband put his arm about her and
+whispered, "He is showing the true Christian spirit. Don't you think
+we'd better call Manette and see if she consents? She is one of his
+lambs, you know."
+
+"Oh, George, George, do as you please. If the horrid girl consents, I
+wash my hands of the whole affair."
+
+"You know these old men have been learning such a long while."
+
+By this time Mrs. Marston was as much amused as her husband. Manette
+was accordingly called and questioned. The information was elicited
+from her that she loved "Brothah Simon" and wished to marry him.
+
+"'Love laughs at age,'" quoted Mr. Marston again when the girl had
+been dismissed. Mrs. Marston was laughingly angry, but speechless for
+a moment. Finally she said: "Well, Manette seems willing, so there is
+nothing for us to do but to consent, although, mind you, I do not
+approve of this foolish marriage, do you hear?"
+
+After a while the old man returned for his verdict. He took it calmly.
+He had expected it. The disparity in the years of him and his
+betrothed did not seem to strike his consciousness at all. He only
+grinned.
+
+"Now look here, Uncle Simon," said his master, "I want you to tell me
+how you, an old, bad-looking, half-dead darky won that likely young
+girl."
+
+The old man closed one eye and smiled.
+
+"Mastah, I don' b'lieve you looks erroun' you," he said. "Now, 'mongst
+white folks, you knows a preachah 'mongst de ladies is mos' nigh
+i'sistible, but 'mongst col'ed dey ain't no pos'ble way to git erroun'
+de gospel man w'en he go ahuntin' fu' anything."
+
+
+
+
+MR. CORNELIUS JOHNSON, OFFICE-SEEKER
+
+
+It was a beautiful day in balmy May and the sun shone pleasantly on
+Mr. Cornelius Johnson's very spruce Prince Albert suit of grey as he
+alighted from the train in Washington. He cast his eyes about him, and
+then gave a sigh of relief and satisfaction as he took his bag from
+the porter and started for the gate. As he went along, he looked with
+splendid complacency upon the less fortunate mortals who were
+streaming out of the day coaches. It was a Pullman sleeper on which he
+had come in. Out on the pavement he hailed a cab, and giving the
+driver the address of a hotel, stepped in and was rolled away. Be it
+said that he had cautiously inquired about the hotel first and found
+that he could be accommodated there.
+
+As he leaned back in the vehicle and allowed his eyes to roam over the
+streets, there was an air of distinct prosperity about him. It was in
+evidence from the tips of his ample patent-leather shoes to the crown
+of the soft felt hat that sat rakishly upon his head. His entrance
+into Washington had been long premeditated, and he had got himself up
+accordingly.
+
+It was not such an imposing structure as he had fondly imagined,
+before which the cab stopped and set Mr. Johnson down. But then he
+reflected that it was about the only house where he could find
+accommodation at all, and he was content. In Alabama one learns to be
+philosophical. It is good to be philosophical in a place where the
+proprietor of a cafe fumbles vaguely around in the region of his hip
+pocket and insinuates that he doesn't want one's custom. But the
+visitor's ardor was not cooled for all that. He signed the register
+with a flourish, and bestowed a liberal fee upon the shabby boy who
+carried his bag to his room.
+
+"Look here, boy," he said, "I am expecting some callers soon. If they
+come, just send them right up to my room. You take good care of me and
+look sharp when I ring and you'll not lose anything."
+
+Mr. Cornelius Johnson always spoke in a large and important tone. He
+said the simplest thing with an air so impressive as to give it the
+character of a pronouncement. Indeed, his voice naturally was round,
+mellifluous and persuasive. He carried himself always as if he were
+passing under his own triumphal arch. Perhaps, more than anything
+else, it was these qualities of speech and bearing that had made him
+invaluable on the stump in the recent campaign in Alabama. Whatever it
+was that held the secret of his power, the man and principles for
+which he had labored triumphed, and he had come to Washington to reap
+his reward. He had been assured that his services would not be
+forgotten, and it was no intention of his that they should be.
+
+After a while he left his room and went out, returning later with
+several gentlemen from the South and a Washington man. There is some
+freemasonry among these office-seekers in Washington that throws them
+inevitably together. The men with whom he returned were such
+characters as the press would designate as "old wheel-horses" or
+"pillars of the party." They all adjourned to the bar, where they had
+something at their host's expense. Then they repaired to his room,
+whence for the ensuing two hours the bell and the bell-boy were kept
+briskly going.
+
+The gentleman from Alabama was in his glory. His gestures as he held
+forth were those of a gracious and condescending prince. It was his
+first visit to the city, and he said to the Washington man: "I tell
+you, sir, you've got a mighty fine town here. Of course, there's no
+opportunity for anything like local pride, because it's the outsiders,
+or the whole country, rather, that makes it what it is, but that's
+nothing. It's a fine town, and I'm right sorry that I can't stay
+longer."
+
+"How long do you expect to be with us, Professor?" inquired Col.
+Mason, the horse who had bent his force to the party wheel in the
+Georgia ruts.
+
+"Oh, about ten days, I reckon, at the furthest. I want to spend some
+time sight-seeing. I'll drop in on the Congressman from my district
+to-morrow, and call a little later on the President."
+
+"Uh, huh!" said Col. Mason. He had been in the city for some time.
+
+"Yes, sir, I want to get through with my little matter and get back
+home. I'm not asking for much, and I don't anticipate any trouble in
+securing what I desire. You see, it's just like this, there's no way
+for them to refuse us. And if any one deserves the good things at the
+hands of the administration, who more than we old campaigners, who
+have been helping the party through its fights from the time that we
+had our first votes?"
+
+"Who, indeed?" said the Washington man.
+
+"I tell you, gentlemen, the administration is no fool. It knows that
+we hold the colored vote down there in our vest pockets and it ain't
+going to turn us down."
+
+"No, of course not, but sometimes there are delays--"
+
+"Delays, to be sure, where a man doesn't know how to go about the
+matter. The thing to do, is to go right to the centre of authority at
+once. Don't you see?"
+
+"Certainly, certainly," chorused the other gentlemen.
+
+Before going, the Washington man suggested that the newcomer join them
+that evening and see something of society at the capital. "You know,"
+he said, "that outside of New Orleans, Washington is the only town in
+the country that has any colored society to speak of, and I feel that
+you distinguished men from different sections of the country owe it to
+our people that they should be allowed to see you. It would be an
+inspiration to them."
+
+So the matter was settled, and promptly at 8:30 o'clock Mr. Cornelius
+Johnson joined his friends at the door of his hotel. The grey Prince
+Albert was scrupulously buttoned about his form, and a shiny top hat
+replaced the felt of the afternoon. Thus clad, he went forth into
+society, where he need be followed only long enough to note the
+magnificence of his manners and the enthusiasm of his reception when
+he was introduced as Prof. Cornelius Johnson, of Alabama, in a tone
+which insinuated that he was the only really great man his state had
+produced.
+
+It might also be stated as an effect of this excursion into Vanity
+Fair, that when he woke the next morning he was in some doubt as to
+whether he should visit his Congressman or send for that individual to
+call upon him. He had felt the subtle flattery of attention from that
+section of colored society which imitates--only imitates, it is true,
+but better than any other, copies--the kindnesses and cruelties, the
+niceties and deceits, of its white prototype. And for the time, like a
+man in a fog, he had lost his sense of proportion and perspective. But
+habit finally triumphed, and he called upon the Congressman, only to
+be met by an under-secretary who told him that his superior was too
+busy to see him that morning.
+
+"But--"
+
+"Too busy," repeated the secretary.
+
+Mr. Johnson drew himself up and said: "Tell Congressman Barker that
+Mr. Johnson, Mr. Cornelius Johnson, of Alabama, desires to see him. I
+think he will see me."
+
+"Well, I can take your message," said the clerk, doggedly, "but I tell
+you now it won't do you any good. He won't see any one."
+
+But, in a few moments an inner door opened, and the young man came out
+followed by the desired one. Mr. Johnson couldn't resist the
+temptation to let his eyes rest on the underling in a momentary glance
+of triumph as Congressman Barker hurried up to him, saying: "Why, why,
+Cornelius, how'do? how'do? Ah, you came about that little matter,
+didn't you? Well, well, I haven't forgotten you; I haven't forgotten
+you."
+
+The colored man opened his mouth to speak, but the other checked him
+and went on: "I'm sorry, but I'm in a great hurry now. I'm compelled
+to leave town to-day, much against my will, but I shall be back in a
+week; come around and see me then. Always glad to see you, you know.
+Sorry I'm so busy now; good-morning, good-morning."
+
+Mr. Johnson allowed himself to be guided politely, but decidedly, to
+the door. The triumph died out of his face as the reluctant
+good-morning fell from his lips. As he walked away, he tried to look
+upon the matter philosophically. He tried to reason with himself--to
+prove to his own consciousness that the Congressman was very busy and
+could not give the time that morning. He wanted to make himself
+believe that he had not been slighted or treated with scant ceremony.
+But, try as he would, he continued to feel an obstinate, nasty sting
+that would not let him rest, nor forget his reception. His pride was
+hurt. The thought came to him to go at once to the President, but he
+had experience enough to know that such a visit would be vain until he
+had seen the dispenser of patronage for his district. Thus, there was
+nothing for him to do but to wait the necessary week. A whole week!
+His brow knitted as he thought of it.
+
+In the course of these cogitations, his walk brought him to his hotel,
+where he found his friends of the night before awaiting him. He tried
+to put on a cheerful face. But his disappointment and humiliation
+showed through his smile, as the hollows and bones through the skin of
+a cadaver.
+
+"Well, what luck?" asked Col. Mason, cheerfully.
+
+"Are we to congratulate you?" put in Mr. Perry.
+
+"Not yet, not yet, gentlemen. I have not seen the President yet. The
+fact is--ahem--my Congressman is out of town."
+
+He was not used to evasions of this kind, and he stammered slightly
+and his yellow face turned brick-red with shame.
+
+"It is most annoying," he went on, "most annoying. Mr. Barker won't be
+back for a week, and I don't want to call on the President until I
+have had a talk with him."
+
+"Certainly not," said Col. Mason, blandly. "There will be delays."
+This was not his first pilgrimage to Mecca.
+
+Mr. Johnson looked at him gratefully. "Oh, yes; of course, delays," he
+assented; "most natural. Have something."
+
+At the end of the appointed time, the office-seeker went again to see
+the Congressman. This time he was admitted without question, and got
+the chance to state his wants. But somehow, there seemed to be
+innumerable obstacles in the way. There were certain other men whose
+wishes had to be consulted; the leader of one of the party factions,
+who, for the sake of harmony, had to be appeased. Of course, Mr.
+Johnson's worth was fully recognized, and he would be rewarded
+according to his deserts. His interests would be looked after. He
+should drop in again in a day or two. It took time, of course, it took
+time.
+
+Mr. Johnson left the office unnerved by his disappointment. He had
+thought it would be easy to come up to Washington, claim and get what
+he wanted, and, after a glance at the town, hurry back to his home and
+his honors. It had all seemed so easy--before election; but now--
+
+A vague doubt began to creep into his mind that turned him sick at
+heart. He knew how they had treated Davis, of Louisiana. He had heard
+how they had once kept Brotherton, of Texas--a man who had spent all
+his life in the service of his party--waiting clear through a whole
+administration, at the end of which the opposite party had come into
+power. All the stories of disappointment and disaster that he had ever
+heard came back to him, and he began to wonder if some one of these
+things was going to happen to him.
+
+Every other day for the next two weeks, he called upon Barker, but
+always with the same result. Nothing was clear yet, until one day the
+bland legislator told him that considerations of expediency had
+compelled them to give the place he was asking for to another man.
+
+"But what am I to do?" asked the helpless man.
+
+"Oh, you just bide your time. I'll look out for you. Never fear."
+
+Until now, Johnson had ignored the gentle hints of his friend, Col.
+Mason, about a boarding-house being more convenient than a hotel. Now,
+he asked him if there was a room vacant where he was staying, and
+finding that there was, he had his things moved thither at once. He
+felt the change keenly, and although no one really paid any attention
+to it, he believed that all Washington must have seen it, and hailed
+it as the first step in his degradation.
+
+For a while the two together made occasional excursions to a
+glittering palace down the street, but when the money had grown lower
+and lower Col. Mason had the knack of bringing "a little something" to
+their rooms without a loss of dignity. In fact, it was in these hours
+with the old man, over a pipe and a bit of something, that Johnson was
+most nearly cheerful. Hitch after hitch had occurred in his plans, and
+day after day he had come home unsuccessful and discouraged. The
+crowning disappointment, though, came when, after a long session that
+lasted even up into the hot days of summer, Congress adjourned and his
+one hope went away. Johnson saw him just before his departure, and
+listened ruefully as he said: "I tell you, Cornelius, now, you'd
+better go on home, get back to your business and come again next year.
+The clouds of battle will be somewhat dispelled by then and we can see
+clearer what to do. It was too early this year. We were too near the
+fight still, and there were party wounds to be bound up and little
+factional sores that had to be healed. But next year, Cornelius, next
+year we'll see what we can do for you."
+
+His constituent did not tell him that even if his pride would let him
+go back home a disappointed applicant, he had not the means wherewith
+to go. He did not tell him that he was trying to keep up appearances
+and hide the truth from his wife, who, with their two children, waited
+and hoped for him at home.
+
+When he went home that night, Col. Mason saw instantly that things had
+gone wrong with him. But here the tact and delicacy of the old
+politician came uppermost and, without trying to draw his story from
+him--for he already divined the situation too well--he sat for a long
+time telling the younger man stories of the ups and downs of men whom
+he had known in his long and active life.
+
+They were stories of hardship, deprivation and discouragement. But the
+old man told them ever with the touch of cheeriness and the note of
+humor that took away the ghastly hopelessness of some of the pictures.
+He told them with such feeling and sympathy that Johnson was moved to
+frankness and told him his own pitiful tale.
+
+Now that he had some one to whom he could open his heart, Johnson
+himself was no less willing to look the matter in the face, and even
+during the long summer days, when he had begun to live upon his
+wardrobe, piece by piece, he still kept up; although some of his
+pomposity went, along with the Prince Albert coat and the shiny hat.
+He now wore a shiny coat, and less showy head-gear. For a couple of
+weeks, too, he disappeared, and as he returned with some money, it was
+fair to presume that he had been at work somewhere, but he could not
+stay away from the city long.
+
+It was nearing the middle of autumn when Col. Mason came home to their
+rooms one day to find his colleague more disheartened and depressed
+than he had ever seen him before. He was lying with his head upon his
+folded arm, and when he looked up there were traces of tears upon his
+face.
+
+"Why, why, what's the matter now?" asked the old man. "No bad news, I
+hope."
+
+"Nothing worse than I should have expected," was the choking answer.
+"It's a letter from my wife. She's sick and one of the babies is down,
+but"--his voice broke--"she tells me to stay and fight it out. My God,
+Mason, I could stand it if she whined or accused me or begged me to
+come home, but her patient, long-suffering bravery breaks me all up."
+
+Col. Mason stood up and folded his arms across his big chest. "She's a
+brave little woman," he said, gravely. "I wish her husband was as
+brave a man." Johnson raised his head and arms from the table where
+they were sprawled, as the old man went on: "The hard conditions of
+life in our race have taught our women a patience and fortitude which
+the women of no other race have ever displayed. They have taught the
+men less, and I am sorry, very sorry. The thing, that as much as
+anything else, made the blacks such excellent soldiers in the civil
+war was their patient endurance of hardship. The softer education of
+more prosperous days seems to have weakened this quality. The man who
+quails or weakens in this fight of ours against adverse circumstances
+would have quailed before--no, he would have run from an enemy on the
+field."
+
+"Why, Mason, your mood inspires me. I feel as if I could go forth to
+battle cheerfully." For the moment, Johnson's old pomposity had
+returned to him, but in the next, a wave of despondency bore it down.
+"But that's just it; a body feels as if he could fight if he only had
+something to fight. But here you strike out and hit--nothing. It's
+only a contest with time. It's waiting--waiting--waiting!"
