THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

_A Novel_

W. E. B. DU BOIS

1911

A. C. McClurg & Co. 

_Contents_

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

_Note from the Author_ 3

_One_: DREAMS 5

_Two_: THE SCHOOL 12

_Three_: MISS MARY TAYLOR 16

_Four_: TOWN 23

_Five_: ZORA 33

_Six_: COTTON 42

_Seven_: THE PLACE OF DREAMS 53

_Eight_: MR. HARRY CRESSWELL 66

_Nine_: THE PLANTING 74

_Ten_: MR. TAYLOR CALLS 84

_Eleven_: THE FLOWERING OF THE FLEECE 99

_Twelve_: THE PROMISE 108

_Thirteen_: MRS. GREY GIVES A DINNER 122

_Fourteen_: LOVE 128

_Fifteen_: REVELATION 134

_Sixteen_: THE GREAT REFUSAL 146

_Seventeen_: THE RAPE OF THE FLEECE 154

_Eighteen_: THE COTTON CORNER 162

_Nineteen_: THE DYING OF ELSPETH 171

_Twenty_: THE WEAVING OF THE SILVER FLEECE 182

_Twenty-one_: THE MARRIAGE MORNING 191

_Twenty-two_: MISS CAROLINE WYNN 199

_Twenty-three_: THE TRAINING OF ZORA 210

_Twenty-four_: THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN 218

_Twenty-five_: THE CAMPAIGN 230

_Twenty-six_: CONGRESSMAN CRESSWELL 244

_Twenty-seven_: THE VISION OF ZORA 254

_Twenty-eight_: THE ANNUNCIATION 263

_Twenty-nine_: A MASTER OF FATE 271

_Thirty_: THE RETURN OF ZORA 283

_Thirty-one_: A PARTING OF WAYS 293

_Thirty-two_: ZORA'S WAY 309

_Thirty-three_: THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP 316

_Thirty-four_: THE RETURN OF ALWYN 328

_Thirty-five_: THE COTTON MILL 339

_Thirty-six_: THE LAND 350

_Thirty-seven_: THE MOB 364

_Thirty-eight_: ATONEMENT 371

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

 TO ONE

whose name may not be written but to whose tirelessfaith the shaping of these cruder thoughts to forms more fitly perfect is doubtless due, this finished work is herewith dedicated

_Note_

He who would tell a tale must look toward three ideals: to tell it well, to tell it beautifully, and to tell the truth. 

The first is the Gift of God, the second is the Vision of Genius, butthe third is the Reward of Honesty. 

In _The Quest of the Silver Fleece_ there is little, I ween, divine oringenious; but, at least, I have been honest. In no fact or picture haveI consciously set down aught the counterpart of which I have not seen orknown; and whatever the finished picture may lack of completeness, thislack is due now to the story-teller, now to the artist, but never to theherald of the Truth. 

NEW YORK CITY

_August 15, 1911_

THE AUTHOR

_One_

DREAMS

Night fell. The red waters of the swamp grew sinister and sullen. Thetall pines lost their slimness and stood in wide blurred blotches allacross the way, and a great shadowy bird arose, wheeled and melted, murmuring, into the black-green sky. 

The boy wearily dropped his heavy bundle and stood still, listening asthe voice of crickets split the shadows and made the silence audible. Atear wandered down his brown cheek. They were at supper now, hewhispered--the father and old mother, away back yonder beyond the night. They were far away; they would never be as near as once they had been, for he had stepped into the world. And the cat and Old Billy--ah, butthe world was a lonely thing, so wide and tall and empty! And so bare, so bitter bare! Somehow he had never dreamed of the world as lonelybefore; he had fared forth to beckoning hands and luring, and to theeager hum of human voices, as of some great, swelling music. 

Yet now he was alone; the empty night was closing all about him here ina strange land, and he was afraid. The bundle with his earthly treasurehad hung heavy and heavier on his shoulder; his little horde of moneywas tightly wadded in his sock, and the school lay hidden somewhere faraway in the shadows. He wondered how far it was; he looked and harkened, starting at his own heartbeats, and fearing more and more the long darkfingers of the night. 

Then of a sudden up from the darkness came music. It was human music, but of a wildness and a weirdness that startled the boy as it flutteredand danced across the dull red waters of the swamp. He hesitated, thenimpelled by some strange power, left the highway and slipped into theforest of the swamp, shrinking, yet following the song hungrily and halfforgetting his fear. A harsher, shriller note struck in as of many andruder voices; but above it flew the first sweet music, birdlike, abandoned, and the boy crept closer. 

The cabin crouched ragged and black at the edge of black waters. An oldchimney leaned drunkenly against it, raging with fire and smoke, whilethrough the chinks winked red gleams of warmth and wild cheer. With arevel of shouting and noise, the music suddenly ceased. Hoarse staccatocries and peals of laughter shook the old hut, and as the boy stoodthere peering through the black trees, abruptly the door flew open and aflood of light illumined the wood. 

Amid this mighty halo, as on clouds of flame, a girl was dancing. Shewas black, and lithe, and tall, and willowy. Her garments twined andflew around the delicate moulding of her dark, young, half-naked limbs. A heavy mass of hair clung motionless to her wide forehead. Her armstwirled and flickered, and body and soul seemed quivering and whirringin the poetry of her motion. 

As she danced she sang. He heard her voice as before, fluttering like abird's in the full sweetness of her utter music. It was no tune normelody, it was just formless, boundless music. The boy forgot himselfand all the world besides. All his darkness was sudden light; dazzled hecrept forward, bewildered, fascinated, until with one last wild whirlthe elf-girl paused. The crimson light fell full upon the warm andvelvet bronze of her face--her midnight eyes were aglow, her full purplelips apart, her half hid bosom panting, and all the music dead. Involuntarily the boy gave a gasping cry and awoke to swamp and nightand fire, while a white face, drawn, red-eyed, peered outward from somehidden throng within the cabin. 

"Who's that?" a harsh voice cried. 

"Where?" "Who is it?" and pale crowding faces blurred the light. 

The boy wheeled blindly and fled in terror stumbling through the swamp, hearing strange sounds and feeling stealthy creeping hands and arms andwhispering voices. On he toiled in mad haste, struggling toward the roadand losing it until finally beneath the shadows of a mighty oak he sankexhausted. There he lay a while trembling and at last drifted intodreamless sleep. 

It was morning when he awoke and threw a startled glance upward to thetwisted branches of the oak that bent above, sifting down sunshine onhis brown face and close curled hair. Slowly he remembered theloneliness, the fear and wild running through the dark. He laughed inthe bold courage of day and stretched himself. 

Then suddenly he bethought him again of that vision of the night--thewaving arms and flying limbs of the girl, and her great black eyeslooking into the night and calling him. He could hear her now, and hearthat wondrous savage music. Had it been real? Had he dreamed? Or had itbeen some witch-vision of the night, come to tempt and lure him to hisundoing? Where was that black and flaming cabin? Where was the girl--thesoul that had called him? _She_ must have been real; she had to live anddance and sing; he must again look into the mystery of her great eyes. And he sat up in sudden determination, and, lo! gazed straight into thevery eyes of his dreaming. 

She sat not four feet from him, leaning against the great tree, hereyes now languorously abstracted, now alert and quizzical with mischief. She seemed but half-clothed, and her warm, dark flesh peeped furtivelythrough the rent gown; her thick, crisp hair was frowsy and rumpled, andthe long curves of her bare young arms gleamed in the morning sunshine, glowing with vigor and life. A little mocking smile came and sat uponher lips. 

"What you run for?" she asked, with dancing mischief in her eyes. 

"Because--" he hesitated, and his cheeks grew hot. 

"I knows, " she said, with impish glee, laughing low music. 

"Why?" he challenged, sturdily. 

"You was a-feared. "

He bridled. "Well, I reckon you'd be a-feared if you was caught out inthe black dark all alone. "

"Pooh!" she scoffed and hugged her knees. "Pooh! I've stayed out allalone heaps o' nights. "

He looked at her with a curious awe. 