+
+"In this case, waiting is fighting."
+
+"Well, even that granted, it matters not how grand his cause, the
+soldier needs his rations."
+
+"Forage," shot forth the answer like a command.
+
+"Ah, Mason, that's well enough in good country; but the army of
+office-seekers has devastated Washington. It has left a track as bare
+as lay behind Sherman's troopers." Johnson rose more cheerfully. "I'm
+going to the telegraph office," he said as he went out.
+
+A few days after this, he was again in the best of spirits, for there
+was money in his pocket.
+
+"What have you been doing?" asked Mr. Toliver.
+
+His friend laughed like a boy. "Something very imprudent, I'm sure you
+will say. I've mortgaged my little place down home. It did not bring
+much, but I had to have money for the wife and the children, and to
+keep me until Congress assembles; then I believe that everything will
+be all right."
+
+Col. Mason's brow clouded and he sighed.
+
+On the reassembling of the two Houses, Congressman Barker was one of
+the first men in his seat. Mr. Cornelius Johnson went to see him soon.
+
+"What, you here already, Cornelius?" asked the legislator.
+
+"I haven't been away," was the answer.
+
+"Well, you've got the hang-on, and that's what an officer-seeker
+needs. Well, I'll attend to your matter among the very first. I'll
+visit the President in a day or two."
+
+The listener's heart throbbed hard. After all his waiting, triumph was
+his at last.
+
+He went home walking on air, and Col. Mason rejoiced with him. In a
+few days came word from Barker: "Your appointment was sent in to-day.
+I'll rush it through on the other side. Come up to-morrow afternoon."
+
+Cornelius and Mr. Toliver hugged each other.
+
+"It came just in time," said the younger man; "the last of my money
+was about gone, and I should have had to begin paying off that
+mortgage with no prospect of ever doing it."
+
+The two had suffered together, and it was fitting that they should be
+together to receive the news of the long-desired happiness; so arm in
+arm they sauntered down to the Congressman's office about five
+o'clock the next afternoon. In honor of the occasion, Mr. Johnson had
+spent his last dollar in redeeming the grey Prince Albert and the
+shiny hat. A smile flashed across Barker's face as he noted the
+change.
+
+"Well, Cornelius," he said, "I'm glad to see you still
+prosperous-looking, for there were some alleged irregularities in your
+methods down in Alabama, and the Senate has refused to confirm you. I
+did all I could for you, but--"
+
+The rest of the sentence was lost, as Col. Mason's arms received his
+friend's fainting form.
+
+"Poor devil!" said the Congressman. "I should have broken it more
+gently."
+
+Somehow Col. Mason got him home and to bed, where for nine weeks he
+lay wasting under a complete nervous give-down. The little wife and
+the children came up to nurse him, and the woman's ready industry
+helped him to such creature comforts as his sickness demanded. Never
+once did she murmur; never once did her faith in him waver. And when
+he was well enough to be moved back, it was money that she had earned,
+increased by what Col. Mason, in his generosity of spirit, took from
+his own narrow means, that paid their second-class fare back to the
+South.
+
+During the fever-fits of his illness, the wasted politician first
+begged piteously that they would not send him home unplaced, and then
+he would break out in the most extravagant and pompous boasts about
+his position, his Congressman and his influence. When he came to
+himself, he was silent, morose, and bitter. Only once did he melt. It
+was when he held Col. Mason's hand and bade him good-bye. Then the
+tears came into his eyes, and what he would have said was lost among
+his broken words.
+
+As he stood upon the platform of the car as it moved out, and gazed at
+the white dome and feathery spires of the city, growing into grey
+indefiniteness, he ground his teeth, and raising his spent hand, shook
+it at the receding view. "Damn you! damn you!" he cried. "Damn your
+deceit, your fair cruelties; damn you, you hard, white liar!"
+
+
+
+
+AN OLD-TIME CHRISTMAS
+
+
+When the holidays came round the thoughts of 'Liza Ann Lewis always
+turned to the good times that she used to have at home when, following
+the precedent of anti-bellum days, Christmas lasted all the week and
+good cheer held sway. She remembered with regret the gifts that were
+given, the songs that were sung to the tinkling of the banjo and the
+dances with which they beguiled the night hours. And the eating! Could
+she forget it? The great turkey, with the fat literally bursting from
+him; the yellow yam melting into deliciousness in the mouth; or in
+some more fortunate season, even the juicy 'possum grinning in brown
+and greasy death from the great platter.
+
+In the ten years she had lived in New York, she had known no such
+feast-day. Food was strangely dear in the Metropolis, and then there
+was always the weekly rental of the poor room to be paid. But she had
+kept the memory of the old times green in her heart, and ever turned
+to it with the fondness of one for something irretrievably lost.
+
+That is how Jimmy came to know about it. Jimmy was thirteen and small
+for his age, and he could not remember any such times as his mother
+told him about. Although he said with great pride to his partner and
+rival, Blinky Scott, "Chee, Blink, you ought to hear my ol' lady talk
+about de times dey have down w'ere we come from at Christmas; N'Yoick
+ain't in it wid dem, you kin jist bet." And Blinky, who was a New
+Yorker clear through with a New Yorker's contempt for anything outside
+of the city, had promptly replied with a downward spreading of his
+right hand, "Aw fu'git it!"
+
+Jimmy felt a little crest-fallen for a minute, but he lifted himself
+in his own estimation by threatening to "do" Blinky and the cloud
+rolled by.
+
+'Liza Ann knew that Jimmy couldn't ever understand what she meant by
+an old-time Christmas unless she could show him by some faint approach
+to its merrymaking, and it had been the dream of her life to do this.
+But every year she had failed, until now she was a little ahead.
+
+Her plan was too good to keep, and when Jimmy went out that Christmas
+eve morning to sell his papers, she had disclosed it to him and bade
+him hurry home as soon as he was done, for they were to have a real
+old-time Christmas.
+
+Jimmy exhibited as much pleasure as he deemed consistent with his
+dignity and promised to be back early to add his earnings to the fund
+for celebration.
+
+When he was gone, 'Liza Ann counted over her savings lovingly and
+dreamed of what she would buy her boy, and what she would have for
+dinner on the next day. Then a voice, a colored man's voice, she knew,
+floated up to her. Some one in the alley below her window was singing
+"The Old Folks at Home."
+
+    "All up an' down the whole creation,
+              Sadly I roam,
+    Still longing for the old plantation,
+      An' for the old folks at home."
+
+She leaned out of the window and listened and when the song had ceased
+and she drew her head in again, there were tears in her eyes--the
+tears of memory and longing. But she crushed them away, and laughed
+tremulously to herself as she said, "What a reg'lar ol' fool I'm
+a-gittin' to be." Then she went out into the cold, snow-covered
+streets, for she had work to do that day that would add a mite to her
+little Christmas store.
+
+Down in the street, Jimmy was calling out the morning papers and
+racing with Blinky Scott for prospective customers; these were only
+transients, of course, for each had his regular buyers whose
+preferences were scrupulously respected by both in agreement with a
+strange silent compact.
+
+The electric cars went clanging to and fro, the streets were full of
+shoppers with bundles and bunches of holly, and all the sights and
+sounds were pregnant with the message of the joyous time. People were
+full of the holiday spirit. The papers were going fast, and the little
+colored boy's pockets were filling with the desired coins. It would
+have been all right with Jimmy if the policeman hadn't come up on him
+just as he was about to toss the "bones," and when Blinky Scott had
+him "faded" to the amount of five hard-earned pennies.
+
+Well, they were trying to suppress youthful gambling in New York, and
+the officer had to do his duty. The others scuttled away, but Jimmy
+was so absorbed in the game that he didn't see the "cop" until he was
+right on him, so he was "pinched." He blubbered a little and wiped his
+grimy face with his grimier sleeve until it was one long, brown smear.
+You know this was Jimmy's first time.
+
+The big blue-coat looked a little bit ashamed as he marched him down
+the street, followed at a distance by a few hooting boys. Some of the
+holiday shoppers turned to look at them as they passed and murmured,
+"Poor little chap; I wonder what he's been up to now." Others said
+sarcastically, "It seems strange that 'copper' didn't call for help."
+A few of his brother officers grinned at him as he passed, and he
+blushed, but the dignity of the law must be upheld and the crime of
+gambling among the newsboys was a growing evil.
+
+Yes, the dignity of the law must be upheld, and though Jimmy was only
+a small boy, it would be well to make an example of him. So his name
+and age were put down on the blotter, and over against them the
+offence with which he was charged. Then he was locked up to await
+trial the next morning.
+
+"It's shameful," the bearded sergeant said, "how the kids are carryin'
+on these days. People are feelin' pretty generous, an' they'll toss
+'em a nickel er a dime fur their paper an' tell 'em to keep the change
+fur Christmas, an' foist thing you know the little beggars are
+shootin' craps er pitchin' pennies. We've got to make an example of
+some of 'em."
+
+'Liza Ann Lewis was tearing through her work that day to get home and
+do her Christmas shopping, and she was singing as she worked some such
+old song as she used to sing in the good old days back home. She
+reached her room late and tired, but happy. Visions of a "wakening up"
+time for her and Jimmy were in her mind. But Jimmy wasn't there.
+
+"I wunner whah that little scamp is," she said, smiling; "I tol' him
+to hu'y home, but I reckon he's stayin' out latah wid de evenin'
+papahs so's to bring home mo' money."
+
+Hour after hour passed and he did not come; then she grew alarmed. At
+two o'clock in the morning she could stand it no longer and she went
+over and awakened Blinky Scott, much to that young gentleman's
+disgust, who couldn't see why any woman need make such a fuss about a
+kid. He told her laconically that "Chimmie was pinched fur t'rowin' de
+bones."
+
+She heard with a sinking heart and went home to her own room to walk
+the floor all night and sob.
+
+In the morning, with all her Christmas savings tied up in a
+handkerchief, she hurried down to Jefferson Market court room. There
+was a full blotter that morning, and the Judge was rushing through
+with it. He wanted to get home to his Christmas dinner. But he paused
+long enough when he got to Jimmy's case to deliver a brief but stern
+lecture upon the evil of child-gambling in New York. He said that as
+it was Christmas Day he would like to release the prisoner with a
+reprimand, but he thought that this had been done too often and that
+it was high time to make an example of one of the offenders.
+
+Well, it was fine or imprisonment. 'Liza Ann struggled up through the
+crowd of spectators and her Christmas treasure added to what Jimmy
+had, paid his fine and they went out of the court room together.
+
+When they were in their room again she put the boy to bed, for there
+was no fire and no coal to make one. Then she wrapped herself in a
+shabby shawl and sat huddled up over the empty stove.
+
+Down in the alley she heard the voice of the day before singing:
+
+    "Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary,
+      Far from the old folks at home."
+
+And she burst into tears.
+
+
+
+
+A MESS OF POTTAGE
+
+
+It was because the Democratic candidate for Governor was such an
+energetic man that he had been able to stir Little Africa, which was a
+Republican stronghold, from centre to circumference. He was a man who
+believed in carrying the war into the enemy's country. Instead of
+giving them a chance to attack him, he went directly into their camp,
+leaving discontent and disaffection among their allies. He believed in
+his principles. He had faith in his policy for the government of the
+State, and, more than all, he had a convincing way of making others
+see as he saw.
+
+No other Democrat had ever thought it necessary to assail the
+stronghold of Little Africa. He had merely put it into his forecast as
+"solidly against," sent a little money to be distributed desultorily
+in the district, and then left it to go its way, never doubting what
+that way would be. The opposing candidates never felt that the place
+was worthy of consideration, for as the Chairman of the Central
+Committee said, holding up his hand with the fingers close together:
+"What's the use of wasting any speakers down there? We've got 'em just
+like that."
+
+It was all very different with Mr. Lane.
+
+"Gentlemen," he said to the campaign managers, "that black district
+must not be ignored. Those people go one way because they are never
+invited to go another."
+
+"Oh, I tell you now, Lane," said his closest friend, "it'll be a waste
+of material to send anybody down there. They simply go like a flock of
+sheep, and nothing is going to turn them."
+
+"What's the matter with the bellwether?" said Lane sententiously.
+
+"That's just exactly what _is_ the matter. Their bellwether is an old
+deacon named Isham Swift, and you couldn't turn him with a
+forty-horsepower crank."
+
+"There's nothing like trying."
+
+"There are many things very similar to failing, but none so bad."
+
+"I'm willing to take the risk."
+
+"Well, all right; but whom will you send? We can't waste a good man."
+
+"I'll go myself."
+
+"What, you?"
+
+"Yes, I."
+
+"Why, you'd be the laughing-stock of the State."
+
+"All right; put me down for that office if I never reach the
+gubernatorial chair."
+
+"Say, Lane, what was the name of that Spanish fellow who went out to
+fight windmills, and all that sort of thing?"
+
+"Never mind, Widner; you may be a good political hustler, but you're
+dead bad on your classics," said Lane laughingly.
+
+So they put him down for a speech in Little Africa, because he himself
+desired it.
+
+Widner had not lied to him about Deacon Swift, as he found when he
+tried to get the old man to preside at the meeting. The Deacon refused
+with indignation at the very idea. But others were more acquiescent,
+and Mount Moriah church was hired at a rental that made the Rev.
+Ebenezer Clay and all his Trustees rub their hands with glee and think
+well of the candidate. Also they looked at their shiny coats and
+thought of new suits.
+
+There was much indignation expressed that Mount Moriah should have
+lent herself to such a cause, and there were murmurs even among the
+congregation where the Rev. Ebenezer Clay was usually an unquestioned
+autocrat. But, because Eve was the mother of all of us and the thing
+was so new, there was a great crowd on the night of the meeting. The
+Rev. Ebenezer Clay presided. Lane had said, "If I can't get the
+bellwether to jump the way I want, I'll transfer the bell." This he
+had tried to do. The effort was very like him.
+
+The Rev. Mr. Clay, looking down into more frowning faces than he cared
+to see, spoke more boldly than he felt. He told his people that though
+they had their own opinions and ideas, it was well to hear both sides.
+He said, "The brothah," meaning the candidate, "had a few thoughts to
+pussent," and he hoped they'd listen to him quietly. Then he added
+subtly: "Of co'se Brothah Lane knows we colo'ed folks 're goin' to
+think our own way, anyhow."
+
+The people laughed and applauded, and Lane went to his work. They were
+quiet and attentive. Every now and then some old brother grunted and
+shook his head. But in the main they merely listened.
+
+Lane was pleasing, plausible and convincing, and the brass band which
+he had brought with him was especially effective. The audience left
+the church shaking their heads with a different meaning, and all the
+way home there were remarks such as, "He sholy tol' de truth," "Dat
+man was right," "They ain't no way to 'ny a word he said."
+
+Just at that particular moment it looked very dark for the other
+candidate, especially as the brass band lingered around an hour or so
+and discoursed sweet music in the streets where the negroes most did
+congregate.
+
+Twenty years ago such a thing could not have happened, but the ties
+which had bound the older generation irrevocably to one party were
+being loosed upon the younger men. The old men said "We know;" the
+young ones said "We have heard," and so there was hardly anything of
+the blind allegiance which had made even free thought seem treason to
+their fathers.
+
+Now all of this was the reason of the great indignation that was rife
+in the breasts of other Little Africans and which culminated in a mass
+meeting called by Deacon Isham Swift and held at Bethel Chapel a few
+nights later. For two or three days before this congregation of the
+opposing elements there were ominous mutterings. On the streets
+little knots of negroes stood and told of the terrible thing that had
+taken place at Mount Moriah. Shoulders were grasped, heads were wagged
+and awful things prophesied as the result of this compromise with the
+general enemy. No one was louder in his denunciation of the
+treacherous course of the Rev. Ebenezer Clay than the Republican
+bellwether, Deacon Swift. He saw in it signs of the break-up of racial
+integrity and he bemoaned the tendency loud and long. His son Tom did
+not tell him that he had gone to the meeting himself and had been one
+of those to come out shaking his head in acquiescent doubt at the
+truths he had heard. But he went, as in duty bound, to his father's
+meeting.
+
+The church was one thronging mass of colored citizens. On the
+platform, from which the pulpit had been removed, sat Deacon Swift and
+his followers. On each side of him were banners bearing glowing
+inscriptions. One of the banners which the schoolmistress had prepared
+read:
+
+     "His temples are our forts and towers which frown upon a tyrant
+     foe."
+
+The schoolmistress taught in a mixed school. They had mixed it by
+giving her a room in a white school where she had only colored pupils.
+Therefore she was loyal to her party, and was known as a woman of
+public spirit.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The meeting was an enthusiastic one, but no such demonstration was
+shown through it all as when old Deacon Swift himself arose to address
+the assembly. He put Moses Jackson in the chair, and then as he walked
+forward to the front of the platform a great, white-haired, rugged,
+black figure, he was heroic in his very crudeness. He wore a long, old
+Prince Albert coat, which swept carelessly about his thin legs. His
+turndown collar was disputing territory with his tie and his
+waistcoat. His head was down, and he glanced out of the lower part of
+his eyes over the congregation, while his hands fumbled at the sides
+of his trousers in an embarrassment which may have been pretended or
+otherwise.
+
+"Mistah Cheerman," he said, "fu' myse'f, I ain't no speakah. I ain't
+nevah been riz up dat way. I has plowed an' I has sowed, an' latah on
+I has laid cyahpets, an' I has whitewashed. But, ladies an' gent'men,
+I is a man, an' as a man I want to speak to you ter-night. We is lak a
+flock o' sheep, an' in de las' week de wolf has come among ouah
+midst. On evah side we has hyeahd de shephe'd dogs a-ba'kin' a-wa'nin'
+unto us. But, my f'en's, de cotton o' p'ospe'ity has been stuck in
+ouah eahs. Fu' thirty yeahs er mo', ef I do not disremember, we has
+walked de streets an' de by-ways o' dis country an' called ouahse'ves
+f'eemen. Away back yander, in de days of old, lak de chillen of Is'ul
+in Egypt, a deliv'ah came unto us, an Ab'aham Lincoln a-lifted de yoke
+f'om ouah shouldahs." The audience waked up and began swaying, and
+there was moaning heard from both Amen corners.
+
+"But, my f'en's, I want to ax you, who was behind Ab'aham Lincoln? Who
+was it helt up dat man's han's when dey sent bayonets an' buttons to
+enfo'ce his word--umph? I want to--to know who was behin' him? Wasn'
+it de 'Publican pa'ty?" There were cries of "Yes, yes! dat's so!" One
+old sister rose and waved her sunbonnet.
+
+"An' now I want to know in dis hyeah day o' comin' up ef we a-gwineter
+'sert de ol' flag which waved ovah Lincoln, waved ovah Gin'r'l Butler,
+an' led us up straight to f'eedom? Ladies an' gent'men, an' my f'en's,
+I know dar have been suttain meetin's held lately in dis pa't o' de
+town. I know dar have been suttain cannerdates which have come down
+hyeah an' brung us de mixed wine o' Babylon. I know dar have been dem
+o' ouah own people who have drunk an' become drunk--ah! But I want to
+know, an' I want to ax you ter-night as my f'en's an' my brothahs, is
+we all a-gwineter do it--huh? Is we all a-gwineter drink o' dat wine?
+Is we all a-gwineter reel down de perlitical street, a-staggerin' to
+an' fro?--hum!"
+
+Cries of "No! No! No!" shook the whole church.
+
+"Gent'men an' ladies," said the old man, lowering his voice, "de
+pa'able has been 'peated, an' some o' us--I ain't mentionin' no names,
+an' I ain't a-blamin' no chu'ch--but I say dar is some o' us dat has
+sol' dere buthrights fu' a pot o' cabbage."
+
+What more Deacon Swift said is hardly worth the telling, for the whole
+church was in confusion and little more was heard. But he carried
+everything with him, and Lane's work seemed all undone. On a back seat
+of the church Tom Swift, the son of the presiding officer, sat and
+smiled at his father unmoved, because he had gone as far as the sixth
+grade in school, and thought he knew more.
+
+As the reporters say, the meeting came to a close amid great
+enthusiasm.
+
+The day of election came and Little Africa gathered as usual about the
+polls in the precinct. The Republicans followed their plan of not
+bothering about the district. They had heard of the Deacon's meeting,
+and chuckled to themselves in their committee-room. Little Africa was
+all solid, as usual, but Lane was not done yet. His emissaries were
+about, as thick as insurance agents, and they, as well as the
+Republican workers, had money to spare and to spend. Some votes, which
+counted only for numbers, were fifty cents apiece, but when Tom Swift
+came down they knew who he was and what his influence could do. They
+gave him five dollars, and Lane had one more vote and a deal of
+prestige. The young man thought he was voting for his convictions.
+
+He had just cast his ballot, and the crowd was murmuring around him
+still at the wonder of it--for the Australian ballot has tongues as
+well as ears--when his father came up, with two or three of his old
+friends, each with the old ticket in his hands. He heard the rumor
+and laughed. Then he came up to Tom.
+
+"Huh," he said, "dey been sayin' 'roun' hyeah you voted de Democratic
+ticket. Go mek 'em out a lie."
+
+"I did vote the Democratic ticket," said Tom steadily.
+
+The old man fell back a step and gasped, as if he had been struck.
+
+"You did?" he cried. "You did?"
+
+"Yes," said Tom, visibly shaken; "every man has a right--"
+
+"Evah man has a right to what?" cried the old man.
+
+"To vote as he thinks he ought to," was his son's reply.
+
+Deacon Swift's eyes were bulging and reddening.
+
+"You--you tell me dat?" His slender form towered above his son's, and
+his knotted, toil-hardened hands opened and closed.
+
+"You tell me dat? You with yo' bringin' up vote de way you think
+you're right? You lie! Tell me what dey paid you, or, befo' de Lawd,
+I'll taih you to pieces right hyeah!"
+
+Tom wavered. He was weaker than his father. He had not gone through
+the same things, and was not made of the same stuff.
+
+"They--they give me five dollahs," he said; "but it wa'n't fu'
+votin'."
+
+"Fi' dollahs! fi' dollahs! My son sell hisse'f fu' fi' dollahs! an'
+forty yeahs ago I brung fifteen hun'erd, an' dat was only my body, but
+you sell body an' soul fu' fi' dollahs!"
+
+Horror and scorn and grief and anger were in the old man's tone. Tears
+trickled down his wrinkled face, but there was no weakness in the grip
+with which he took hold of his son's arms.
+
+"Tek it back to 'em!" he said. "Tek it back to 'em."
+
+"But, pap--"
+
+"Tek it back to 'em, I say, or yo' blood be on yo' own haid!"
+
+And then, shamefaced before the crowd, driven by his father's anger,
+he went back to the man who had paid him and yielded up the precious
+bank-note. Then they turned, the one head-hung, the other proud in his
+very indignation, and made their way homeward.
+
+There was prayer-meeting the next Wednesday night at Bethel Chapel. It
+was nearly over and the minister was about to announce the Doxology,
+when old Deacon Swift arose.
+
+"Des' a minute, brothahs," he said. "I want to mek a 'fession. I was
+too ha'd an' too brash in my talk de othah night, an' de Lawd visited
+my sins upon my haid. He struck me in de bosom o' my own fambly. My
+own son went wrong. Pray fu' me!"
+
+
+
+
+THE TRUSTFULNESS OF POLLY
+
+
+Polly Jackson was a model woman. She was practical and hard-working.
+She knew the value of a dollar, could make one and keep one,
+sometimes--fate permitting. Fate was usually Sam and Sam was Polly's
+husband. Any morning at six o'clock she might be seen, basket on arm,
+wending her way to the homes of her wealthy patrons for the purpose of
+bringing in their washing, for by this means did she gain her
+livelihood. She had been a person of hard common sense, which suffered
+its greatest lapse when she allied herself with the man whose name she
+bore. After that the lapses were more frequent.
+
+How she could ever have done so no one on earth could tell. Sam was
+her exact opposite. He was an easy-going, happy-go-lucky individual,
+who worked only when occasion demanded and inclination and the weather
+permitted. The weather was usually more acquiescent than inclination.
+He was sanguine of temperament, highly imaginative and a dreamer of
+dreams. Indeed, he just missed being a poet. A man who dreams takes
+either to poetry or policy. Not being able quite to reach the former,
+Sam had declined upon the latter, and, instead of meter, feet and
+rhyme, his mind was taken up with "hosses," "gigs" and "straddles."
+
+He was always "jes' behin' dem policy sha'ks, an' I'll be boun',
+Polly, but I gwine to ketch 'em dis time."
+
+Polly heard this and saw the same result so often that even her
+stalwart faith began to turn into doubt. But Sam continued to reassure
+her and promise that some day luck would change. "An' when hit do
+change," he would add, impressively, "it's gwine change fu' sho', an'
+we'll have one wakenin' up time. Den I bet you'll git dat silk dress
+you been wantin' so long."
+
+Polly did have ambitions in the direction of some such finery, and
+this plea always melted her. Trust was restored again, and Hope
+resumed her accustomed place.
+
+It was, however, not through the successful culmination of any of
+Sam's policy manipulations that the opportunity at last came to Polly
+to realize her ambitions. A lady for whom she worked had a
+second-hand silk dress, which she was willing to sell cheap. Another
+woman had spoken for it, but if Polly could get the money in three
+weeks she would let her have it for seven dollars.
+
+To say that the companion of Sam Jackson jumped at the offer hardly
+indicates the attitude of eagerness with which she received the
+proposition.
+
+"Yas'm, I kin sholy git dat much money together in th'ee weeks de way
+I's a-wo'kin'."
+
+"Well, now, Polly, be sure; for if you are not prompt I shall have to
+dispose of it where it was first promised," was the admonition.
+
+"Oh, you kin 'pend on me, Mis' Mo'ton; fu' when I sets out to save
+money I kin save, I tell you." Polly was not usually so sanguine, but
+what changes will not the notion of the possession of a brown silk
+dress trimmed with passementrie make in the disposition of a woman?
+
+Polly let Sam into the secret, and, be it said to his credit, he
+entered into the plan with an enthusiasm no less intense than her own.
+He had always wanted to see her in a silk dress, he told her, and then
+in a quizzically injured tone of voice, "but you ought to waited tell
+I ketched dem policy sha'ks an' I'd 'a' got you a new one." He even
+went so far as to go to work for a week and bring Polly his earnings,
+of course, after certain "little debts" which he mentioned but did not
+specify, had been deducted.
+
+But in spite of all this, when washing isn't bringing an especially
+good price; when one must eat and food is high; when a grasping
+landlord comes around once every week and exacts tribute for the
+privilege of breathing foul air from an alley in a room up four
+flights; when, I say, all this is true, and it generally is true in
+the New York tenderloin, seven whole dollars are not easily saved.
+There was much raking and scraping and pinching during each day that
+at night Polly might add a few nickels or pennies to the store that
+jingled in a blue jug in one corner of her closet. She called it her
+bank, and Sam had laughed at the conceit, telling her that that was
+one bank anyhow that couldn't "bust."
+
+As the days went on how she counted her savings and exulted in their
+growth! She already saw herself decked out in her new gown, the envy
+and admiration of every woman in the neighborhood. She even began to
+wish that she had a full-length glass in order that she might get the
+complete effect of her own magnificence. So saving, hoping, dreaming,
+the time went on until a few days before the limit, and there was only
+about a dollar to be added to make the required amount. This she could
+do easily in the remaining time. So Polly was jubilant.
+
+Now everything would have been all right and matters would have ended
+happily if Sam had only kept on at work. But, no. He must needs stop,
+and give his mind the chance to be employed with other things. And
+that is just what happened. For about this time, having nothing else
+to do, like that old king of Bible renown, he dreamed a dream. But
+unlike the royal dreamer, he asked no seer or prophet to interpret his
+dream to him. He merely drove his hand down into his inside pocket,
+and fished up an ancient dream-book, greasy and tattered with use.
+Over this he pored until his eyes bulged and his hands shook with
+excitement.
+
+"Got 'em at last!" he exclaimed. "Dey ain't no way fu' dem to git away
+f'om me. I's behind 'em. I's behind 'em I tell you," and then his face
+fell and he sat for a long time with his chin in his hand thinking,
+thinking.
+
+"Polly," said he when his wife came in, "d'you know what I dremp 'bout
+las' night?"
+
+"La! Sam Jackson, you ain't gone to dreamin' agin. I thought you done
+quit all dat foolishness."
+
+"Now jes' listen at you runnin' on. You ain't never axed me what I
+dremp 'bout yit."
+
+"Hit don' make much diffunce to me, less 'n you kin dream 'bout a
+dollah mo' into my pocket."
+
+"Dey has been sich things did," said Sam sententiously. He got up and
+went out. If there is one thing above another that your professional
+dreamer does demand, it is appreciation. Sam had failed to get it from
+Polly, but he found a balm for all his hurts when he met Bob Davis.
+
+"What!" exclaimed Bob. "Dreamed of a nakid black man. Fu' de Lawd
+sake, Sam, don' let de chance pass. You got 'em dis time sho'. I'll
+put somep'n' on it myse'f. Wha'd you think ef we'd win de 'capital'?"
+
+That was enough. The two parted and Sam hurried home. He crept into
+the house. Polly was busy hanging clothes on the roof. Where now are
+the guardian spirits that look after the welfare of trusting women?
+Where now are the enchanted belongings that even in the hands of the
+thief cry out to their unsuspecting owners? Gone. All gone with the
+ages of faith that gave them birth. Without an outcry, without even so
+much as a warning jingle, the contents of the blue jug and the
+embodied hope of a woman's heart were transferred to the gaping pocket
+of Sam Jackson. Polly went on hanging up clothes on the roof.
+
+Sam chuckled to himself: "She won't never have a chanst to scol' me.
+I'll git de drawin's early dis evenin', an' go ma'chin' home wif a new
+silk fu' huh, an' money besides. I do' want my wife waihin' no white
+folks' secon'-han' clothes nohow. My, but won't she be su'prised an'
+tickled. I kin jes' see huh now. Oh, mistah policy-sha'k, I got you
+now. I been layin' fu' you fu' a long time, but you's my meat at
+las'."
+
+He marched into the policy shop like a conqueror. To the amazement of
+the clerk, he turned out a pocketful of small coin on the table and
+played it all in "gigs," "straddles and combinations."
+
+"I'll call on you about ha' pas' fou', Mr. McFadden," he announced
+exultantly as he went out.
+
+"Faith, sor," said McFadden to his colleague, "if that nagur does
+ketch it he'll break us, sure."
+
+Sam could hardly wait for half-past four. A minute before the time he
+burst in upon McFadden and demanded the drawings. They were handed to
+him. He held his breath as his eye went down the column of figures.
+Then he gasped and staggered weakly out of the room. The policy sharks
+had triumphed again.
+
+Sam walked the streets until nine o'clock that night. He was afraid to
+go home to Polly. He knew that she had been to the jug and found--. He
+groaned, but at last his very helplessness drove him in. Polly, with
+swollen eyes, was sitting by the table, the empty jug lying on its
+side before her.
+
+"Sam," she exclaimed, "whaih's my money? Whaih's my money I been
+wo'kin' fu' all dis time?"
+
+"Why--Why, Polly--"
+
+"Don' go beatin' 'roun' de bush. I want 'o know whaih my money is; you
+tuck it."
+
+"Polly, I dremp--"
+
+"I do' keer what you dremp, I want my money fu' my dress."
+
+His face was miserable.
+
+"I thought sho' dem numbers 'u'd come out, an'--"
+
+The woman flung herself upon the floor and burst into a storm of
+tears. Sam bent over her. "Nemmine, Polly," he said. "Nemmine. I
+thought I'd su'prise you. Dey beat me dis time." His teeth clenched.