"I don't believe you, " he asserted; but she tossed her head and her eyesgrew scornful. 

"Who's a-feared of the dark? I love night. " Her eyes grew soft. 

He watched her silently, till, waking from her daydream, she abruptlyasked:

"Where you from?"

"Georgia. "

"Where's that?"

He looked at her in surprise, but she seemed matter-of-fact. 

"It's away over yonder, " he answered. 

"Behind where the sun comes up?"

"Oh, no!"

"Then it ain't so far, " she declared. "I knows where the sun rises, andI knows where it sets. " She looked up at its gleaming splendor glintingthrough the leaves, and, noting its height, announced abruptly:

"I'se hungry. "

"So'm I, " answered the boy, fumbling at his bundle; and then, timidly:"Will you eat with me?"

"Yes, " she said, and watched him with eager eyes. 

Untying the strips of cloth, he opened his box, and disclosed chickenand biscuits, ham and corn-bread. She clapped her hands in glee. 

"Is there any water near?" he asked. 

Without a word, she bounded up and flitted off like a brown bird, gleaming dull-golden in the sun, glancing in and out among the trees, till she paused above a tiny black pool, and then came tripping andswaying back with hands held cupwise and dripping with cool water. 

"Drink, " she cried. Obediently he bent over the little hands that seemedso soft and thin. He took a deep draught; and then to drain the lastdrop, his hands touched hers and the shock of flesh first meeting fleshstartled them both, while the water rained through. A moment their eyeslooked deep into each other's--a timid, startled gleam in hers; a wonderin his. Then she said dreamily:

"We'se known us all our lives, and--before, ain't we?"

He hesitated. 

"Ye--es--I reckon, " he slowly returned. And then, brightening, he askedgayly: "And we'll be friends always, won't we?"

"Yes, " she said at last, slowly and solemnly, and another brief momentthey stood still. 

Then the mischief danced in her eyes, and a song bubbled on her lips. She hopped to the tree. 

"Come--eat!" she cried. And they nestled together amid the big blackroots of the oak, laughing and talking while they ate. 

"What's over there?" he asked pointing northward. 

"Cresswell's big house. "

"And yonder to the west?"

"The school. "

He started joyfully. 

"The school! What school?"

"Old Miss' School. "

"Miss Smith's school?"

"Yes. " The tone was disdainful. 

"Why, that's where I'm going. I was a-feared it was a long way off; Imust have passed it in the night. "

"I hate it!" cried the girl, her lips tense. 

"But I'll be so near, " he explained. "And why do you hate it?"

"Yes--you'll be near, " she admitted; "that'll be nice; but--" sheglanced westward, and the fierce look faded. Soft joy crept to her faceagain, and she sat once more dreaming. 

"Yon way's nicest, " she said. 

"Why, what's there?"

"The swamp, " she said mysteriously. 

"And what's beyond the swamp?"

She crouched beside him and whispered in eager, tense tones: "Dreams!"

He looked at her, puzzled. 

"Dreams?" vaguely--"dreams? Why, dreams ain't--nothing. "

"Oh, yes they is!" she insisted, her eyes flaming in misty radiance asshe sat staring beyond the shadows of the swamp. "Yes they is! Thereain't nothing but dreams--that is, nothing much. 

"And over yonder behind the swamps is great fields full of dreams, piledhigh and burning; and right amongst them the sun, when he's tired o'night, whispers and drops red things, 'cept when devils make 'em black. "

The boy stared at her; he knew not whether to jeer or wonder. 

"How you know?" he asked at last, skeptically. 

"Promise you won't tell?"

"Yes, " he answered. 

She cuddled into a little heap, nursing her knees, and answered slowly. 

"I goes there sometimes. I creeps in 'mongst the dreams; they hangsthere like big flowers, dripping dew and sugar and blood--red, redblood. And there's little fairies there that hop about and sing, anddevils--great, ugly devils that grabs at you and roasts and eats you ifthey gits you; but they don't git me. Some devils is big and white, likeha'nts; some is long and shiny, like creepy, slippery snakes; and someis little and broad and black, and they yells--"

The boy was listening in incredulous curiosity, half minded to laugh, half minded to edge away from the black-red radiance of yonder duskyswamp. He glanced furtively backward, and his heart gave a great bound. 

"Some is little and broad and black, and they yells--" chanted the girl. And as she chanted, deep, harsh tones came booming through the forest:

"_Zo-ra! Zo-ra!_ O--o--oh, Zora!"

He saw far behind him, toward the shadows of the swamp, an oldwoman--short, broad, black and wrinkled, with fangs and pendulous lipsand red, wicked eyes. His heart bounded in sudden fear; he wheeledtoward the girl, and caught only the uncertain flash of hergarments--the wood was silent, and he was alone. 

He arose, startled, quickly gathered his bundle, and looked around him. The sun was strong and high, the morning fresh and vigorous. Stampingone foot angrily, he strode jauntily out of the wood toward the bigroad. 

But ever and anon he glanced curiously back. Had he seen a haunt? Or wasthe elf-girl real? And then he thought of her words:

"We'se known us all our lives. "

_Two_

THE SCHOOL

Day was breaking above the white buildings of the Negro school andthrowing long, low lines of gold in at Miss Sarah Smith's front window. She lay in the stupor of her last morning nap, after a night ofharrowing worry. Then, even as she partially awoke, she lay still withclosed eyes, feeling the shadow of some great burden, yet daring not torouse herself and recall its exact form; slowly again she drifted towardunconsciousness. 

"_Bang! bang! bang!_" hard knuckles were beating upon the door below. 

She heard drowsily, and dreamed that it was the nailing up of all herdoors; but she did not care much, and but feebly warded the blows away, for she was very tired. 

"_Bang! bang! bang!_" persisted the hard knuckles. 

She started up, and her eye fell upon a letter lying on her bureau. Backshe sank with a sigh, and lay staring at the ceiling--a gaunt, flat, sad-eyed creature, with wisps of gray hair half-covering her baldness, and a face furrowed with care and gathering years. 

It was thirty years ago this day, she recalled, since she first came tothis broad land of shade and shine in Alabama to teach black folks. 

It had been a hard beginning with suspicion and squalor around; withpoverty within and without the first white walls of the new school home. Yet somehow the struggle then with all its helplessness anddisappointment had not seemed so bitter as today: then failure meant butlittle, now it seemed to mean everything; then it meant disappointmentto a score of ragged urchins, now it meant two hundred boys and girls, the spirits of a thousand gone before and the hopes of thousands tocome. In her imagination the significance of these half dozen gleamingbuildings perched aloft seemed portentous--big with the destiny notsimply of a county and a State, but of a race--a nation--a world. It wasGod's own cause, and yet--

"_Bang! bang! bang!_" again went the hard knuckles down there at thefront. 

Miss Smith slowly arose, shivering a bit and wondering who couldpossibly be rapping at that time in the morning. She sniffed thechilling air and was sure she caught some lingering perfume from Mrs. Vanderpool's gown. She had brought this rich and rare-apparelled lady uphere yesterday, because it was more private, and here she had pouredforth her needs. She had talked long and in deadly earnest. She had notspoken of the endowment for which she had hoped so desperately during aquarter of a century--no, only for the five thousand dollars to buy thelong needed new land. It was so little--so little beside what this womansquandered--

The insistent knocking was repeated louder than before. 

"Sakes alive, " cried Miss Smith, throwing a shawl about her and leaningout the window. "Who is it, and what do you want?"

"Please, ma'am. I've come to school, " answered a tall black boy with abundle. 

"Well, why don't you go to the office?" Then she saw his face andhesitated. She felt again the old motherly instinct to be the first towelcome the new pupil; a luxury which, in later years, the endless pushof details had denied her. 

"Wait!" she cried shortly, and began to dress. 