+"But when I ketch dem policy sha'ks--"
+
+
+
+
+THE TRAGEDY AT THREE FORKS
+
+
+It was a drizzly, disagreeable April night. The wind was howling in a
+particularly dismal and malignant way along the valleys and hollows of
+that part of Central Kentucky in which the rural settlement of Three
+Forks is situated. It had been "trying to rain" all day in a
+half-hearted sort of manner, and now the drops were flying about in a
+cold spray. The night was one of dense, inky blackness, occasionally
+relieved by flashes of lightning. It was hardly a night on which a
+girl should be out. And yet one was out, scudding before the storm,
+with clenched teeth and wild eyes, wrapped head and shoulders in a
+great blanket shawl, and looking, as she sped along like a restless,
+dark ghost. For her, the night and the storm had no terrors; passion
+had driven out fear. There was determination in her every movement,
+and purpose was apparent in the concentration of energy with which she
+set her foot down. She drew the shawl closer about her head with a
+convulsive grip, and muttered with a half sob, "'Tain't the first
+time, 'tain't the first time she's tried to take me down in comp'ny,
+but--" and the sob gave way to the dry, sharp note in her voice, "I'll
+fix her, if it kills me. She thinks I ain't her ekals, does she?
+'Cause her pap's got money, an' has good crops on his lan', an' my pap
+ain't never had no luck, but I'll show 'er, I'll show 'er that good
+luck can't allus last. Pleg-take 'er, she's jealous, 'cause I'm better
+lookin' than she is, an' pearter in every way, so she tries to make me
+little in the eyes of people. Well, you'll find out what it is to be
+pore--to have nothin', Seliny Williams, if you live."
+
+The black night hid a gleam in the girl's eyes, and her shawl hid a
+bundle of something light, which she clutched very tightly, and which
+smelled of kerosene.
+
+The dark outline of a house and its outbuildings loomed into view
+through the dense gloom; and the increased caution with which the girl
+proceeded, together with the sudden breathless intentness of her
+conduct, indicated that it was with this house and its occupants she
+was concerned.
+
+The house was cellarless, but it was raised at the four corners on
+heavy blocks, leaving a space between the ground and the floor, the
+sides of which were partly closed by banks of ashes and earth which
+were thrown up against the weather-boarding. It was but a few minutes'
+work to scrape away a portion of this earth, and push under the pack
+of shavings into which the mysterious bundle resolved itself. A match
+was lighted, sheltered, until it blazed, and then dropped among them.
+It took only a short walk and a shorter time to drop a handful of
+burning shavings into the hay at the barn. Then the girl turned and
+sped away, muttering: "I reckon I've fixed you, Seliny Williams,
+mebbe, next time you meet me out at a dance, you won't snub me; mebbe
+next time, you'll be ez pore ez I am, an'll be willin' to dance crost
+from even ole 'Lias Hunster's gal."
+
+The constantly falling drizzle might have dampened the shavings and
+put out the fire, had not the wind fanned the sparks into too rapid a
+flame, which caught eagerly at shingle, board and joist until house
+and barn were wrapped in flames. The whinnying of the horses first
+woke Isaac Williams, and he sprang from bed at sight of the furious
+light which surrounded his house. He got his family up and out of the
+house, each seizing what he could of wearing apparel as he fled before
+the flames. Nothing else could be saved, for the fire had gained
+terrible headway, and its fierceness precluded all possibility of
+fighting it. The neighbors attracted by the lurid glare came from far
+and near, but the fire had done its work, and their efforts availed
+nothing. House, barn, stock, all, were a mass of ashes and charred
+cinders. Isaac Williams, who had a day before, been accounted one of
+the solidest farmers in the region, went out that night with his
+family--homeless.
+
+Kindly neighbors took them in, and by morning the news had spread
+throughout all the country-side. Incendiarism was the only cause that
+could be assigned, and many were the speculations as to who the guilty
+party could be. Of course, Isaac Williams had enemies. But who among
+them was mean, ay, daring enough to perpetrate such a deed as this?
+
+Conjecture was rife, but futile, until old 'Lias Hunster, who though
+he hated Williams, was shocked at the deed, voiced the popular
+sentiment by saying, "Look a here, folks, I tell you that's the work
+o' niggers, I kin see their hand in it."
+
+"Niggers, o' course," exclaimed every one else. "Why didn't we think
+of it before? It's jest like 'em."
+
+Public opinion ran high and fermented until Saturday afternoon when
+the county paper brought the whole matter to a climax by coming out in
+a sulphurous account of the affair, under the scarehead:
+
+                  A TERRIBLE OUTRAGE!
+
+    MOST DASTARDLY DEED EVER COMMITTED IN THE HISTORY OF
+      BARLOW COUNTY. A HIGHLY RESPECTED, UNOFFENDING
+        AND WELL-BELOVED FAMILY BURNED OUT OF HOUSE
+            AND HOME. NEGROES! UNDOUBTEDLY THE
+                PERPETRATORS OF THE DEED!
+
+The article went on to give the facts of the case, and many more
+supposed facts, which had originated entirely in the mind of the
+correspondent. Among these facts was the intelligence that some
+strange negroes had been seen lurking in the vicinity the day before
+the catastrophe and that a party of citizens and farmers were scouring
+the surrounding country in search of them. "They would, if caught,"
+concluded the correspondent, "be summarily dealt with."
+
+Notwithstanding the utter falsity of these statements, it did not take
+long for the latter part of the article to become a prophecy
+fulfilled, and soon, excited, inflamed and misguided parties of men
+and boys were scouring the woods and roads in search of strange
+"niggers." Nor was it long, before one of the parties raised the cry
+that they had found the culprits. They had come upon two strange
+negroes going through the woods, who seeing a band of mounted and
+armed men, had instantly taken to their heels. This one act had
+accused, tried and convicted them.
+
+The different divisions of the searching party came together, and led
+the negroes with ropes around their necks into the centre of the
+village. Excited crowds on the one or two streets which the hamlet
+boasted, cried "Lynch 'em, lynch 'em! Hang the niggers up to the first
+tree!"
+
+Jane Hunster was in one of the groups, as the shivering negroes
+passed, and she turned very pale even under the sunburn that browned
+her face.
+
+The law-abiding citizens of Barlow County, who composed the capturing
+party, were deaf to the admonitions of the crowd. They filed solemnly
+up the street, and delivered their prisoners to the keeper of the
+jail, sheriff, by courtesy, and scamp by the seal of Satan; and then
+quietly dispersed. There was something ominous in their very
+orderliness.
+
+Late that afternoon, the man who did duty as prosecuting attorney for
+that county, visited the prisoners at the jail, and drew from them the
+story that they were farm-laborers from an adjoining county. They had
+come over only the day before, and were passing through on the quest
+for work; the bad weather and the lateness of the season having thrown
+them out at home.
+
+"Uh, huh," said the prosecuting attorney at the conclusion of the
+tale, "your story's all right, but the only trouble is that it won't
+do here. They won't believe you. Now, I'm a friend to niggers as much
+as any white man can be, if they'll only be friends to themselves, an'
+I want to help you two all I can. There's only one way out of this
+trouble. You must confess that you did this."
+
+"But Mistah," said the bolder of the two negroes, "how kin we 'fess,
+when we wasn' nowhahs nigh de place?"
+
+"Now there you go with regular nigger stubbornness; didn't I tell you
+that that was the only way out of this? If you persist in saying you
+didn't do it, they'll hang you; whereas, if you own, you'll only get a
+couple of years in the 'pen.' Which 'ud you rather have, a couple o'
+years to work out, or your necks stretched?"
+
+"Oh, we'll 'fess, Mistah, we'll 'fess we done it; please, please don't
+let 'em hang us!" cried the thoroughly frightened blacks.
+
+"Well, that's something like it," said the prosecuting attorney as he
+rose to go. "I'll see what can be done for you."
+
+With marvelous and mysterious rapidity, considering the reticence
+which a prosecuting attorney who was friendly to the negroes should
+display, the report got abroad that the negroes had confessed their
+crime, and soon after dark, ominous looking crowds began to gather in
+the streets. They passed and repassed the place, where stationed on
+the little wooden shelf that did duty as a doorstep, Jane Hunster sat
+with her head buried in her hands. She did not raise up to look at any
+of them, until a hand was laid on her shoulder, and a voice called
+her, "Jane!"
+
+"Oh, hit's you, is it, Bud," she said, raising her head slowly,
+"howdy?"
+
+"Howdy yoreself," said the young man, looking down at her tenderly.
+
+"Bresh off yore pants an' set down," said the girl making room for him
+on the step. The young man did so, at the same time taking hold of her
+hand with awkward tenderness.
+
+"Jane," he said, "I jest can't wait fur my answer no longer! you got
+to tell me to-night, either one way or the other. Dock Heaters has
+been a-blowin' hit aroun' that he has beat my time with you. I don't
+believe it Jane, fur after keepin' me waitin' all these years, I don't
+believe you'd go back on me. You know I've allus loved you, ever sence
+we was little children together."
+
+The girl was silent until he leaned over and said in pleading tones,
+"What do you say, Jane?"
+
+"I hain't fitten fur you, Bud."
+
+"Don't talk that-a-way, Jane, you know ef you jest say 'yes,' I'll be
+the happiest man in the state."
+
+"Well, yes, then, Bud, for you're my choice, even ef I have fooled
+with you fur a long time; an' I'm glad now that I kin make somebody
+happy." The girl was shivering, and her hands were cold, but she made
+no movement to rise or enter the house.
+
+Bud put his arms around her and kissed her shyly. And just then a
+shout arose from the crowd down the street.
+
+"What's that?" she asked.
+
+"It's the boys gittin' worked up, I reckon. They're going to lynch
+them niggers to-night that burned ole man Williams out."
+
+The girl leaped to her feet, "They mustn't do it," she cried. "They
+ain't never been tried!"
+
+"Set down, Janey," said her lover, "they've owned up to it."
+
+"I don't believe it," she exclaimed, "somebody's jest a lyin' on 'em
+to git 'em hung because they're niggers."
+
+"Sh--Jane, you're excited, you ain't well; I noticed that when I first
+come to-night. Somebody's got to suffer fur that house-burnin', an' it
+might ez well be them ez anybody else. You mustn't talk so. Ef people
+knowed you wuz a standin' up fur niggers so, it 'ud ruin you."
+
+He had hardly finished speaking, when the gate opened, and another man
+joined them.
+
+"Hello, there, Dock Heaters, that you?" said Bud Mason.
+
+"Yes, it's me. How are you, Jane?" said the newcomer.
+
+"Oh, jest middlin', Dock, I ain't right well."
+
+"Well, you might be in better business than settin' out here talkin'
+to Bud Mason."
+
+"Don't know how as to that," said his rival, "seein' as we're
+engaged."
+
+"You're a liar!" flashed Dock Heaters.
+
+Bud Mason half rose, then sat down again; his triumph was sufficient
+without a fight. To him "liar" was a hard name to swallow without
+resort to blows, but he only said, his flashing eyes belying his calm
+tone, "Mebbe I am a liar, jest ast Jane."
+
+"Is that the truth, Jane?" asked Heaters, angrily.
+
+"Yes, hit is, Dock Heaters, an' I don't see what you've got to say
+about it; I hain't never promised you nothin' shore."
+
+Heaters turned toward the gate without a word. Bud sent after him a
+mocking laugh, and the bantering words, "You'd better go down, an'
+he'p hang them niggers, that's all you're good fur." And the rival
+really did bend his steps in that direction.
+
+Another shout arose from the throng down the street, and rising
+hastily, Bud Mason exclaimed, "I must be goin', that yell means
+business."
+
+"Don't go down there, Bud!" cried Jane. "Don't go, fur my sake, don't
+go." She stretched out her arms, and clasped them about his neck.
+
+"You don't want me to miss nothin' like that," he said as he unclasped
+her arms; "don't you be worried, I'll be back past here." And in a
+moment he was gone, leaving her cry of "Bud, Bud, come back," to smite
+the empty silence.
+
+When Bud Mason reached the scene of action, the mob had already broken
+into the jail and taken out the trembling prisoners. The ropes were
+round their necks and they had been led to a tree.
+
+"See ef they'll do anymore house-burnin'!" cried one as the ends of
+the ropes were thrown over the limbs of the tree.
+
+"Reckon they'll like dancin' hemp a heap better," mocked a second.
+
+"Justice an' pertection!" yelled a third.
+
+"The mills of the gods grind swift enough in Barlow County," said the
+schoolmaster.
+
+The scene, the crowd, the flaring lights and harsh voices intoxicated
+Mason, and he was soon the most enthusiastic man in the mob. At the
+word, his was one of the willing hands that seized the rope, and
+jerked the negroes off their feet into eternity. He joined the others
+with savage glee as they emptied their revolvers into the bodies. Then
+came the struggle for pieces of the rope as "keepsakes." The scramble
+was awful. Bud Mason had just laid hold of a piece and cut it off,
+when some one laid hold of the other end. It was not at the rope's
+end, and the other man also used his knife in getting a hold. Mason
+looked up to see who his antagonist was, and his face grew white with
+anger. It was Dock Heaters.
+
+"Let go this rope," he cried.
+
+"Let go yoreself, I cut it first, an' I'm a goin' to have it."
+
+They tugged and wrestled and panted, but they were evenly matched and
+neither gained the advantage.
+
+"Let go, I say," screamed Heaters, wild with rage.
+
+"I'll die first, you dirty dog!"
+
+The words were hardly out of his mouth before a knife flashed in the
+light of the lanterns, and with a sharp cry, Bud Mason fell to the
+ground. Heaters turned to fly, but strong hands seized and disarmed
+him.
+
+"He's killed him! Murder, murder!" arose the cry, as the crowd with
+terror-stricken faces gathered about the murderer and his victim.
+
+"Lynch him!" suggested some one whose thirst for blood was not yet
+appeased.
+
+"No," cried an imperious voice, "who knows what may have put him up to
+it? Give a white man a chance for his life."
+
+The crowd parted to let in the town marshal and the sheriff who took
+charge of the prisoner, and led him to the little rickety jail, whence
+he escaped later that night; while others improvised a litter, and
+bore the dead man to his home.
+
+The news had preceded them up the street, and reached Jane's ears. As
+they passed her home, she gazed at them with a stony, vacant stare,
+muttering all the while as she rocked herself to and fro, "I knowed
+it, I knowed it!"
+
+The press was full of the double lynching and the murder. Conservative
+editors wrote leaders about it in which they deplored the rashness of
+the hanging but warned the negroes that the only way to stop lynching
+was to quit the crimes of which they so often stood accused. But only
+in one little obscure sheet did an editor think to say, "There was
+Salem and its witchcraft; there is the south and its lynching. When
+the blind frenzy of a people condemn a man as soon as he is accused,
+his enemies need not look far for a pretext!"
+
+
+
+
+THE FINDING OF ZACH
+
+
+The rooms of the "Banner" Club--an organization of social intent, but
+with political streaks--were a blaze of light that Christmas Eve
+night. On the lower floor some one was strumming on the piano, and
+upstairs, where the "ladies" sat, and where the Sunday smokers were
+held, a man was singing one of the latest coon songs. The "Banner"
+always got them first, mainly because the composers went there, and
+often the air of the piece itself had been picked out or patched
+together, with the help of the "Banner's" piano, before the song was
+taken out for somebody to set the "'companiment" to it.
+
+The proprietor himself had just gone into the parlor to see that the
+Christmas decorations were all that he intended them to be when a door
+opened and an old man entered the room. In one hand he carried an
+ancient carpetbag, which he deposited on the floor, while he stared
+around at the grandeur of the place. He was a typical old uncle of the
+South, from the soles of his heavy brogans to the shiny top of his
+bald pate, with its fringe of white wool. It was plain to be seen that
+he was not a denizen of the town, or of that particular quarter. They
+do not grow old in the Tenderloin. He paused long enough to take in
+the appointments of the place, then, suddenly remembering his manners,
+he doffed his hat and bowed with old-fashioned courtesy to the
+splendid proprietor.
+
+"Why, how'do, uncle!" said the genial Mr. Turner, extending his hand.
+"Where did you stray from?"
+
+"Howdy, son, howdy," returned the old man gravely. "I hails f'om
+Miss'ippi myse'f, a mighty long ways f'om hyeah."
+
+His voice and old-time intonation were good to listen to, and Mr.
+Turner's thoughts went back to an earlier day in his own life. He was
+from Maryland himself. He drew up a chair for the old man and took one
+himself. A few other men passed into the room and stopped to look with
+respectful amusement at the visitor. He was such a perfect bit of old
+plantation life and so obviously out of place in a Tenderloin club
+room.
+
+"Well, uncle, are you looking for a place to stay?" pursued Turner.
+
+"Not 'zackly, honey; not 'zackly. I come up hyeah a-lookin' fu' a son
+o' mine dat been away f'om home nigh on to five years. He live hyeah
+in Noo Yo'k, an' dey tell me whaih I 'quiahed dat I li'ble to fin'
+somebody hyeah dat know him. So I jes' drapped in."
+
+"I know a good many young men from the South. What's your son's name?"
+
+"Well, he named aftah my ol' mastah, Zachariah Priestley Shackelford."
+
+"Zach Shackelford!" exclaimed some of the men, and there was a general
+movement among them, but a glance from Turner quieted the commotion.
+
+"Why, yes, I know your son," he said. "He's in here almost every
+night, and he's pretty sure to drop in a little later on. He has been
+singing with one of the colored companies here until a couple of weeks
+ago."
+
+"Heish up; you don't say so. Well! well! well! but den Zachariah allus
+did have a mighty sweet voice. He tu'k hit aftah his mammy. Well, I
+sholy is hopin' to see dat boy. He was allus my favorite, aldough I
+reckon a body ain' got no livin' right to have favorites among dey
+chilluns. But Zach was allus sich a good boy."
+
+The men turned away. They could not remember a time since they had
+known Zach Shackelford when by any stretch of imagination he could
+possibly have been considered good. He was known as one of the wildest
+young bucks that frequented the club, with a deft hand at cards and
+dice and a smooth throat for whisky. But Turner gave them such a
+defiant glance that they were almost ready to subscribe to anything
+the old man might say.
+
+"Dis is a mighty fine place you got hyeah. Hit mus' be a kind of a
+hotel or boa'din' house, ain't hit?"
+
+"Yes, something like."
+
+"We don' have nuffin' lak dis down ouah way. Co'se, we's jes' common
+folks. We wo'ks out in de fiel', and dat's about all we knows--fiel',
+chu'ch an' cabin. But I's mighty glad my Zach 's gittin' up in de
+worl'. He nevah were no great han' fu' wo'k. Hit kin' o' seemed to go
+agin his natur'. You know dey is folks lak dat."
+
+"Lots of 'em, lots of 'em," said Mr. Turner.
+
+The crowd of men had been augmented by a party from out of the card
+room, and they were listening intently to the old fellow's chatter.
+They felt now that they ought to laugh, but somehow they could not,
+and the twitching of their careless faces was not from suppressed
+merriment.
+
+The visitor looked around at them, and then remarked: "My, what a lot
+of boa'dahs you got."
+
+"They don't all stay here," answered Turner seriously; "some of them
+have just dropped in to see their friends."
+
+"Den I 'low Zach'll be drappin' in presently. You mus' 'scuse me fu'
+talkin' 'bout him, but I's mighty anxious to clap my eyes on him. I's
+been gittin' on right sma't dese las' two yeahs, an' my ol' ooman she
+daid an' gone, an' I kin' o' lonesome, so I jes' p'omised mysef dis
+Crismus de gif' of a sight o' Zach. Hit do look foolish fu' a man ez
+ol' ez me to be a runnin' 'roun' de worl' a spen'in' money dis away,
+but hit do seem so ha'd to git Zach home."
+
+"How long are you going to be with us?"
+
+"Well, I 'specs to stay all o' Crismus week."
+
+"Maybe--" began one of the men. But Turner interrupted him. "This
+gentleman is my guest. Uncle," turning to the old man, "do you
+ever--would you--er. I've got some pretty good liquor here, ah--"
+
+Zach's father smiled a sly smile. "I do' know, suh," he said,
+crossing his leg high. "I's Baptis' mys'f, but 'long o' dese Crismus
+holidays I's right fond of a little toddy."
+
+A half dozen eager men made a break for the bar, but Turner's uplifted
+hand held them. He was an autocrat in his way.
+
+"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, "but I think I remarked some time ago
+that Mr. Shackelford was my guest." And he called the waiter.
+
+All the men had something and tapped rims with the visitor.
+
+"'Pears to me you people is mighty clevah up hyeah; 'tain' no wondah
+Zachariah don' wan' to come home."
+
+Just then they heard a loud whoop outside the door, and a voice broke
+in upon them singing thickly, "Oh, this spo'tin' life is surely
+killin' me." The men exchanged startled glances. Turner looked at
+them, and there was a command in his eye. Several of them hurried out,
+and he himself arose, saying: "I've got to go out for a little while,
+but you just make yourself at home, uncle. You can lie down right
+there on that sofa and push that button there--see, this way--if you
+want some more toddy. It shan't cost you anything."
+
+"Oh, I'll res' myself, but I ain' gwine sponge on you dat away. I got
+some money," and the old man dug down into his long pocket. But his
+host laid a hand on his arm.
+
+"Your money's no good up here."
+
+"Wh--wh--why, I thought dis money passed any whah in de Nunited
+States!" exclaimed the bewildered old man.
+
+"That's all right, but you can't spend it until we run out."
+
+"Oh! Why, bless yo' soul, suh, you skeered me. You sho' is clevah."
+
+Turner went out and came upon his emissaries, where they had halted
+the singing Zach in the hallway, and were trying to get into his
+muddled brain that his father was there.
+
+"Wha'sh de ol' man doin' at de 'Banner,' gittin' gay in his ol' days?
+Hic."
+
+That was enough for Turner to hear. "Look a-here," he said, "don't you
+get flip when you meet your father. He's come a long ways to see you,
+and I'm damned if he shan't see you right. Remember you're stoppin' at
+my house as long as the old man stays, and if you make a break while
+he's here I'll spoil your mug for you. Bring him along, boys."
+
+Zach had started in for a Christmas celebration, but they took him
+into an empty room. They sent to the drug store and bought many
+things. When the young man came out an hour later he was straight, but
+sad.
+
+"Why, Pap," he said when he saw the old man, "I'll be--"
+
+"Hem!" said Turner.
+
+"I'll be blessed!" Zach finished.
+
+The old man looked him over. "Tsch! tsch! tsch! Dis is a Crismus gif'
+fu' sho'!" His voice was shaking. "I's so glad to see you, honey; but
+chile, you smell lak a 'pothac'ay shop."
+
+"I ain't been right well lately," said Zach sheepishly.
+
+To cover his confusion Turner called for eggnog.
+
+When it came the old man said: "Well, I's Baptis' myse'f, but seein'
+it's Crismus--"
+
+
+
+
+JOHNSONHAM, JUNIOR
+
+
+Now any one will agree with me that it is entirely absurd for two men
+to fall out about their names; but then, circumstances alter cases. It
+had its beginning in 1863, and it has just ended.
+
+In the first place, Ike and Jim had been good friends on the
+plantation, but when the time came for them to leave and seek homes
+for themselves each wanted a name. The master's name was Johnson, and
+they both felt themselves entitled to it. When Ike went forth to men
+as Isaac Johnson, and Jim, not to be outdone, became James Johnsonham,
+the rivalry began. Each married and became the father of a boy who
+took his father's name.
+
+When both families moved North and settled in Little Africa their
+children had been taught that there must be eternal enmity between
+them on account of their names, and just as lasting a friendship on
+every other score. But with boys it was natural that the rivalry
+should extend to other things. When they went to school it was a
+contest for leadership both in the classroom and in sports, and when
+Isaac Johnson left school to go to work in the brickyard, James
+Johnsonham, not to be outdone in industry, also entered the same field
+of labor.
+
+Later, it was questioned all up and down Douglass Street, which, by
+the way, is the social centre of Little Africa--as to which of the two
+was the better dancer or the more gallant beau. It was a piece of good
+fortune that they did not fall in love with the same girl and bring
+their rivalry into their affairs of the heart, for they were only men,
+and nothing could have kept them friends. But they came quite as near
+it as they could, for Matilda Benson was as bright a girl as Martha
+Mason, and when Ike married her she was an even-running contestant
+with her friend, Martha, for the highest social honors of their own
+particular set.
+
+It was a foregone conclusion that when they were married and settled
+they should live near each other. So the houses were distant from each
+other only two or three doors. It was because every one knew every one
+else's business in that locality that Sandy Worthington took it upon
+himself to taunt the two men about their bone of contention.
+
+"Mr. Johnson," he would say, when, coming from the down-town store
+where he worked, he would meet the two coming from their own labors in
+the brickyard, "how are you an' Mistah Johnsonham mekin' it ovah yo'
+names?"
+
+"Well, I don' know that Johnsonham is so much of a name," Ike would
+say; and Jim would reply: "I 'low it's mo' name than Johnson, anyhow."
+
+"So is stealin' ham mo' than stealin'," was the other's rejoinder, and
+then his friends would double up with mirth.
+
+Sometimes the victorious repartee was Jim's, and then the laugh was on
+the other side. But the two went at it all good-naturedly, until one
+day, one foolish day, when they had both stopped too often on the way
+home, Jim grew angry at some little fling of his friend's, and burst
+into hot abuse of him. At first Ike was only astonished, and then his
+eyes, red with the dust of the brick-field, grew redder, the veins of
+his swarthy face swelled, and with a "Take that, Mistah Johnsonham,"
+he gave Jim a resounding thwack across the face.
+
+It took only a little time for a crowd to gather, and, with their
+usual tormentor to urge them on, the men forgot themselves and went
+into the fight in dead earnest. It was a hard-fought battle. Both
+rolled in the dust, caught at each other's short hair, pummeled, bit
+and swore. They were still rolling and tumbling when their wives,
+apprised of the goings on, appeared upon the scene and marched them
+home.
+
+After that, because they were men, they kept a sullen silence between
+them, but Matilda and Martha, because they were women, had much to say
+to each other, and many unpleasant epithets to hurl and hurl again
+across the two yards that intervened between them. Finally, neither
+little family spoke to the other. And then, one day, there was a great
+bustle about Jim's house. A wise old woman went waddling in, and later
+the doctor came. That night the proud husband and father was treating
+his friends, and telling them it was a boy, and his name was to be
+James Johnsonham, Junior.
+
+For a week Jim was irregular and unsteady in his habits, when one
+night, full of gin and pride, he staggered up to a crowd which was
+surrounding his rival, and said in a loud voice, "James Johnsonham,
+Junior--how does that strike you?"
+
+"Any bettah than Isaac Johnson, Junior?" asked some one, slapping the
+happy Ike on the shoulder as the crowd burst into a loud guffaw. Jim's
+head was sadly bemuddled, and for a time he gazed upon the faces about
+him in bewilderment. Then a light broke in upon his mind, and with a
+"Whoo-ee!" he said, "No!" Ike grinned a defiant grin at him, and led
+the way to the nearest place where he and his friends might celebrate.
+
+Jim went home to his wife full of a sullen, heavy anger. "Ike Johnson
+got a boy at his house, too," he said, "an' he done put Junior to his
+name." Martha raised her head from the pillow and hugged her own baby
+to her breast closer.
+
+"It do beat all," she made answer airily; "we can't do a blessed thing
+but them thaih Johnsons has to follow right in ouah steps. Anyhow, I
+don't believe their baby is no sich healthy lookin' chile as this one
+is, bress his little hea't! 'Cause I knows Matilda Benson nevah was
+any too strong."
+
+She was right; Matilda Benson was not so strong. The doctor went
+oftener to Ike's house than he had gone to Jim's, and three or four
+days after an undertaker went in.
+
+They tried to keep the news from Martha's ears, but somehow it leaked
+into them, and when Jim came home on that evening she looked into her
+husband's face with a strange, new expression.
+
+"Oh, Jim," she cried weakly, "'Tildy done gone, an' me jes' speakin'
+ha'd 'bout huh a little while ago, an' that po' baby lef thaih to die!
+Ain't it awful?"
+
+"Nev' min'," said Jim, huskily; "nev' min', honey." He had seen Ike's
+face when the messenger had come for him at the brickyard, and the
+memory of it was like a knife at his heart.
+
+"Jes' think, I said, only a day or so ago," Martha went on, "that
+'Tildy wasn't strong; an' I was glad of it, Jim, I was glad of it! I
+was jealous of huh havin' a baby, too. Now she's daid, an' I feel jes'
+lak I'd killed huh. S'p'osin' God 'ud sen' a jedgment on me--s'p'osin'
+He'd take our little Jim?"
+
+"Sh, sh, honey," said Jim, with a man's inadequacy in such a moment.
+"'Tain't yo' fault; you nevah wished huh any ha'm."
+
+"No; but I said it, I said it!"
+
+"Po' Ike," said Jim absently; "po' fellah!"
+
+"Won't you go thaih," she asked, "an' see what you kin do fu' him?"
+
+"He don't speak to me."
+
+"You mus' speak to him; you got to do it, Jim; you got to."
+
+"What kin I say? 'Tildy's daid."
+
+She reached up and put her arms around her husband's brawny neck. "Go
+bring that po' little lamb hyeah," she said. "I kin save it, an' 'ten'
+to two. It'll be a sort of consolation fu' him to keep his chile."
+
+"Kin you do that, Marthy?" he said. "Kin you do that?"
+
+"I know I kin." A great load seemed to lift itself from Jim's heart as
+he burst out of the house. He opened Ike's door without knocking. The
+man sat by the empty fireplace with his head bowed over the ashes.
+
+"Ike," he said, and then stopped.
+
+Ike raised his head and glanced at him with a look of dull despair.
+"She's gone," he replied; "'Tildy's gone." There was no touch of anger
+in his tone. It was as if he took the visit for granted. All petty
+emotions had passed away before this great feeling which touched both
+earth and the beyond.
+
+"I come fu' the baby," said Jim. "Marthy, she'll take keer of it."
+
+He reached down and found the other's hand, and the two hard palms
+closed together in a strong grip. "Ike," he went on, "I'm goin' to
+drop the 'Junior' an' the 'ham,' an' the two little ones'll jes' grow
+up togethah, one o' them lak the othah."
+
+The bereaved husband made no response. He only gripped the hand
+tighter. A little while later Jim came hastily from the house with
+something small wrapped closely in a shawl.
+
+
+
+
+THE FAITH CURE MAN
+
+
+Hope is tenacious. It goes on living and working when science has
+dealt it what should be its deathblow.
+
+In the close room at the top of the old tenement house little Lucy lay
+wasting away with a relentless disease. The doctor had said at the
+beginning of the winter that she could not live. Now he said that he
+could do no more for her except to ease the few days that remained for
+the child.
+
+But Martha Benson would not believe him. She was confident that
+doctors were not infallible. Anyhow, this one wasn't, for she saw life
+and health ahead for her little one.
+
+Did not the preacher at the Mission Home say: "Ask, and ye shall
+receive?" and had she not asked and asked again the life of her child,
+her last and only one, at the hands of Him whom she worshipped?
+
+No, Lucy was not going to die. What she needed was country air and a
+place to run about in. She had been housed up too much; these long
+Northern winters were too severe for her, and that was what made her
+so pinched and thin and weak. She must have air, and she should have
+it.
+
+"Po' little lammie," she said to the child, "Mammy's little gal boun'
+to git well. Mammy gwine sen' huh out in de country when the spring
+comes, whaih she kin roll in de grass an' pick flowers an' git good
+an' strong. Don' baby want to go to de country? Don' baby want to see
+de sun shine?" And the child had looked up at her with wide, bright
+eyes, tossed her thin arms and moaned for reply.
+
+"Nemmine, we gwine fool dat doctah. Some day we'll th'ow all his nassy
+medicine 'way, an' he come in an' say: 'Whaih's all my medicine?' Den
+we answeh up sma't like: 'We done th'owed it out. We don' need no
+nassy medicine.' Den he look 'roun' an' say: 'Who dat I see runnin'
+roun' de flo' hyeah, a-lookin' so fat?' an' you up an' say: 'Hit's me,
+dat's who 'tis, mistah doctor man!' Den he go out an' slam de do'
+behin' him. Ain' dat fine?"