A new boy, she mused. Yes, every day they straggled in; every day camethe call for more, more--this great, growing thirst to know--to do--tobe. And yet that woman had sat right here, aloof, imperturbable, listening only courteously. When Miss Smith finished, she had pausedand, flicking her glove, --

"My dear Miss Smith, " she said softly, with a tone that just escaped adrawl--"My dear Miss Smith, your work is interesting and yourfaith--marvellous; but, frankly, I cannot make myself believe in it. Youare trying to treat these funny little monkeys just as you would yourown children--or even mine. It's quite heroic, of course, but it's sheermadness, and I do not feel I ought to encourage it. I would not mind athousand or so to train a good cook for the Cresswells, or a clean andfaithful maid for myself--for Helene has faults--or indeed deft andtractable laboring-folk for any one; but I'm quite through trying toturn natural servants into masters of me and mine. I--hope I'm not tooblunt; I hope I make myself clear. You know, statistics show--"

"Drat statistics!" Miss Smith had flashed impatiently. "These arefolks. "

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled indulgently. "To be sure, " she murmured, "butwhat sort of folks?"

"God's sort. "

"Oh, well--"

But Miss Smith had the bit in her teeth and could not have stopped. Shewas paying high for the privilege of talking, but it had to be said. 

"God's sort, Mrs. Vanderpool--not the sort that think of the world asarranged for their exclusive benefit and comfort. "

"Well, I do want to count--"

Miss Smith bent forward--not a beautiful pose, but earnest. 

"I want you to count, and I want to count, too; but I don't want us tobe the only ones that count. I want to live in a world where every soulcounts--white, black, and yellow--all. _That's_ what I'm teaching thesechildren here--to count, and not to be like dumb, driven cattle. If youdon't believe in this, of course you cannot help us. "

"Your spirit is admirable, Miss Smith, " she had said very softly; "Ionly wish I could feel as you do. Good-afternoon, " and she had rustledgently down the narrow stairs, leaving an all but imperceptiblesuggestion of perfume. Miss Smith could smell it yet as she went downthis morning. 

The breakfast bell jangled. "Five thousand dollars, " she kept repeatingto herself, greeting the teachers absently--"five thousand dollars. " Andthen on the porch she was suddenly aware of the awaiting boy. She eyedhim critically: black, fifteen, country-bred, strong, clear-eyed. 

"Well?" she asked in that brusque manner wherewith her natural timiditywas wont to mask her kindness. "Well, sir?"

"I've come to school. "

"Humph--we can't teach boys for nothing. "

The boy straightened. "I can pay my way, " he returned. 

"You mean you can pay what we ask?"

"Why, yes. Ain't that all?"

"No. The rest is gathered from the crumbs of Dives' table. "

Then he saw the twinkle in her eyes. She laid her hand gently upon hisshoulder. 

"If you don't hurry you'll be late to breakfast, " she said with an airof confidence. "See those boys over there? Follow them, and at noon cometo the office--wait! What's your name?"

"Blessed Alwyn, " he answered, and the passing teachers smiled. 

_Three_

MISS MARY TAYLOR

Miss Mary Taylor did not take a college course for the purpose ofteaching Negroes. Not that she objected to Negroes as humanbeings--quite the contrary. In the debate between the senior societiesher defence of the Fifteenth Amendment had been not only a notable bitof reasoning, but delivered with real enthusiasm. Nevertheless, when theend of the summer came and the only opening facing her was the teachingof children at Miss Smith's experiment in the Alabama swamps, it must befrankly confessed that Miss Taylor was disappointed. 

Her dream had been a post-graduate course at Bryn Mawr; but that was outof the question until money was earned. She had pictured herself earningthis by teaching one or two of her "specialties" in some private schoolnear New York or Boston, or even in a Western college. The South she hadnot thought of seriously; and yet, knowing of its delightfulhospitality and mild climate, she was not averse to Charleston or NewOrleans. But from the offer that came to teach Negroes--country Negroes, and little ones at that--she shrank, and, indeed, probably would haverefused it out of hand had it not been for her queer brother, John. JohnTaylor, who had supported her through college, was interested in cotton. Having certain schemes in mind, he had been struck by the fact that theSmith School was in the midst of the Alabama cotton-belt. 

"Better go, " he had counselled, sententiously. "Might learn somethinguseful down there. "

She had been not a little dismayed by the outlook, and had protestedagainst his blunt insistence. 

"But, John, there's no society--just elementary work--"

John had met this objection with, "Humph!" as he left for his office. Next day he had returned to the subject. 

"Been looking up Tooms County. Find some Cresswells there--bigplantations--rated at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Someothers, too; big cotton county. "

"You ought to know, John, if I teach Negroes I'll scarcely see much ofpeople in my own class. "

"Nonsense! Butt in. Show off. Give 'em your Greek--and study Cotton. Atany rate, I say go. "

And so, howsoever reluctantly, she had gone. 

The trial was all she had anticipated, and possibly a bit more. She wasa pretty young woman of twenty-three, fair and rather daintily moulded. In favorable surroundings, she would have been an aristocrat and anepicure. Here she was teaching dirty children, and the smell of confusedodors and bodily perspiration was to her at times unbearable. 

Then there was the fact of their color: it was a fact so insistent, sofatal she almost said at times, that she could not escape it. Theoretically she had always treated it with disdainful ease. 

"What's the mere color of a human soul's skin, " she had cried to aWellesley audience and the audience had applauded with enthusiasm. Buthere in Alabama, brought closely and intimately in touch with these darkskinned children, their color struck her at first with a sort ofterror--it seemed ominous and forbidding. She found herself shrinkingaway and gripping herself lest they should perceive. She could not helpbut think that in most other things they were as different from her asin color. She groped for new ways to teach colored brains and marshalcolored thoughts and the result was puzzling both to teacher andstudent. With the other teachers she had little commerce. They were inno sense her sort of folk. Miss Smith represented the older New Englandof her parents--honest, inscrutable, determined, with a conscience whichshe worshipped, and utterly unselfish. She appealed to Miss Taylor'sruddier and daintier vision but dimly and distantly as some memory ofthe past. The other teachers were indistinct personalities, always verybusy and very tired, and talking "school-room" with their meals. MissTaylor was soon starving for human companionship, for the lightertouches of life and some of its warmth and laughter. She wanted a glanceof the new books and periodicals and talk of great philanthropies andreforms. She felt out of the world, shut in and mentally anæmic; greatas the "Negro Problem" might be as a world problem, it looked sordid andsmall at close range. So for the hundredth time she was thinking today, as she walked alone up the lane back of the barn, and then slowly downthrough the bottoms. She paused a moment and nodded to the two boys atwork in a young cotton field. 

"Cotton!"

She paused. She remembered with what interest she had always read ofthis little thread of the world. She had almost forgotten that it washere within touch and sight. For a moment something of the vision ofCotton was mirrored in her mind. The glimmering sea of delicate leaveswhispered and murmured before her, stretching away to the Northward. She remembered that beyond this little world it stretched on and on--howfar she did not know--but on and on in a great trembling sea, and thefoam of its mighty waters would one time flood the ends of the earth. 

She glimpsed all this with parted lips, and then sighed impatiently. There might be a bit of poetry here and there, but most of this placewas such desperate prose. 

She glanced absently at the boys. 

One was Bles Alwyn, a tall black lad. (Bles, she mused, --now who wouldthink of naming a boy "Blessed, " save these incomprehensible creatures!)Her regard shifted to the green stalks and leaves again, and she startedto move away. Then her New England conscience stepped in. She ought notto pass these students without a word of encouragement or instruction. 

"Cotton is a wonderful thing, is it not, boys?" she said rather primly. The boys touched their hats and murmured something indistinctly. MissTaylor did not know much about cotton, but at least one more remarkseemed called for. 

"How long before the stalks will be ready to cut?" she asked carelessly. The farther boy coughed and Bles raised his eyes and looked at her; thenafter a pause he answered slowly. (Oh! these people were so slow--now aNew England boy would have answered and asked a half-dozen questions inthe time. )

"I--I don't know, " he faltered. 

"Don't know! Well, of all things!" inwardly commented MissTaylor--"literally born in cotton, and--Oh, well, " as much as to ask, "What's the use?" She turned again to go. 