+
+But the child had closed her eyes, too weak even to listen. So her
+mother kissed her little thin forehead and tiptoed out, sending in a
+child from across the hall to take care of Lucy while she was at
+work, for sick as the little one was she could not stay at home and
+nurse her.
+
+Hope grasps at a straw, and it was quite in keeping with the condition
+of Martha's mind that she should open her ears and her heart when they
+told her of the wonderful works of the faith-cure man. People had gone
+to him on crutches, and he had touched or rubbed them and they had
+come away whole. He had gone to the homes of the bed-ridden, and they
+had risen up to bless him. It was so easy for her to believe it all.
+The only religion she had ever known, the wild, emotional religion of
+most of her race, put her credulity to stronger tests than that. Her
+only question was, would such a man come to her humble room. But she
+put away even this thought. He must come. She would make him. Already
+she saw Lucy strong, and running about like a mouse, the joy of her
+heart and the light of her eyes.
+
+As soon as she could get time she went humbly to see the faith doctor,
+and laid her case before him, hoping, fearing, trembling.
+
+Yes, he would come. Her heart leaped for joy.
+
+"There is no place," said the faith curist, "too humble for the
+messenger of heaven to enter. I am following One who went among the
+humblest and the lowliest, and was not ashamed to be found among
+publicans and sinners. I will come to your child, madam, and put her
+again under the law. The law of life is health, and no one who will
+accept the law need be sick. I am not a physician. I do not claim to
+be. I only claim to teach people how not to be sick. My fee is five
+dollars, merely to defray my expenses, that's all. You know the
+servant is worthy of his hire. And in this little bottle here I have
+an elixir which has never been known to fail in any of the things
+claimed for it. Since the world has got used to taking medicine we
+must make some concessions to its prejudices. But this in reality is
+not a medicine at all. It is only a symbol. It is really liquefied
+prayer and faith."
+
+Martha did not understand anything of what he was saying. She did not
+try to; she did not want to. She only felt a blind trust in him that
+filled her heart with unspeakable gladness.
+
+Tremulous with excitement, she doled out her poor dollars to him,
+seized the precious elixir and hurried away home to Lucy, to whom she
+was carrying life and strength. The little one made a weak attempt to
+smile at her mother, but the light flickered away and died into
+greyness on her face.
+
+"Now mammy's little gal gwine to git well fu' sho'. Mammy done bring
+huh somep'n' good." Awed and reverent, she tasted the wonderful elixir
+before giving it to the child. It tasted very like sweetened water to
+her, but she knew that it was not, and had no doubt of its virtues.
+
+Lucy swallowed it as she swallowed everything her mother brought to
+her. Poor little one! She had nothing to buoy her up or to fight
+science with.
+
+In the course of an hour her mother gave her the medicine again, and
+persuaded herself that there was a perceptible brightening in her
+daughter's face.
+
+Mrs. Mason, Caroline's mother, called across the hall: "How Lucy dis
+evenin', Mis' Benson?"
+
+"Oh, I think Lucy air right peart," Martha replied. "Come over an'
+look at huh."
+
+Mrs. Mason came, and the mother told her about the new faith doctor
+and his wonderful powers.
+
+"Why, Mis' Mason," she said, "'pears like I could see de change in de
+child de minute she swallowed dat medicine."
+
+Her neighbor listened in silence, but when she went back to her own
+room it was to shake her head and murmur: "Po' Marfy, she jes' ez
+blind ez a bat. She jes' go 'long, holdin' on to dat chile wid all huh
+might, an' I see death in Lucy's face now. Dey ain't no faif nur
+prayer, nur Jack-leg doctors nuther gwine to save huh."
+
+But Martha needed no pity then. She was happy in her self-delusion.
+
+On the morrow the faith doctor came to see Lucy. She had not seemed so
+well that morning, even to her mother, who remained at home until the
+doctor arrived. He carried a conquering air, and a baggy umbrella, the
+latter of which he laid across the foot of the bed as he bent over the
+moaning child.
+
+"Give me some brown paper," he commanded.
+
+Martha hastened to obey, and the priestly practitioner dampened it in
+water and laid it on Lucy's head, all the time murmuring prayers--or
+were they incantations?--to himself. Then he placed pieces of the
+paper on the soles of the child's feet and on the palms of her hands,
+and bound them there.
+
+When all this was done he knelt down and prayed aloud, ending with a
+peculiar version of the Lord's prayer, supposed to have mystic effect.
+Martha was greatly impressed, but through it all Lucy lay and moaned.
+
+The faith curist rose to go. "Well, we can look to have her out in a
+few days. Remember, my good woman, much depends upon you. You must try
+to keep your mind in a state of belief. Are you saved?"
+
+"Oh, yes, suh. I'm a puffessor," said Martha, and having completed his
+mission, the man of prayers went out, and Caroline again took Martha's
+place at Lucy's side.
+
+In the next two days Martha saw, or thought she saw, a steady
+improvement in Lucy. According to instructions, the brown paper was
+moved every day, moistened, and put back.
+
+Martha had so far spurred her faith that when she went out on Saturday
+morning she promised to bring Lucy something good for her Christmas
+dinner, and a pair of shoes against the time of her going out, and
+also a little doll. She brought them home that night. Caroline had
+grown tired and, lighting the lamp, had gone home.
+
+"I done brung my little lady bird huh somep'n nice," said Martha,
+"here's a lil' doll and de lil' shoes, honey. How's de baby feel?"
+Lucy did not answer.
+
+"You sleep?" Martha went over to the bed. The little face was pinched
+and ashen. The hands were cold.
+
+"Lucy! Lucy!" called the mother. "Lucy! Oh, Gawd! It ain't true! She
+ain't daid! My little one, my las' one!"
+
+She rushed for the elixir and brought it to the bed. The thin dead
+face stared back at her, unresponsive.
+
+She sank down beside the bed, moaning.
+
+"Daid, daid, oh, my Gawd, gi' me back my chile! Oh, don't I believe
+you enough? Oh, Lucy, Lucy, my little lamb! I got you yo' gif'. Oh,
+Lucy!"
+
+The next day was set apart for the funeral. The Mission preacher read:
+"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the
+Lord," and some one said "Amen!" But Martha could not echo it in her
+heart. Lucy was her last, her one treasured lamb.
+
+
+
+
+A COUNCIL OF STATE
+
+
+PART I
+
+
+Luther Hamilton was a great political power. He was neither
+representative in Congress, senator nor cabinet minister. When asked
+why he aspired to none of these places of honor and emolument he
+invariably shrugged his shoulders and smiled inscrutably. In fact, he
+found it both more pleasant and more profitable simply to boss his
+party. It gave him power, position and patronage, and yet put him
+under obligations to no narrow constituency.
+
+As he sat in his private office this particular morning there was a
+smile upon his face, and his little eyes looked out beneath the heavy
+grey eyebrows and the massive cheeks with gleams of pleasure. His
+whole appearance betokened the fact that he was feeling especially
+good. Even his mail lay neglected before him, and his eyes gazed
+straight at the wall. What wonder that he should smile and dream. Had
+he not just the day before utterly crushed a troublesome opponent?
+Had he not ruined the career of a young man who dared to oppose him,
+driven him out of public life and forced his business to the wall? If
+this were not food for self-congratulation pray what is?
+
+Mr. Hamilton's reverie was broken in upon by a tap at the door, and
+his secretary entered.
+
+"Well, Frank, what is it now? I haven't gone through my mail yet."
+
+"Miss Kirkman is in the outer office, sir, and would like to see you
+this morning."
+
+"Oh, Miss Kirkman, heh; well, show her in at once."
+
+The secretary disappeared and returned ushering in a young woman, whom
+the "boss" greeted cordially.
+
+"Ah, Miss Kirkman, good-morning! Good-morning! Always prompt and busy,
+I see. Have a chair."
+
+Miss Kirkman returned his greeting and dropped into a chair. She began
+at once fumbling in a bag she carried.
+
+"We'll get right to business," she said. "I know you're busy, and so
+am I, and I want to get through. I've got to go and hunt a servant for
+Mrs. Senator Dutton when I leave here."
+
+She spoke in a loud voice, and her words rushed one upon the other as
+if she were in the habit of saying much in a short space of time. This
+is a trick of speech frequently acquired by those who visit public
+men. Miss Kirkman's whole manner indicated bustle and hurry. Even her
+attire showed it. She was a plump woman, aged, one would say about
+thirty. Her hair was brown and her eyes a steely grey--not a bad face,
+but one too shrewd and aggressive perhaps for a woman. One might have
+looked at her for a long time and never suspected the truth, that she
+was allied to the colored race. Neither features, hair nor complexion
+showed it, but then "colored" is such an elastic word, and Miss
+Kirkman in reality was colored "for revenue only." She found it more
+profitable to ally herself to the less important race because she
+could assume a position among them as a representative woman, which
+she could never have hoped to gain among the whites. So she was
+colored, and, without having any sympathy with the people whom she
+represented, spoke for them and uttered what was supposed by the
+powers to be the thoughts that were in their breasts.
+
+"Well, from the way you're tossing the papers in that bag I know
+you've got some news for me."
+
+"Yes, I have, but I don't know how important you'll think it is. Here
+we are!" She drew forth a paper and glanced at it.
+
+"It's just a memorandum, a list of names of a few men who need
+watching. The Afro-American convention is to meet on the 22d; that's
+Thursday of next week. Bishop Carter is to preside. The thing has
+resolved itself into a fight between those who are office-holders and
+those who want to be."
+
+"Yes, well what's the convention going to do?"
+
+"They're going to denounce the administration."
+
+
+"Hem, well in your judgment, what will that amount to, Miss Kirkman?"
+
+"They are the representative talking men from all sections of the
+country, and they have their following, and so there's no use
+disputing that they can do some harm."
+
+"Hum, what are they going to denounce the administration for?"
+
+"Oh, there's a spirit of general discontent, and they've got to
+denounce something, so it had as well be the administration as
+anything else."
+
+There was a new gleam in Mr. Hamilton's eye that was not one of
+pleasure as he asked, "Who are the leaders in this movement?"
+
+"That's just what I brought this list for. There's Courtney, editor of
+the _New York Beacon_, who is rabid; there's Jones of Georgia, Gray of
+Ohio--"
+
+"Whew," whistled the boss, "Gray of Ohio, why he's on the inside."
+
+"Yes, and I can't see what's the matter with him, he's got his
+position, and he ought to keep his mouth shut."
+
+"Oh, there are ways of applying the screw. Go on."
+
+"Then, too, there's Shackelford of Mississippi, Duncan of South
+Carolina, Stowell of Kentucky, and a lot of smaller fry who are not
+worth mentioning."
+
+"Are they organized?"
+
+"Yes, Courtney has seen to that, the forces are compact."
+
+"We must split them. How is the bishop?"
+
+"Neutral."
+
+"Any influence?"
+
+"Lots of it."
+
+"How's your young man, the one for whom you've been soliciting a
+place--what's his name?"
+
+Miss Kirkman did her womanhood the credit of blushing, "Joseph
+Aldrich, you mean. You can trust to me to see that he's on the right
+side."
+
+"Happy is the man who has the right woman to boss him, and who has
+sense enough to be bossed by her; his path shall be a path of roses,
+and his bed a flowery bed of ease. Now to business. They must not
+denounce the administration. What are the conditions of membership in
+this convention?"
+
+"Any one may be present, but it costs a fee of five dollars for the
+privilege of the floor."
+
+Mr. Hamilton turned to the desk and made out a check. He handed it to
+Miss Kirkman, saying, "Cash this, and pack that convention for the
+administration. I look to you and the people you may have behind you
+to check any rash resolutions they may attempt to pass. I want you to
+be there every day and take notes of the speeches made, and their
+character and tenor. I shall have Mr. Richardson there also to help
+you. The record of each man's speech will be sent to his central
+committee, and we shall know how to treat him in the future. You
+know, Miss Kirkman, it is our method to help our friends and to crush
+our enemies. I shall depend upon you to let me know which is which.
+Good-morning."
+
+"Good-morning, Mr. Hamilton."
+
+"And, oh, Miss Kirkman, just a moment. Frank," the secretary came in,
+"bring me that jewel case out of the safe. Here, Miss Kirkman, Mrs.
+Hamilton told me if you came in to ask if you would mind running past
+the safety deposit vaults and putting these in for her?"
+
+"Certainly not," said Miss Kirkman.
+
+This was one of the ways in which Miss Kirkman was made to remember
+her race. And the relation to that race, which nothing in her face
+showed, came out strongly in her willingness thus to serve. The
+confidence itself flattered her, and she was never tired of telling
+her acquaintances how she had put such and such a senator's wife's
+jewels away, or got a servant for a cabinet minister.
+
+When her other duties were done she went directly to a small dingy
+office building and entered a room, over which was the sign, "Joseph
+Aldrich, Counselor and Attorney at Law."
+
+"How do, Joe."
+
+"Why, Miss Kirkman, I'm glad to see you," said Mr. Aldrich, coming
+forward to meet her and setting a chair. He was a slender young man,
+of a complexion which among the varying shades bestowed among colored
+people is termed a light brown skin. A mustache and a short Vandyke
+beard partially covered a mouth inclined to weakness. Looking at them,
+an observer would have said that Miss Kirkman was the stronger man of
+the two.
+
+"What brings you out this way to-day?" questioned Aldrich.
+
+"I'll tell you. You've asked me to marry you, haven't you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, I'm going to do it."
+
+"Annie, you make me too happy."
+
+"That's enough," said Miss Kirkman, waving him away. "We haven't any
+time for romance now. I mean business. You're going to the convention
+next week."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you're going to speak?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"That's right. Let me see your speech."
+
+He drew a typewritten manuscript from the drawer and handed it to her.
+She ran her eyes over the pages, murmuring to herself. "Uh, huh,
+'wavering, weak, vaciliating adminstration, have not given us the
+protection our rights as citizens demanded--while our brothers were
+murdered in the South. Nero fiddled while Rome burned, while this
+modern'--uh, huh, oh, yes, just as I thought," and with a sudden twist
+Miss Kirkman tore the papers across and pitched them into the grate.
+
+"Miss Kirkman--Annie, what do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that if you're going to marry me, I'm not going to let you go
+to the convention and kill yourself."
+
+"But my convictions--"
+
+"Look here, don't talk to me about convictions. The colored man is the
+under dog, and the under dog has no right to have convictions. Listen,
+you're going to the convention next week and you're going to make a
+speech, but it won't be that speech. I have just come from Mr.
+Hamilton's. That convention is to be watched closely. He is to have
+his people there and they are to take down the words of every man who
+talks, and these words will be sent to his central committee. The man
+who goes there with an imprudent tongue goes down. You'd better get to
+work and see if you can't think of something good the administration
+has done and dwell on that."
+
+"Whew!"
+
+"Well, I'm off."
+
+"But Annie, about the wedding?"
+
+"Good-morning, we'll talk about the wedding after the convention."
+
+The door closed on her last words, and Joseph Aldrich sat there
+wondering and dazed at her manner. Then he began to think about the
+administration. There must be some good things to say for it, and he
+would find them. Yes, Annie was right--and wasn't she a hustler
+though?
+
+
+PART II
+
+
+It was on the morning of the 22d and near nine o'clock, the hour at
+which the convention was to be called to order. But Mr. Gray of Ohio
+had not yet gone in. He stood at the door of the convention hall in
+deep converse with another man. His companion was a young looking
+sort of person. His forehead was high and his eyes were keen and
+alert. The face was mobile and the mouth nervous. It was the face of
+an enthusiast, a man with deep and intense beliefs, and the boldness
+or, perhaps, rashness to uphold them.
+
+"I tell you, Gray," he was saying, "it's an outrage, nothing less.
+Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Bah! It's all twaddle.
+Why, we can't even be secure in the first two, how can we hope for the
+last?"