"What is planted over there?" she asked, although she really didn'tcare. 

"Goobers, " answered the smaller boy. 

"Goobers?" uncomprehendingly. 

"Peanuts, " Bles specified. 

"Oh!" murmured Miss Taylor. "I see there are none on the vines yet. Isuppose, though, it's too early for them. "

Then came the explosion. The smaller boy just snorted with irrepressiblelaughter and bolted across the fields. And Bles--was Miss Taylordeceived?--or was he chuckling? She reddened, drew herself up, and then, dropping her primness, rippled with laughter. 

"What is the matter, Bles?" she asked. 

He looked at her with twinkling eyes. 

"Well, you see, Miss Taylor, it's like this: farming don't seem to beyour specialty. "

The word was often on Miss Taylor's lips, and she recognized it. Despiteherself she smiled again. 

"Of course, it isn't--I don't know anything about farming. But what didI say so funny?"

Bles was now laughing outright. 

"Why, Miss Taylor! I declare! Goobers don't grow on the tops of vines, but underground on the roots--like yams. "

"Is that so?"

"Yes, and we--we don't pick cotton stalks except for kindling. "

"I must have been thinking of hemp. But tell me more about cotton. "

His eyes lighted, for cotton was to him a very real and beautiful thing, and a life-long companion, yet not one whose friendship had beencoarsened and killed by heavy toil. He leaned against his hoe and talkedhalf dreamily--where had he learned so well that dream-talk?

"We turn up the earth and sow it soon after Christmas. Then pretty soonthere comes a sort of greenness on the black land and it swells andgrows and, and--shivers. Then stalks shoot up with three or four leaves. That's the way it is now, see? After that we chop out the weak stalks, and the strong ones grow tall and dark, till I think it must be like theocean--all green and billowy; then come little flecks here and thereand the sea is all filled with flowers--flowers like little bells, blueand purple and white. "

"Ah! that must be beautiful, " sighed Miss Taylor, wistfully, sinking tothe ground and clasping her hands about her knees. 

"Yes, ma'am. But it's prettiest when the bolls come and swell and burst, and the cotton covers the field like foam, all misty--"

She bent wondering over the pale plants. The poetry of the thing beganto sing within her, awakening her unpoetic imagination, and shemurmured:

"The Golden Fleece--it's the Silver Fleece!"

He harkened. 

"What's that?" he asked. 

"Have you never heard of the Golden Fleece, Bles?"

"No, ma'am, " he said eagerly; then glancing up toward the Cresswellfields, he saw two white men watching them. He grasped his hoe andstarted briskly to work. 

"Some time you'll tell me, please, won't you?"

She glanced at her watch in surprise and arose hastily. 

"Yes, with pleasure, " she said moving away--at first very fast, and thenmore and more slowly up the lane, with a puzzled look on her face. 

She began to realize that in this pleasant little chat the fact of theboy's color had quite escaped her; and what especially puzzled her wasthat this had not happened before. She had been here four months, andyet every moment up to now she seemed to have been vividly, almostpainfully conscious, that she was a white woman talking to black folk. Now, for one little half-hour she had been a woman talking to a boy--no, not even that: she had been talking--just talking; there were no personsin the conversation, just things--one thing: Cotton. 

She started thinking of cotton--but at once she pulled herself back tothe other aspect. Always before she had been veiled from these folk: whohad put the veil there? Had she herself hung it before her soul, or hadthey hidden timidly behind its other side? Or was it simply a brutefact, regardless of both of them?

The longer she thought, the more bewildered she grew. There seemed noanalogy that she knew. Here was a unique thing, and she climbed to herbedroom and stared at the stars. 

_Four_

TOWN

John Taylor had written to his sister. He wanted information, verydefinite information, about Tooms County cotton; about its stores, itspeople--especially its people. He propounded a dozen questions, sharp, searching questions, and he wanted the answers tomorrow. Impossible!thought Miss Taylor. He had calculated on her getting this letteryesterday, forgetting that their mail was fetched once a day from thetown, four miles away. Then, too, she did not know all these matters andknew no one who did. Did John think she had nothing else to do? Andsighing at the thought of to-morrow's drudgery, she determined toconsult Miss Smith in the morning. 

Miss Smith suggested a drive to town--Bles could take her in thetop-buggy after school--and she could consult some of the merchants andbusiness men. She could then write her letter and mail it there; itwould be but a day or so late getting to New York. 

"Of course, " said Miss Smith drily, slowly folding her napkin, "ofcourse, the only people here are the Cresswells. "

"Oh, yes, " said Miss Taylor invitingly. There was an allurement aboutthis all-pervasive name; it held her by a growing fascination and shewas anxious for the older woman to amplify. Miss Smith, however, remained provokingly silent, so Miss Taylor essayed further. 

"What sort of people are the Cresswells?" she asked. 

"The old man's a fool; the young one a rascal; the girl a ninny, " wasMiss Smith's succinct and acid classification of the county's firstfamily; adding, as she rose, "but they own us body and soul. " Shehurried out of the dining-room without further remark. Miss Smith wasmore patient with black folk than with white. 

The sun was hanging just above the tallest trees of the swamp when MissTaylor, weary with the day's work, climbed into the buggy beside Bles. They wheeled comfortably down the road, leaving the sombre swamp, withits black-green, to the right, and heading toward the golden-green ofwaving cotton fields. Miss Taylor lay back, listlessly, and drank thesoft warm air of the languorous Spring. She thought of the golden sheenof the cotton, and the cold March winds of New England; of her brotherwho apparently noted nothing of leaves and winds and seasons; and of themighty Cresswells whom Miss Smith so evidently disliked. Suddenly shebecame aware of her long silence and the silence of the boy. 

"Bles, " she began didactically, "where are you from?"

He glanced across at her and answered shortly:

"Georgia, ma'am, " and was silent. 

The girl tried again. 

"Georgia is a large State, "--tentatively. 

"Yes, ma'am. "

"Are you going back there when you finish?"

"I don't know. "

"I think you ought to--and work for your people. "

"Yes, ma'am. "

She stopped, puzzled, and looked about. The old horse jogged lazily on, and Bles switched him unavailingly. Somehow she had missed the waytoday. The Veil hung thick, sombre, impenetrable. Well, she had done herduty, and slowly she nestled back and watched the far-off green andgolden radiance of the cotton. 

"Bles, " she said impulsively, "shall I tell you of the Golden Fleece?"

He glanced at her again. 

"Yes'm, please, " he said. 

She settled herself almost luxuriously, and began the story of Jason andthe Argonauts. 

The boy remained silent. And when she had finished, he still sat silent, elbow on knee, absently flicking the jogging horse and staring ahead atthe horizon. She looked at him doubtfully with some disappointment thathis hearing had apparently shared so little of the joy of her telling;and, too, there was mingled a vague sense of having lowered herself totoo familiar fellowship with this--this boy. She straightened herselfinstinctively and thought of some remark that would restore properrelations. She had not found it before he said, slowly:

"All yon is Jason's. "

"What?" she asked, puzzled. 

He pointed with one sweep of his long arm to the quivering mass ofgreen-gold foliage that swept from swamp to horizon. 

"All yon golden fleece is Jason's now, " he repeated. 

"I thought it was--Cresswell's, " she said. 

"That's what I mean. "

She suddenly understood that the story had sunk deeply. 

"I am glad to hear you say that, " she said methodically, "for Jason wasa brave adventurer--"

"I thought he was a thief. "

"Oh, well--those were other times. "

"The Cresswells are thieves now. "

Miss Taylor answered sharply. 

"Bles, I am ashamed to hear you talk so of your neighbors simply becausethey are white. "

But Bles continued. 

"This is the Black Sea, " he said, pointing to the dull cabins thatcrouched here and there upon the earth, with the dark twinkling of theirblack folk darting out to see the strangers ride by. 

Despite herself Miss Taylor caught the allegory and half whispered, "Lo!the King himself!" as a black man almost rose from the tangled earth attheir side. He was tall and thin and sombre-hued, with a carven face andthick gray hair. 

"Your servant, mistress, " he said, with a sweeping bow as he strodetoward the swamp. Miss Taylor stopped him, for he looked interesting, and might answer some of her brother's questions. He turned back andstood regarding her with sorrowful eyes and ugly mouth. 

"Do you live about here?" she asked. 

"I'se lived here a hundred years, " he answered. She did not believe it;he might be seventy, eighty, or even ninety--indeed, there was about himthat indefinable sense of age--some shadow of endless living; but ahundred seemed absurd. 

"You know the people pretty well, then?"

"I knows dem all. I knows most of 'em better dan dey knows demselves. Iknows a heap of tings in dis world and in de next. "

"This is a great cotton country?"

"Dey don't raise no cotton now to what dey used to when old Gen'relCresswell fust come from Carolina; den it was a bale and a half to theacre on stalks dat looked like young brushwood. Dat was cotton. "

"You know the Cresswells, then?"

"Know dem? I knowed dem afore dey was born. "

"They are--wealthy people?"

"Dey rolls in money and dey'se quality, too. No shoddy upstarts dem, but born to purple, lady, born to purple. Old Gen'ral Cresswell hadniggers and acres no end back dere in Carolina. He brung a part of demhere and here his son, de father of dis Colonel Cresswell, was born. Deson--I knowed him well--he had a tousand niggers and ten tousand acresafore de war. "

"Were they kind to their slaves?"

"Oh, yaas, yaas, ma'am, dey was careful of de're niggers and wouldn'tlet de drivers whip 'em much. "

"And these Cresswells today?"

"Oh, dey're quality--high-blooded folks--dey'se lost some land andniggers, but, lordy, nuttin' can buy de Cresswells, dey naturally ownsde world. "

"Are they honest and kind?"

"Oh, yaas, ma'am--dey'se good white folks. "

"Good white folk?"

"Oh, yaas, ma'am--course you knows white folks will be whitefolks--white folks will be white folks. Your servant, ma'am. " And theswamp swallowed him. 

The boy's eyes followed him as he whipped up the horse. 

"He's going to Elspeth's, " he said. 

"Who is he?"

"We just call him Old Pappy--he's a preacher, and some folks say aconjure man, too. "

"And who is Elspeth?"

"She lives in the swamp--she's a kind of witch, I reckon, like--like--"

"Like Medea?"

"Yes--only--I don't know--" and he grew thoughtful. 

The road turned now and far away to the eastward rose the firststraggling cabins of the town. Creeping toward them down the road rolleda dark squat figure. It grew and spread slowly on the horizon until itbecame a fat old black woman, hooded and aproned, with great round hipsand massive bosom. Her face was heavy and homely until she looked up andlifted the drooping cheeks, and then kindly old eyes beamed on the youngteacher, as she curtsied and cried:

"Good-evening, honey! Good-evening! You sure is pretty dis evening. "

"Why, Aunt Rachel, how are you?" There was genuine pleasure in thegirl's tone. 

"Just tolerable, honey, bless de Lord! Rumatiz is kind o' bad and AuntRachel ain't so young as she use ter be. "

"And what brings you to town afoot this time of day?"

The face fell again to dull care and the old eyes crept away. Shefumbled with her cane. 

"It's de boys again, honey, " she returned solemnly; "dey'se good boys, dey is good to de're old mammy, but dey'se high strung and dey gitsfighting and drinking and--and--last Saturday night dey got took upagain. I'se been to Jedge Grey--I use to tote him on my knee, honey--I'se been to him to plead him not to let 'em go on de gang, 'cause you see, honey, " and she stroked the girl's sleeve as if pleadingwith her, too, "you see it done ruins boys to put 'em on de gang. "

Miss Taylor tried hard to think of something comforting to say, butwords seemed inadequate to cheer the old soul; but after a few momentsthey rode on, leaving the kind face again beaming and dimpling. 

And now the country town of Toomsville lifted itself above the cottonand corn, fringed with dirty straggling cabins of black folk. The roadswung past the iron watering trough, turned sharply and, after passingtwo or three pert cottages and a stately house, old and faded, openedinto the wide square. Here pulsed the very life and being of the land. Yonder great bales of cotton, yellow-white in its soiled sacking, piledin lofty, dusty mountains, lay listening for the train that, twice aday, ran out to the greater world. Round about, tied to the well-gnawedhitching rails, were rows of mules--mules with back cloths; mules withsaddles; mules hitched to long wagons, buggies, and rickety gigs; mulesmunching golden ears of corn, and mules drooping their heads insorrowful memory of better days. 

Beyond the cotton warehouse smoked the chimneys of the seed-mill and thecotton-gin; a red livery-stable faced them and all about three sides ofthe square ran stores; big stores and small wide-windowed, narrowstores. Some had old steps above the worn clay side-walks, and some wereflush with the ground. All had a general sense of dilapidation--saveone, the largest and most imposing, a three-story brick. This wasCaldwell's "Emporium"; and here Bles stopped and Miss Taylor entered. 

Mr. Caldwell himself hurried forward; and the whole store, clerks andcustomers, stood at attention, for Miss Taylor was yet new to thecounty. 

She bought a few trifles and then approached her main business. 

"My brother wants some information about the county, Mr. Caldwell, and Iam only a teacher, and do not know much about conditions here. "

"Ah! where do you teach?" asked Mr. Caldwell. He was certain he knew theteachers of all the white schools in the county. Miss Taylor told him. He stiffened slightly but perceptibly, like a man clicking the bucklesof his ready armor, and two townswomen who listened gradually turnedtheir backs, but remained near. 

"Yes--yes, " he said, with uncomfortable haste. "Any--er--information--ofcourse--" Miss Taylor got out her notes. 

"The leading land-owners, " she began, sorting the notes searchingly, "Ishould like to know something about them. "

"Well, Colonel Cresswell is, of course, our greatest landlord--ahigh-bred gentleman of the old school. He and his son--a worthysuccessor to the name--hold some fifty thousand acres. They may beconsidered representative types. Then, Mr. Maxwell has ten thousandacres and Mr. Tolliver a thousand. "

Miss Taylor wrote rapidly. "And cotton?" she asked. 

"We raise considerable cotton, but not nearly what we ought to; niggerlabor is too worthless. "

"Oh! The Negroes are not, then, very efficient?"

"Efficient!" snorted Mr. Caldwell; at last she had broached a phase ofthe problem upon which he could dilate with fervor. "They're thelowest-down, ornriest--begging your pardon--good-for-nothing loafers youever heard of. Why, we just have to carry them and care for them likechildren. Look yonder, " he pointed across the square to the court-house. It was an old square brick-and-stucco building, sombre and stilted andvery dirty. Out of it filed a stream of men--some black and shackled;some white and swaggering and liberal with tobacco-juice; some white andshaven and stiff. "Court's just out, " pursued Mr. Caldwell, "and themniggers have just been sent to the gang--young ones, too; educated butgood for nothing. They're all that way. "

Miss Taylor looked up a little puzzled, and became aware of a battery ofeyes and ears. Everybody seemed craning and listening, and she felt asudden embarrassment and a sense of half-veiled hostility in the air. With one or two further perfunctory questions, and a hasty expression ofthanks, she escaped into the air. 

The whole square seemed loafing and lolling--the white world perched onstoops and chairs, in doorways and windows; the black world filteringdown from doorways to side-walk and curb. The hot, dusty quadranglestretched in dreary deadness toward the temple of the town, as if doingobeisance to the court-house. Down the courthouse steps the sheriff, with Winchester on shoulder, was bringing the last prisoner--acurly-headed boy with golden face and big brown frightened eyes. 

"It's one of Dunn's boys, " said Bles. "He's drunk again, and they sayhe's been stealing. I expect he was hungry. " And they wheeled out of thesquare. 

Miss Taylor was tired, and the hastily scribbled letter which shedropped into the post in passing was not as clearly expressed as shecould wish. 