+
+"You're right, Elkins," said Gray, soberly, "and though I hold a
+position under the administration, when it comes to a consideration of
+the wrongs of my race, I cannot remain silent."
+
+"I cannot and will not. I hold nothing from them, and I owe them
+nothing. I am only a bookkeeper in a commercial house, where their
+spite cannot reach me, so you may rest assured that I shall not bite
+my tongue."
+
+"Nor shall I. We shall all be colored men here together, and talk, I
+hope, freely one to the other. Shall you introduce your resolution
+to-day?"
+
+"I won't have a chance unless things move more rapidly than I expect
+them to. It will have to come up under new business, I should think."
+
+"Hardly. Get yourself appointed on the committee on resolutions."
+
+"Good, but how can I?"
+
+"I'll see to that; I know the bishop pretty well. Ah, good-morning,
+Miss Kirkman. How do you do, Aldrich?" Gray pursued, turning to the
+newcomers, who returned his greeting, and passed into the hall.
+
+"That's Miss Kirkman. You've heard of her. She fetches and carries for
+Luther Hamilton and his colleagues, and has been suspected of doing
+some spying, also."
+
+"Who was that with her?"
+
+"Oh, that's her man Friday; otherwise Joseph Aldrich by name, a fellow
+she's trying to make something of before she marries him. She's got
+the pull to do it, too."
+
+"Why don't you turn them down?"
+
+"Ah, my boy, you're young, you're young; you show it. Don't you know
+that a wind strong enough to uproot an oak only ripples the leaves of
+a creeper against the wall? Outside of the race that woman is really
+considered one of the leaders, and she trades upon the fact."
+
+"But why do you allow this base deception to go?"
+
+"Because, Elkins, my child," Gray put his hand on the other's shoulder
+with mock tenderness, "because these seemingly sagacious whites among
+whom we live are really a very credulous people, and the first one who
+goes to them with a good front and says 'Look here, I am the leader of
+the colored people; I am their oracle and prophet,' they immediately
+exalt and say 'That's so.' Now do you see why Miss Kirkman has a
+pull?"
+
+"I see, but come on, let's go in; there goes the gavel."
+
+The convention hall was already crowded, and the air was full of the
+bustle of settling down. When the time came for the payment of their
+fees, by those who wanted the privilege of the floor, there was a
+perfect rush for the secretary's desk. Bank notes fluttered
+everywhere. Miss Kirkman had on a suspiciously new dress and bonnet,
+but she had done her work well, nevertheless. She looked up into the
+gallery in a corner that overlooked the stage and caught the eye of a
+young man who sat there notebook in hand. He smiled, and she smiled.
+Then she looked over at Mr. Aldrich, who was not sitting with her,
+and they both smiled complacently. There's nothing like being on the
+inside.
+
+After the appointment of committees, the genial bishop began his
+opening address, and a very careful, pretty address it was, too--well
+worded, well balanced, dealing in broad generalities and studiously
+saying nothing that would indicate that he had any intention of
+directing the policy of the meetings. Of course it brought forth all
+the applause that a bishop's address deserves, and the ladies in the
+back seats fluttered their fans, and said: "The dear man, how eloquent
+he is."
+
+Gray had succeeded in getting Elkins placed on the committee on
+resolutions, but when they came to report, the fiery resolution
+denouncing the administration for its policy toward the negro was laid
+on the table. The young man had succeeded in engineering it through
+the committee, but the chairman decided that its proper place was
+under the head of new business, where it might be taken up in the
+discussion of the administration's attitude toward the negro.
+
+    [Illustration: THE BISHOP'S ADDRESS.]
+
+"We are here, gentlemen," pursued the bland presiding officer, "to
+make public sentiment, but we must not try to make it too fast; so if
+our young friend from Ohio will only hold his resolution a little
+longer, it will be acted upon at the proper time. We must be moderate
+and conservative."
+
+Gray sprang to his feet and got the chairman's eye. His face was
+flushed and he almost shouted: "Conservatism be hanged! We have rolled
+that word under our tongues when we were being trampled upon; we have
+preached it in our churches when we were being shot down; we have
+taught it in our schools when the right to use our learning was denied
+us, until the very word has come to be a reproach upon a black man's
+tongue!"
+
+There were cries of "Order! Order!" and "Sit down!" and the gavel was
+rattling on the chairman's desk. Then some one rose to a point of
+order, so dear to the heart of the negro debater. The point was
+sustained and the Ohioan yielded the floor, but not until he had gazed
+straight into the eyes of Miss Kirkman as they rose from her notebook.
+She turned red. He curled his lip and sat down, but the blood burned
+in his face, and it was not the heat of shame, but of anger and
+contempt that flushed his cheeks.
+
+This outbreak was but the precursor of other storms to follow. Every
+one had come with an idea to exploit or some proposition to advance.
+Each one had his panacea for all the aches and pains of his race. Each
+man who had paid his five dollars wanted his full five dollars' worth
+of talk. The chairman allowed them five minutes apiece, and they
+thought time dear at a dollar a minute. But there were speeches to be
+made for buncombe, and they made the best of the seconds. They howled,
+they raged, they stormed. They waxed eloquent or pathetic. Jones of
+Georgia was swearing softly and feelingly into Shackelford's ear.
+Shackelford was sympathetic and nervous as he fingered a large bundle
+of manuscript in his back pocket. He got up several times and called
+"Mr. Chairman," but his voice had been drowned in the tumult. Amid it
+all, calm and impassive, sat the man, who of all others was expected
+to be in the heat of the fray.
+
+It had been rumored that Courtney of the _New York Beacon_ had come to
+Washington with blood in his eyes. But there he sat, silent and
+unmoved, his swarthy, eagle-like face, with its frame of iron-grey
+hair as unchanging as if he had never had a passionate thought.
+
+"I don't like Jim Courtney's silence," whispered Stowell to a
+colleague. "There's never so much devil in him as when he keeps still.
+You look out for him when he does open up."
+
+But all the details of the convention do not belong to this narrative.
+It is hardly relevant, even, to tell how Stowell's prediction came
+true, and at the second day's meeting Courtney's calm gave way, and he
+delivered one of the bitterest speeches of his life. It was in the
+morning, and he was down for a set speech on "The Negro in the Higher
+Walks of Life." He started calmly, but as he progressed, the memory of
+all the wrongs, personal and racial that he had suffered; the
+knowledge of the disabilities that he and his brethren had to suffer,
+and the vision of toil unrequited, love rejected, and loyalty ignored,
+swept him off his feet. He forgot his subject, forgot everything but
+that he was a crushed man in a crushed race.
+
+The auditors held their breath, and the reporters wrote much.
+
+Turning to them he said, "And to the press of Washington, to whom I
+have before paid my respects, let me say that I am not afraid to have
+them take any word that I may say. I came here to meet them on their
+own ground. I will meet them with pen. I will meet them with pistol,"
+and then raising his tall, spare form, he shouted, "Yes, even though
+there is but one hundred and thirty-five pounds of me, I will meet
+them with my fists!"
+
+This was all very rash of Courtney. His paper did not circulate
+largely, so his real speech, which he printed, was not widely read,
+while through the columns of the local press, a garbled and distorted
+version of it went to every corner of the country. Purposely
+distorted? Who shall say? He had insulted the press; and then Mr.
+Hamilton was a very wealthy man.
+
+When the time for the consideration of Elkins' resolution came,
+Courtney, Jones and Shackelford threw themselves body and soul into
+the fight with Gray and its author. There was a formidable array
+against them. All the men in office, and all of those who had received
+even a crumb of promise were for buttering over their wrongs, and
+making their address to the public a prophecy of better things.
+
+Jones suggested that they send an apology to lynchers for having
+negroes where they could be lynched. This called for reproof from the
+other side, and the discussion grew hot and acrimonious. Gray again
+got the floor, and surprised his colleagues by the plainness of his
+utterances. Elkins followed him with a biting speech that brought
+Aldrich to his feet.
+
+Mr. Aldrich had chosen well his time, and had carefully prepared his
+speech. He recited all the good things that the administration had
+done, hoped to do, tried to do, or wanted to do, and showed what a
+very respectable array it was. He counseled moderation and
+conservatism, and his peroration was a flowery panegyric of the "noble
+man whose hand is on the helm, guiding the grand old ship of state
+into safe harbor."
+
+The office-holders went wild with enthusiasm. No self-interest there.
+The opposition could not argue that this speech was made to keep a
+job, because the speaker had none. Then Jim Courtney got up and
+spoiled it all by saying that it may be that the speaker had no job
+but wanted one.
+
+Aldrich was not moved. He saw a fat salary and Annie Kirkman for him
+in the near future.
+
+The young lady had done her work well, and when the resolution came to
+a vote it was lost by a good majority. Aldrich was again on his feet
+and offering another. The forces of the opposition were discouraged
+and disorganized, and they made no effort to stop it when the rules
+were suspended, and it went through on the first reading. Then the
+convention shouted, that is, part of it did, and Miss Kirkman closed
+her notebook and glanced up at the gallery again. The young man had
+closed his book also. Their work was done. The administration had not
+been denounced, and they had their black-list for Mr. Hamilton's
+knife.
+
+There were some more speeches made, just so that the talkers should
+get their money's worth; but for the masses, the convention had lost
+its interest, and after a few feeble attempts to stir it into life
+again, a motion to adjourn was entertained. But, before a second
+appeared, Elkins arose and asked leave to make a statement. It was
+granted.
+
+"Gentlemen," he said, "we have all heard the resolution which goes to
+the public as the opinion of the negroes of the country. There are
+some of us who do not believe that this expresses the feelings of our
+race, and to us who believe this, Mr. Courtney has given the use of
+his press in New York, and we shall print our resolution and scatter
+it broadcast as the minority report of this convention, but the
+majority report of the race."
+
+Miss Kirkman opened her book again for a few minutes, and then the
+convention adjourned.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"I wish you'd find out, Miss Kirkman," said Hamilton a couple of days
+later, "just what firm that young Elkins works for."
+
+"I have already done that. I thought you'd want to know," and she
+handed him a card.
+
+"Ah, yes," he said. "I have some business relations with that firm. I
+know them very well. Miss Anderson," he called to his stenographer,
+"will you kindly take a letter for me. By the way, Miss Kirkman, I
+have placed Mr. Aldrich. He will have his appointment in a few days."
+
+"Oh, thank you, Mr. Hamilton; is there anything more I can do for
+you?"
+
+"Nothing. Good-morning."
+
+"Good-morning."
+
+A week later in his Ohio home William Elkins was surprised to be
+notified by his employers that they were cutting down forces, and
+would need his services no longer. He wrote at once to his friend
+Gray to know if there was any chance for him in Washington, and
+received the answer that Gray could hardly hold his own, as great
+pressure was being put upon him to force him to resign.
+
+"I think," wrote Gray, "that the same hand is at the bottom of all our
+misfortunes. This is Hamilton's method."
+
+Miss Kirkman and Mr. Aldrich were married two weeks from the day the
+convention adjourned. Mr. Gray was removed from his position on
+account of inefficiency. He is still trying to get back, but the very
+men to whom his case must go are in the hands of Mr. Hamilton.
+
+
+
+
+SILAS JACKSON
+
+
+I
+
+
+Silas Jackson was a young man to whom many opportunities had come. Had
+he been a less fortunate boy, as his little world looked at it, he
+might have spent all his days on the little farm where he was born,
+much as many of his fellows did. But no, Fortune had marked him for
+her own, and it was destined that he should be known to fame. He was
+to know a broader field than the few acres which he and his father
+worked together, and where he and several brothers and sisters had
+spent their youth.
+
+Mr. Harold Marston was the instrument of Fate in giving Silas his
+first introduction to the world. Marston, who prided himself on being,
+besides a man of leisure, something of a sportsman, was shooting over
+the fields in the vicinity of the Jackson farm. During the week he
+spent in the region, needing the services of a likely boy, he came to
+know and like Silas. Upon leaving, he said, "It's a pity for a boy as
+bright as you are to be tied down in this God-forsaken place. How'd
+you like to go up to the Springs, Si, and work in a hotel?"
+
+The very thought of going to such a place, and to such work, fired the
+boy's imagination, although the idea of it daunted him.
+
+"I'd like it powahful well, Mistah Ma'ston," he replied.
+
+"Well, I'm going up there, and the proprietor of one of the best
+hotels, the Fountain House, is a very good friend of mine, and I'll
+get him to speak to his head waiter in your behalf. You want to get
+out of here, and see something of the world, and not stay cooped up
+with nothing livelier than rabbits, squirrels, and quail."
+
+And so the work was done. The black boy's ambitions that had only
+needed an encouraging word had awakened into buoyant life. He looked
+his destiny squarely in the face, and saw that the great world outside
+beckoned to him. From that time his dreams were eagle-winged. The farm
+looked narrower to him, the cabin meaner, and the clods were harder to
+his feet. He learned to hate the plough that he had followed before in
+dumb content, and there was no longer joy in the woods he knew and
+loved. Once, out of pure joy of living, he had gone singing about his
+work; but now, when he sang, it was because his heart was longing for
+the city of his dreams, and hope inspired the song.
+
+However, after Mr. Marston had been gone for over two weeks, and
+nothing had been heard from the Springs, the hope died in Silas's
+heart, and he came to believe that his benefactor had forgotten him.
+And yet he could not return to the old contentment with his mode of
+life. Mr. Marston was right, and he was "cooped up there with nothing
+better than rabbits, squirrels, and quail." The idea had never
+occurred to him before, but now it struck him with disconcerting force
+that there was something in him above his surroundings and the labor
+at which he toiled day by day. He began to see that the cabin was not
+over clean, and for the first time recognized that his brothers and
+sisters were positively dirty. He had always looked on it with
+unconscious eyes before, but now he suddenly developed the capacity
+for disgust.
+
+When young 'Lishy, noticing his brother's moroseness, attributed it to
+his strong feeling for a certain damsel, Silas turned on him in a
+fury. Ambition had even driven out all other feelings, and Dely Manly
+seemed poor and commonplace to the dark swain, who a month before
+would have gone any length to gain a smile from her. He compared
+everything and everybody to the glory of what he dreamed the Springs
+and its inhabitants to be, and all seemed cheap beside.
+
+Then on a day when his spirits were at their lowest ebb, a passing
+neighbor handed him a letter which he had found at the little village
+post office. It was addressed to Mr. Si Jackson, and bore the Springs
+postmark. Silas was immediately converted from a raw backwoods boy to
+a man of the world. Save the little notes that had been passed back
+and forth from boy to girl at the little log schoolhouse where he had
+gone four fitful sessions, this was his first letter, and it was the
+first time he had ever been addressed as "Mr." He swelled with a pride
+that he could not conceal, as with trembling hands he tore the missive
+open.
+
+    [Illustration: HIS BROTHER AND SISTER.]
+
+He read it through with glowing eyes and a growing sense of his own
+importance. It was from the head waiter whom Mr. Marston had
+mentioned, and was couched in the most elegant and high-sounding
+language. It said that Mr. Marston had spoken for Silas, and that if
+he came to the Springs, and was quick to learn, "to acquire
+knowledge," was the head waiter's phrase, a situation would be
+provided for him. The family gathered around the fortunate son, and
+gazed on him with awe when he imparted the good news. He became, on
+the instant, a new being to them. It was as if he had only been loaned
+to them, and was now being lifted bodily out of their world.
+
+The elder Jackson was a bit doubtful about the matter.
+
+"Of co'se ef you wants to go, Silas, I ain't a-gwine to gainsay you,
+an' I hope it's all right, but sence freedom dis hyeah piece o'
+groun's been good enough fu' me, an' I reckon you mought a' got erlong
+on it."
+
+"But pap, you see it's diff'ent now. It's diff'ent, all I wanted was a
+chanst."
+
+"Well, I reckon you got it, Si, I reckon you got it."
+
+The younger children whispered long after they had gone to bed that
+night, wondering and guessing what the great place to which brother Si
+was going could be like, and they could only picture it as like the
+great white-domed city whose picture they had seen in the gaudy Bible
+foisted upon them by a passing agent.
+
+As for Silas, he read and reread the letter by the light of a tallow
+dip until he was too sleepy to see, and every word was graven on his
+memory; then he went to bed with the precious paper under his pillow.
+In spite of his drowsiness, he lay awake for some time, gazing with
+heavy eyes into the darkness, where he saw the great city and his
+future; then he went to sleep to dream of it.
+
+From then on, great were the preparations for the boy's departure. So
+little happened in that vicinity that the matter became a neighborhood
+event, and the black folk for three miles up and down the road
+manifested their interest in Silas's good fortune.
+
+"I hyeah you gwine up to de Springs," said old Hiram Jones, when he
+met the boy on the road a day or two before his departure.
+
+"Yes, suh, I's gwine up thaih to wo'k in a hotel. Mistah Ma'ston, he
+got me the job."
+
+The old man reined in his horse slowly, and deposited the liquid
+increase of a quid of tobacco before he said; "I hyeah tell it's
+powahful wicked up in dem big cities."
+
+"Oh, I reckon I ain't a-goin' to do nuffin wrong. I's goin' thaih to
+wo'k."
+
+"Well, you has been riz right," commented the old man doubtfully, "but
+den, boys will be boys."
+
+He drove on, and the prospect of a near view of wickedness did not
+make the Springs less desirable in the boy's eyes. Raised as he had
+been, almost away from civilization, he hardly knew the meaning of
+what the world called wickedness. Not that he was strong or good.
+There had been no occasion for either quality to develop; but that he
+was simple and primitive, and had been close to what was natural and
+elemental. His faults and sins were those of the gentle barbarian. He
+had not yet learned the subtler vices of a higher civilization.
+
+Silas, however, was not without the pride of his kind, and although
+his father protested that it was a useless extravagance, he insisted
+upon going to the nearest village and investing part of his small
+savings in a new suit of clothes. It was quaint and peculiar apparel,
+but it was the boy's first "store suit," and it filled him with
+unspeakable joy. His brothers and sisters regarded his new
+magnificence with envying admiration. It would be a long while before
+they got away from bagging, homespun, and copperas-colored cotton,
+whacked out into some semblance of garments by their "mammy." And so,
+armed with a light bundle, in which were his few other belongings, and
+fearfully and wonderfully arrayed, Silas Jackson set out for the
+Springs. His father's parting injunctions were ringing in his ears,
+and the memory of his mammy's wet eyes and sad face lingered in his
+memory. She had wanted him to take the gaudy Bible away, but it was
+too heavy to carry, especially as he was to walk the whole thirty
+miles to the land of promise. At the last, his feeling of exaltation
+gave way to one of sorrow, and as he went down the road, he turned
+often to look at the cabin, until it faded from sight around the bend.
+Then a lump rose in his throat, and he felt like turning and running
+back to it. He had never thought the old place could seem so dear. But
+he kept his face steadily forward and trudged on toward his destiny.
+
+The Springs was the fashionable resort of Virginia, where the
+aristocrats who thought they were ill went to recover their health and
+to dance. Compared with large cities of the North, it was but a small
+town, even including the transient population, but in the eyes of the
+rural blacks and the poor whites of the region, it was a place of
+large importance.
+
+Hither, on the morning after his departure from the home gate, came
+Silas Jackson, a little foot-sore and weary, but hopeful withal. In
+spite of the pains that he had put upon his dressing, he was a quaint
+figure on the city streets. Many an amused smile greeted him as he
+went his way, but he saw them not. Inquiring the direction, he kept
+on, until the many windows and broad veranda of the great hotel broke
+on his view, and he gasped in amazement and awe at the sight of it,
+and a sudden faintness seized him. He was reluctant to go on, but the
+broad grins with which some colored men who were working about the
+place regarded him, drove him forward, in spite of his embarrassment.
+
+He found his way to the kitchen, and asked in trembling tones for the
+head waiter. Breakfast being over, that individual had leisure to come
+to the kitchen. There, with the grinning waiters about him, he stopped
+and calmly surveyed Silas. He was a very pompous head waiter.
+
+Silas had never been self-conscious before, but now he became
+distressfully aware of himself--of his awkwardness, of his clumsy
+feet and dangling hands, of the difference between his clothes and the
+clothes of the men about him.
+
+After a survey, which seemed to the boy of endless duration, the head
+waiter spoke, and his tone was the undisputed child of his looks.
+
+"I pussoom," said Mr. Buckner, "that you are the pusson Mistah Ma'ston
+spoke to the p'op'ietor about?"
+
+"Yes, suh, I reckon I is. He p'omised to git me a job up hyeah, an' I
+got yo' lettah--" here Silas, who had set his bundle on the floor in
+coming into the Presence, began to fumble in his pockets for the
+letter. He searched long in vain, because his hands trembled, and he
+was nervous under the eyes of this great personage who stood unmoved
+and looked calmly at him.
+
+Finally the missive was found and produced, though not before the
+perspiration was standing thick on Silas's brow. The head waiter took
+the sheet.
+
+"Ve'y well, suh, ve'y well. You are evidently the p'oper pusson, as I
+reco'nize this as my own chirography."
+
+The up-country boy stood in awed silence. He thought he had never
+heard such fine language before.
+
+"I ca'culate that you have nevah had no experience in hotel work,"
+pursued Mr. Buckner somewhat more graciously.
+
+"I's nevah done nuffin' but wo'k on a farm; but evahbody 'lows I's
+right handy." The fear that he would be sent back home without
+employment gave him boldness.
+
+"I see, I see," said the head waiter. "Well, we'll endeavor to try an'
+see how soon you can learn. Mistah Smith, will you take this young man
+in charge, an' show him how to get about things until we are ready to
+try him in the dinin'-room?"
+
+A rather pleasant-faced yellow boy came over to Silas and showed him
+where to put his things and what to do.
+
+"I guess it'll be a little strange at first, if you've never been a
+hotel man, but you'll ketch on. Just you keep your eye on me."
+
+All that day as Silas blundered about slowly and awkwardly, he looked
+with wonder and admiration at the ease and facility with which his
+teacher and the other men did their work. They were so calm, so
+precise, and so self-sufficient. He wondered if he would ever be like
+them, and felt very hopeless as the question presented itself to him.
+
+They were a little prone to laugh at him, but he was so humble and so
+sensible that he thought he must be laughable; so he laughed a little
+shamefacedly at himself, and only tried the harder to imitate his
+companions. Once when he dropped a dish upon the floor, he held his
+breath in consternation, but when he found that no one paid any
+attention to it, he picked it up and went his way.
+
+He was tired that night, more tired than ploughing had ever made him,
+and was thankful when Smith proposed to show him at once to the rooms
+apportioned to the servants. Here he sank down and fell into a doze as
+soon as his companion left him with the remark that he had some
+studying to do. He found afterward that Smith was only a temporary
+employee at the Springs, coming there during the vacations of the
+school which he attended, in order to eke out the amount which it cost
+him for his education. Silas thought this a very wonderful thing at
+first, but when he grew wiser, as he did finally, he took the point of
+view of most of his fellows and thought that Smith was wasting both
+time and opportunities.
+
+It took a very short time for Silas's unfamiliarity with his
+surroundings to wear off, and for him to become acquainted with the
+duties of his position. He grew at ease with his work, and became a
+favorite both in dining-room and kitchen. Then began his acquaintance
+with other things, and there were many other things at the Springs
+which an unsophisticated young man might learn.
+
+Silas's social attainments were lamentably sparse, but being an apt
+youngster, he began to acquire them, quite as he acquired his new
+duties, and different forms of speech. He learned to dance--almost a
+natural gift of the negro--and he was introduced into the subtleties
+of flirtation. At first he was a bit timid with the nurse-girls and
+maids whom the wealthy travelers brought with them, but after a few
+lessons from very able teachers, he learned the manly art of ogling to
+his own satisfaction, and soon became as proficient as any of the
+other black coxcombs.
+
+If he ever thought of Dely Manly any more, it was with a smile that he
+had been able at one time to consider her seriously. The people at
+home, be it said to his credit, he did not forget. A part of his
+wages went back every month to help better the condition of the cabin.
+But Silas himself had no desire to return, and at the end of a year he
+shuddered at the thought of it. He was quite willing to help his
+father, whom he had now learned to call the "old man," but he was not
+willing to go back to him.
+
+
+II
+
+
+Early in his second year at the Springs Marston came for a stay at the
+hotel. When he saw his protege, he exclaimed: "Why, that isn't Si, is
+it?"
+
+"Yes, suh," smiled Silas.
+
+"Well, well, well, what a change. Why, boy, you've developed into a
+regular fashion-plate. I hope you're not advertising for any of the
+Richmond tailors. They're terrible Jews, you know."
+
+"You see, a man has to be neat aroun' the hotel, Mistah Ma'ston."
+
+"Whew, and you've developed dignity, too. By the Lord Harry, if I'd
+have made that remark to you about a year and a half ago, there at the
+cabin, you'd have just grinned. Ah, Silas, I'm afraid for you. You've
+grown too fast. You've gained a certain poise and ease at the expense
+of--of--I don't know what, but something that I liked better. Down
+there at home you were just a plain darky. Up here you are trying to
+be like me, and you are colored."
+
+"Of co'se, Mistah Ma'ston," said Silas politely, but deprecatingly,
+"the worl' don't stan' still."
+
+"Platitudes--the last straw!" exclaimed Mr. Marston tragically.
+"There's an old darky preacher up at Richmond who says it does, and
+I'm sure I think more of his old fog-horn blasts than I do of your
+parrot tones. Ah! Si, this is the last time that I shall ever fool
+with good raw material. However, don't let this bother you. As I
+remember, you used to sing well. I'm going to have some of my friends
+up at my rooms to-night; get some of the boys together, and come and
+sing for us. And remember, nothing hifalutin; just the same old darky
+songs you used to sing."
+
+"All right, suh, we'll be up."
+
+Silas was very glad to be rid of his old friend, and he thought when
+Marston had gone that he was, after all, not such a great man as he
+had believed. But the decline in his estimation of Mr. Marston's
+importance did not deter him from going that night with three of his
+fellow-waiters to sing for that gentleman. Two of the quartet insisted
+upon singing fine music, in order to show their capabilities, but
+Silas had received his cue, and held out for the old songs. Silas
+Jackson's tenor voice rang out in the old plantation melodies with the
+force and feeling that old memories give. The concert was a great
+success, and when Marston pressed a generous-sized bank-note into his
+hand that night, he whispered, "Well, I'm glad there's one thing you
+haven't lost, and that's your voice."
+
+That was the beginning of Silas's supremacy as manager and first tenor
+of the Fountain Hotel Quartet, and he flourished in that capacity for
+two years longer; then came Mr. J. Robinson Frye, looking for talent,
+and Silas, by reason of his prominence, fell in this way.
+
+Mr. J. Robinson Frye was an educated and enthusiastic young mulatto
+gentleman, who, having studied music abroad, had made art his
+mistress. As well as he was able, he wore the shock of hair which was
+the sign manual of his profession. He was a plausible young man of
+large ideas, and had composed some things of which the critics had
+spoken well. But the chief trouble with his work was that his one aim
+was money. He did not love the people among whom American custom had
+placed him, but he had respect for their musical ability.
+
+"Why," he used to exclaim in the sudden bursts of enthusiasm to which
+he was subject, "why, these people are the greatest singers on earth.
+They've got more emotion and more passion than any other people, and
+they learn easier. I could take a chorus of forty of them, and with
+two months' training make them sing the roof off the Metropolitan
+Opera house."
+
+When Mr. Frye was in New York, he might be seen almost any day at the
+piano of one or the other of the negro clubs, either working at some
+new inspiration, or playing one of his own compositions, and all black
+clubdom looked on him as a genius.
+
+His latest scheme was the training of a colored company which should
+do a year's general singing throughout the country, and then having
+acquired poise and a reputation, produce his own opera.
+
+It was for this he wanted Silas, and in spite of the warning and
+protests of friends, Silas went with him to New York, for he saw his
+future loom large before him.
+
+The great city frightened him at first, but he found there some, like
+himself, drawn from the smaller towns of the South. Others in the
+company were the relics of the old days of negro minstrelsy, and still
+others recruited from the church choirs in the large cities. Silas was
+an adaptable fellow, but it seemed a little hard to fall in with the
+ways of his new associates. Most of them seemed as far away from him
+in their knowledge of worldly things as had the waiters at the Springs
+a few years before. He was half afraid of the chorus girls, because
+they seemed such different beings from the nurse girls down home.
+However, there was little time for moping or regrets. Mr. Frye was, it
+must be said, an indefatigable worker. They were rehearsing every day.
+Silas felt himself learning to sing. Meanwhile, he knew that he was
+learning other things--a few more elegancies and vices. He looked upon
+the "rounders" with admiration and determined to be one. So, after
+rehearsals were over other occupations held him. He came to be known
+at the clubs and was quite proud of it, and he grew bolder with the
+chorus girls, because he was to be a star.
+
+After three weeks of training, the company opened, and Silas, who had
+never sung anything heavier than "Bright Sparkles in the Churchyard,"
+was dressed in a Fauntleroy suit, and put on to sing in a scene from
+"Rigoletto."
+
+Every night he was applauded to the echo by "the unskilful," until he
+came to believe himself a great singer. This belief was strengthened
+when the girl who performed the Spanish dance bestowed her affections
+upon him. He was very happy and very vain, and for the first time he
+forgot the people down in a little old Virginia cabin. In fact, he had
+other uses for his money.
+
+For the rest of the season, either on the road or in and about New
+York, he sang steadily. Most of the things for which he had longed and
+had striven had come to him. He was known as a rounder, his highest
+ambition. His waistcoats were the loudest to be had. He was possessed
+of a factitious ease and self-possession that was almost aggression.
+The hot breath of the city had touched and scorched him, and had dried
+up within him whatever was good and fresh. The pity of it was that he
+was proud of himself, and utterly unconscious of his own degradation.
+He looked upon himself as a man of the world, a fine product of the
+large opportunities of a great city.
+
+Once in those days he heard of Smith, his old-time companion at the
+Springs. He was teaching at some small place in the South. Silas
+laughed contemptuously when he heard how his old friend was employed.
+"Poor fellow," he said, "what a pity he didn't come up here, and make
+something out of himself, instead of starving down there on little or
+nothing," and he mused on how much better his fate had been.
+
+The season ended. After a brief period of rest, the rehearsals for
+Frye's opera were begun. Silas confessed to himself that he was tired;
+he had a cough, too, but Mr. Frye was still enthusiastic, and this was
+to be the great triumph, both for the composer and the tenor.
+
+"Why, I tell you, man," said Frye, "it's going to be the greatest
+success of the year. I am the only man who has ever put grand-opera
+effects into comic opera with success. Just listen to the chords of
+this opening chorus." And so he inspired the singer with some of his
+own spirit. They went to work with a will. Silas might have been
+reluctant as he felt the strain upon him grow, but that he had spent
+all his money, and Frye, as he expressed it, was "putting up for him,"
+until the opening of the season.
+
+Then one day he was taken sick, and although Frye fumed, the
+rehearsals had to go on without him. For awhile his companions came to
+see him, and then they gradually ceased to come. So he lay for two
+months. Even Sadie, his dancing sweetheart, seemed to have forgotten
+him. One day he sent for her, but the messenger returned to say she
+could not come, she was busy. She had married the man with whom she
+did a turn at the roof-garden. The news came, too, that the opera had
+been abanboned, and that Mr. Frye had taken out a company with a new
+tenor, whom he pronounced far superior to the former one.
+
+Silas gazed blankly at the wall. The hollowness of his life all came
+suddenly before him. All his false ideals crumbled, and he lay there
+with nothing to hope for. Then came back the yearnings for home, for
+the cabin and the fields, and there was no disgust in his memory of
+them.
+
+When his strength partly returned, he sold some of the few things
+that remained to him from his prosperous days, and with the money
+purchased a ticket for home; then spent, broken, hopeless, all
+contentment and simplicity gone, he turned his face toward his native
+fields.
+
+
+
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