A great-voiced giant, brown and bearded, drove past them, roaring ahymn. He greeted Bles with a comprehensive wave of the hand. 

"I guess Tylor has been paid off, " said Bles, but Miss Taylor was toodisgusted to answer. Further on they overtook a tall young yellow boywalking awkwardly beside a handsome, bold-faced girl. Two white men cameriding by. One leered at the girl, and she laughed back, while theyellow boy strode sullenly ahead. As the two white riders approached thebuggy one said to the other:

"Who's that nigger with?"

"One of them nigger teachers. "

"Well, they'll stop this damn riding around or they'll hear something, "and they rode slowly by. 

Miss Taylor felt rather than heard their words, and she wasuncomfortable. The sun fell fast; the long shadows of the swamp sweptsoft coolness on the red road. Then afar in front a curled cloud ofwhite dust arose and out of it came the sound of galloping horses. 

"Who's this?" asked Miss Taylor. 

"The Cresswells, I think; they usually ride to town about this time. "But already Miss Taylor had descried the brown and tawny sides of thespeeding horses. 

"Good gracious!" she thought. "The Cresswells!" And with it came asudden desire not to meet them--just then. She glanced toward the swamp. The sun was sifting blood-red lances through the trees. A littlewagon-road entered the wood and disappeared. Miss Taylor saw it. 

"Let's see the sunset in the swamp, " she said suddenly. On came thegalloping horses. Bles looked up in surprise, then silently turned intothe swamp. The horses flew by, their hoof-beats dying in the distance. Adark green silence lay about them lit by mighty crimson glories beyond. Miss Taylor leaned back and watched it dreamily till a sense ofoppression grew on her. The sun was sinking fast. 

"Where does this road come out?" she asked at last. 

"It doesn't come out. "

"Where does it go?"

"It goes to Elspeth's. "

"Why, we must turn back immediately. I thought--" But Bles was alreadyturning. They were approaching the main road again when there came afluttering as of a great bird beating its wings amid the forest. Then agirl, lithe, dark brown, and tall, leaped lightly into the path withgreetings on her lips for Bles. At the sight of the lady she drewsuddenly back and stood motionless regarding Miss Taylor, searching herwith wide black liquid eyes. Miss Taylor was a little startled. 

"Good--good-evening, " she said, straightening herself. 

The girl was still silent and the horse stopped. One tense moment pulsedthrough all the swamp. Then the girl, still motionless--still lookingMiss Taylor through and through--said with slow deliberateness:

"I hates you. "

The teacher in Miss Taylor strove to rebuke this unconventional greetingbut the woman in her spoke first and asked almost before she knew it--

"Why?"

_Five_

ZORA

Zora, child of the swamp, was a heathen hoyden of twelve wayward, untrained years. Slight, straight, strong, full-blooded, she had dreamedher life away in wilful wandering through her dark and sombre kingdomuntil she was one with it in all its moods; mischievous, secretive, brooding; full of great and awful visions, steeped body and soul inwood-lore. Her home was out of doors, the cabin of Elspeth her port ofcall for talking and eating. She had not known, she had scarcely seen, achild of her own age until Bles Alwyn had fled from her dancing in thenight, and she had searched and found him sleeping in the misty morninglight. It was to her a strange new thing to see a fellow of like yearswith herself, and she gripped him to her soul in wild interest and newcuriosity. Yet this childish friendship was so new and incomprehensiblea thing to her that she did not know how to express it. At first shepounced upon him in mirthful, almost impish glee, teasing and mockingand half scaring him, despite his fifteen years of young manhood. 

"Yes, they is devils down yonder behind the swamp, " she would whisper, warningly, when, after the first meeting, he had crept back again andagain, half fascinated, half amused to greet her; "I'se seen 'em, I'seheard 'em, 'cause my mammy is a witch. "

The boy would sit and watch her wonderingly as she lay curled along thelow branch of the mighty oak, clinging with little curved limbs andflying fingers. Possessed by the spirit of her vision, she would chant, low-voiced, tremulous, mischievous:

"One night a devil come to me on blue fire out of a big red flower thatgrows in the south swamp; he was tall and big and strong as anything, and when he spoke the trees shook and the stars fell. Even mammy wasafeared; and it takes a lot to make mammy afeared, 'cause she's a witchand can conjure. He said, 'I'll come when you die--I'll come when youdie, and take the conjure off you, ' and then he went away on a bigfire. "

"Shucks!" the boy would say, trying to express scornful disbelief when, in truth, he was awed and doubtful. Always he would glance involuntarilyback along the path behind him. Then her low birdlike laughter wouldrise and ring through the trees. 

So passed a year, and there came the time when her wayward teasing andthe almost painful thrill of her tale-telling nettled him and drove himaway. For long months he did not meet her, until one day he saw her deepeyes fixed longingly upon him from a thicket in the swamp. He went andgreeted her. But she said no word, sitting nested among the greenwoodwith passionate, proud silence, until he had sued long for peace; thenin sudden new friendship she had taken his hand and led him through theswamp, showing him all the beauty of her swamp-world--great shadowy oaksand limpid pools, lone, naked trees and sweet flowers; the whisperingand flitting of wild things, and the winging of furtive birds. She haddropped the impish mischief of her way, and up from beneath it rose awistful, visionary tenderness; a mighty half-confessed, half-concealed, striving for unknown things. He seemed to have found a new friend. 

And today, after he had taken Miss Taylor home and supped, he came outin the twilight under the new moon and whistled the tremulous note thatalways brought her. 

"Why did you speak so to Miss Taylor?" he asked, reproachfully. Sheconsidered the matter a moment. 

"You don't understand, " she said. "You can't never understand. I can seeright through people. You can't. You never had a witch for a mammy--didyou?"

"No. "

"Well, then, you see I have to take care of you and see things for you. "

"Zora, " he said thoughtfully, "you must learn to read. "

"What for?"

"So that you can read books and know lots of things. "

"Don't white folks make books?"

"Yes--most of the books. "

"Pooh! I knows more than they do now--a heap more. "

"In some ways you do; but they know things that give them power andwealth and make them rule. "

"No, no. They don't really rule; they just thinks they rule. They justgot things--heavy, dead things. We black folks is got the _spirit_. We'se lighter and cunninger; we fly right through them; we go and comeagain just as we wants to. Black folks is wonderful. "

He did not understand what she meant; but he knew what he wanted and hetried again. 

"Even if white folks don't know everything they know different thingsfrom us, and we ought to know what they know. "

This appealed to her somewhat. 

"I don't believe they know much, " she concluded; "but I'll learn to readand just see. "

"It will be hard work, " he warned. But he had come prepared foracquiescence. He took a primer from his pocket and, lighting a match, showed her the alphabet. 

"Learn those, " he said. 

"What for?" she asked, looking at the letters disdainfully. 

"Because that's the way, " he said, as the light flared and went out. 

"I don't believe it, " she disputed, disappearing in the wood andreturning with a pine-knot. They lighted it and its smoky flame threwwavering shadows about. She turned the leaves till she came to a picturewhich she studied intently. 

"Is this about this?" she asked, pointing alternately to reading andpicture. 

"Yes. And if you learn--"

"Read it, " she commanded. He read the page. 

"Again, " she said, making him point out each word. Then she read itafter him, accurately, with more perfect expression. He stared at her. She took the book, and with a nod was gone. 

It was Saturday and dark. She never asked Bles to her home--to thatmysterious black cabin in mid-swamp. He thought her ashamed of it, anddelicately refrained from going. So tonight she slipped away, stoppedand listened till she heard his footsteps on the pike, and then flewhomeward. Presently the old black cabin loomed before her with its wideflapping door. The old woman was bending over the fire, stirring somesavory mess, and a yellow girl with a white baby on one arm was placingdishes on a rickety wooden table when Zora suddenly and noiselesslyentered the door. 

"Come, is you? I 'lowed victuals would fetch you, " grumbled the hag. 

But Zora deigned no answer. She walked placidly to the table, where shetook up a handful of cold corn-bread and meat, and then went over andcurled up by the fire. 

Elspeth and the girl talked and laughed coarsely, and the night woreon. 

By and by loud laughter and tramping came from the road--a sound ofnumerous footsteps. Zora listened, leapt to her feet and started to thedoor. The old crone threw an epithet after her; but she flashed throughthe lighted doorway and was gone, followed by the oath and shouts fromthe approaching men. In the hut night fled with wild song and revel, andday dawned again. Out from some fastness of the wood crept Zora. Shestopped and bathed in a pool, and combed her close-clung hair, thenentered silently to breakfast. 

Thus began in the dark swamp that primal battle with the Word. She hatedit and despised it, but her pride was in arms and her one great lifefriendship in the balance. She fought her way with a dogged persistencethat brought word after word of praise and interest from Bles. Then, once well begun, her busy, eager mind flew with a rapidity thatstartled; the stories especially she devoured--tales of strange thingsand countries and men gripped her imagination and clung to her memory. 

"Didn't I tell you there was lots to learn?" he asked once. 

"I knew it all, " she retorted; "every bit. I'se thought it all before;only the little things is different--and I like the little, strangethings. "

Spring ripened to summer. She was reading well and writing some. 

"Zora, " he announced one morning under their forest oak, "you must go toschool. "

She eyed him, surprised. 

"Why?"

"You've found some things worth knowing in this world, haven't you, Zora?"

"Yes, " she admitted. 

"But there are more--many, many more--worlds on worlds of things--youhave not dreamed of. "

She stared at him, open-eyed, and a wonder crept upon her face battlingwith the old assurance. Then she looked down at her bare brown feet andtorn gown. 

"I've got a little money, Zora, " he said quickly. 

But she lifted her head. 

"I'll earn mine, " she said. 

"How?" he asked doubtfully. 

"I'll pick cotton. "

"Can you?"

"Course I can. "

"It's hard work. "

She hesitated. 

"I don't like to work, " she mused. "You see, mammy's pappy was a king'sson, and kings don't work. I don't work; mostly I dreams. But I canwork, and I will--for the wonder things--and for you. "

So the summer yellowed and silvered into fall. All the vacation daysBles worked on the farm, and Zora read and dreamed and studied in thewood, until the land lay white with harvest. Then, without warning, sheappeared in the cotton-field beside Bles, and picked. 

It was hot, sore work. The sun blazed; her bent and untrained backpained, and the soft little hands bled. But no complaint passed herlips; her hands never wavered, and her eyes met his steadily andgravely. She bade him good-night, cheerily, and then stole away to thewood, crouching beneath the great oak, and biting back the groans thattrembled on her lips. Often, she fell supperless to sleep, with twogreat tears creeping down her tired cheeks. 

When school-time came there was not yet money enough, for cotton-pickingwas not far advanced. Yet Zora would take no money from Bles, and workedearnestly away. 

Meantime there occurred to the boy the momentous question of clothes. Had Zora thought of them? He feared not. She knew little of clothes andcared less. So one day in town he dropped into Caldwell's "Emporium"and glanced hesitantly at certain ready-made dresses. One caught hiseye. It came from the great Easterly mills in New England and was red--avivid red. The glowing warmth of this cloth of cotton caught the eye ofBles, and he bought the gown for a dollar and a half. 

He carried it to Zora in the wood, and unrolled it before her eyes thatdanced with glad tears. Of course, it was long and wide; but he fetchedneedle and thread and scissors, too. It was a full month after schoolhad begun when they, together back in the swamp, shadowed by thefoliage, began to fashion the wonderful garment. At the same time shelaid ten dollars of her first hard-earned money in his hands. 

"You can finish the first year with this money, " Bles assured her, delighted, "and then next year you must come in to board; because, yousee, when you're educated you won't want to live in the swamp. "

"I wants to live here always. "

"But not at Elspeth's. "

"No-o--not there, not there. " And a troubled questioning trembled in hereyes, but brought no answering thought in his, for he was busy with hisplans. 

"Then, you see, Zora, if you stay here you'll need a new house, andyou'll want to learn how to make it beautiful. "

"Yes, a beautiful, great castle here in the swamp, " she dreamed; "but, "and her face fell, "I can't get money enough to board in; and I don'twant to board in--I wants to be free. "

He looked at her, curled down so earnestly at her puzzling task, and apity for the more than motherless child swept over him. He bent overher, nervously, eagerly, and she laid down her sewing and sat silent andpassive with dark, burning eyes. 

"Zora, " he said, "I want you to do all this--for me. "

"I will, if you wants me to, " she said quietly, but with something inher voice that made him look half startled into her beautiful eyes andfeel a queer flushing in his face. He stretched his hand out and takinghers held it lightly till she quivered and drew away, bending againover her sewing. 

Then a nameless exaltation rose within his heart. 

"Zora, " he whispered, "I've got a plan. "

"What is it?" she asked, still with bowed head. 

"Listen, till I tell you of the Golden Fleece. "

Then she too heard the story of Jason. Breathless she listened, droppingher sewing and leaning forward, eager-eyed. Then her face clouded. 

"Do you s'pose mammy's the witch?" she asked dubiously. 

"No; she wouldn't give her own flesh and blood to help the thievingJason. "

She looked at him searchingly. 

"Yes, she would, too, " affirmed the girl, and then she paused, stillintently watching him. She was troubled, and again a question eagerlyhovered on her lips. But he continued:

"Then we must escape her, " he said gayly. "See! yonder lies the SilverFleece spread across the brown back of the world; let's get a bit of it, and hide it here in the swamp, and comb it, and tend it, and make it thebeautifullest bit of all. Then we can sell it, and send you to school. "

She sat silently bent forward, turning the picture in her mind. Suddenlyforgetting her trouble, she bubbled with laughter, and leaping upclapped her hands. 

"And I knows just the place!" she cried eagerly, looking at him with aflash of the old teasing mischief--"down in the heart of theswamp--where dreams and devils lives. "

 * * * * *

Up at the school-house Miss Taylor was musing. She had been invited tospend the summer with Mrs. Grey at Lake George, and such asummer!--silken clothes and dainty food, motoring and golf, well-groomedmen and elegant women. She would not have put it in just that way, butthe vision came very close to spelling heaven to her mind. Not that shewould come to it vacant-minded, but rather as a trained woman, starvedfor companionship and wanting something of the beauty and ease of life. She sat dreaming of it here with rows of dark faces before her, and thesingsong wail of a little black reader with his head aslant and hispatched kneepants. 

The day was warm and languorous, and the last pale mist of the SilverFleece peeped in at the windows. She tried to follow the third-readerlesson with her finger, but persistently off she went, dreaming, to someexquisite little parlor with its green and gold, the clink of daintychina and hum of low voices, and the blue lake in the window; she wouldglance up, the door would open softly and--

Just here she did glance up, and all the school glanced with her. Thedrone of the reader hushed. The door opened softly, and upon thethreshold stood Zora. Her small feet and slender ankles were black andbare; her dark, round, and broad-browed head and strangely beautifulface were poised almost defiantly, crowned with a misty mass of wavelesshair, and lit by the velvet radiance of two wonderful eyes. And hangingfrom shoulder to ankle, in formless, clinging folds, blazed the scarletgown. 

_Six_

COTTON

The cry of the naked was sweeping the world. From the peasant toiling inRussia, the lady lolling in London, the chieftain burning in Africa, andthe Esquimaux freezing in Alaska; from long lines of hungry men, frompatient sad-eyed women, from old folk and creeping children went up thecry, "Clothes, clothes!" Far away the wide black land that belts theSouth, where Miss Smith worked and Miss Taylor drudged and Bles and Zoradreamed, the dense black land sensed the cry and heard the bound ofanswering life within the vast dark breast. All that dark earth heavedin mighty travail with the bursting bolls of the cotton while blackattendant earth spirits swarmed above, sweating and crooning to itsbirth pains. 

After the miracle of the bursting bolls, when the land was brightestwith the piled mist of the Fleece, and when the cry of the naked wasloudest in the mouths of men, a sudden cloud of workers swarmed betweenthe Cotton and the Naked, spinning and weaving and sewing and carryingthe Fleece and mining and minting and bringing the Silver till the Songof Service filled the world and the poetry of Toil was in the souls ofthe laborers. Yet ever and always there were tense silent white-facedmen moving in that swarm who felt no poetry and heard no song, and oneof these was John Taylor. 

He was tall, thin, cold, and tireless and he moved among the Watchers ofthis World of Trade. In the rich Wall Street offices of Grey andEasterly, Brokers, Mr. Taylor, as chief and confidential clerk surveyedthe world's nakedness and the supply of cotton to clothe it. The objectof his watching was frankly stated to himself and to his world. Hepurposed going into business neither for his own health nor for thehealing or clothing of the peoples but to apply his knowledge of theworld's nakedness and of black men's toil in such a way as to bringhimself wealth. In this he was but following the teaching of his highestideal, lately deceased, Mr. Job Grey. Mr. Grey had so successfullymanipulated the cotton market that while black men who made the cottonstarved in Alabama and white men who bought it froze in Siberia, hehimself sat--

 _"High on a throne of royal state That far outshone the wealth Of Ormuz or of Ind. _"

Notwithstanding this he died eventually, leaving the burden of hiswealth to his bewildered wife, and his business to the astute Mr. Easterly; not simply to Mr. Easterly, but in a sense to his spiritualheir, John Taylor. 

To be sure Mr. Taylor had but a modest salary and no financial interestin the business, but he had knowledge and business daring--effronteryeven--and the determination was fixed in his mind to be a millionaire atno distant date. Some cautious fliers on the market gave him enoughsurplus to send his sister Mary through the high school of his countryhome in New Hampshire, and afterward through Wellesley College; althoughjust why a woman should want to go through college was inexplicable toJohn Taylor, and he was still uncertain as to the wisdom of his charity. 

When she had an offer to teach in the South, John Taylor hurried her offfor two reasons: he was profoundly interested in the cotton-belt, andthere she might be of service to him; and secondly, he had spent all themoney on her that he intended to at present, and he wanted her to go towork. As an investment he did not consider Mary a success. Her lettersintimated very strongly her intention not to return to Miss Smith'sSchool; but they also brought information--disjointed and incomplete, tobe sure--which mightily interested Mr. Taylor and sent him to atlases, encyclopædias, and census-reports. When he went to that little lunchwith old Mrs. Grey he was not sure that he wanted his sister to leavethe cotton-belt just yet. After lunch he was sure that he did not wanther to leave. 

The rich Mrs. Grey was at the crisis of her fortunes. She was an elderlylady, in those uncertain years beyond fifty, and had been left suddenlywith more millions than she could easily count. Personally she wasinclined to spend her money in bettering the world right off, in suchways as might from time to time seem attractive. This course, to herhusband's former partner and present executor, Mr. Edward Easterly, wasnot only foolish but wicked, and, incidentally, distinctly unprofitableto him. He had expressed himself strongly to Mrs. Grey last night atdinner and had reinforced his argument by a pointed letter written thismorning. 

To John Taylor Mrs. Grey's disposal of the income was unbelievableblasphemy against the memory of a mighty man. He did not put this inwords to Mrs. Grey--he was only head clerk in her late husband'soffice--but he became watchful and thoughtful. He ate his soup insilence when she descanted on various benevolent schemes. 

"Now, what do you know, " she asked finally, "about Negroes--abouteducating them?" Mr. Taylor over his fish was about to deny allknowledge of any sort on the subject, but all at once he recollected hissister, and a sudden gleam of light radiated his mental gloom. 

"Have a sister who is--er--devoting herself to teaching them, " he said. 

"Is that so!" cried Mrs. Grey, joyfully. "Where is she?"

"In Tooms County, Alabama--in--" Mr. Taylor consulted a remote mentalpocket--"in Miss Sara Smith's school. "

"Why, how fortunate! I'm so glad I mentioned the matter. You see, MissSmith is a sister of a friend of ours, Congressman Smith of New Jersey, and she has just written to me for help; a very touching letter, too, about the poor blacks. My father set great store by blacks and was aleading abolitionist before he died. "

Mr. Taylor was thinking fast. Yes, the name of Congressman Peter Smithwas quite familiar. Mr. Easterly, as chairman of the Republican StateCommittee of New Jersey, had been compelled to discipline Mr. Smithpretty severely for certain socialistic votes in the House, andconsequently his future career was uncertain. It was important that sucha man should not have too much to do with Mrs. Grey's philanthropies--atleast, in his present position. 

"Should like to have you meet and talk with my sister, Mrs. Grey; she'sa Wellesley graduate, " said Taylor, finally. 

Mrs. Grey was delighted. It was a combination which she felt she needed. Here was a college-girl who could direct her philanthropies and heretiquette during the summer. Forthwith Mary Taylor received anintimation from her brother that vast interests depended on her summervacation. 

Thus it had happened that Miss Taylor came to Lake George for hervacation after the first year at the Smith School, and she and MissSmith had silently agreed as she left that it would be better for hernot to return. But the gods of lower Broadway thought otherwise. Notthat Mary Taylor did not believe in Miss Smith's work, she was toohonest not to believe in education; but she was sure that this was nother work, and she had not as yet perfected in her own mind any theory ofthe world into which black folk fitted. She was rather taken back, therefore, to be regarded as an expert on the problem. First her brotherattacked her, not simply on cotton, but, to her great surprise, on Negroeducation; and after listening to her halting uncertain remarks, hesuggested to her certain matters which it would be better for her tobelieve when Mrs. Grey talked to her. 

"Interested in darkies, you see, " he concluded, "and looks to you totell things. Better go easy and suggest a waiting-game before she goesin heavy. "

"But Miss Smith needs money--" the New England conscience prompted. JohnTaylor cut in sharply:

"We all need money, and I know people who need Mrs. Grey's more thanMiss Smith does at present. "

Miss Taylor found the Lake George colony charming. It was notultra-fashionable, but it had wealth and leisure and some breeding. Especially was this true of a circumscribed, rather exclusive, set whichcentred around the Vanderpools of New York and Boston. They, or ratherMr. Vanderpool's connections, were of Old Dutch New York stock; hisfather it was who had built the Lake George cottage. 

Mrs. Vanderpool was a Wells of Boston, and endured Lake George now andthen during the summer for her husband's sake, although she regarded itall as rather a joke. This summer promised to be unusually lonesome forher, and she was meditating a retreat to the Massachusetts north shorewhen she chanced to meet Mary Taylor, at a miscellaneous dinner, andfound her interesting. She discovered that this young woman knew things, that she could talk books, and that she was rather pretty. To be sureshe knew no people, but Mrs. Vanderpool knew enough to even things. 

"By the bye, I met some charming Alabama people last winter, inMontgomery--the Cresswells; do you know them?" she asked one day, asthey were lounging in wicker chairs on the Vanderpool porch. Then sheanswered the query herself: "No, of course you could not. It is too badthat your work deprives you of the society of people of your class. Nowmy ideal is a set of Negro schools where the white teachers _could_ knowthe Cresswells. "

"Why, yes--" faltered Miss Taylor; "but--wouldn't that be difficult?"

"Why should it be?"

"I mean, would the Cresswells approve of educating Negroes?"

"Oh, 'educating'! The word conceals so much. Now, I take it theCresswells would object to instructing them in French and in dinneretiquette and tea-gowns, and so, in fact, would I; but teach them how tohandle a hoe and to sew and cook. I have reason to know that people likethe Cresswells would be delighted. "

"And with the teachers of it?"

"Why not?--provided, of course, they were--well, gentlefolk andassociated accordingly. "

"But one must associate with one's pupils. "

"Oh, certainly, certainly; just as one must associate with one's maidsand chauffeurs and dressmakers--cordially and kindly, but with adifference. "

"But--but, dear Mrs. Vanderpool, you wouldn't want your children trainedthat way, would you?"

"Certainly not, my dear. But these are not my children, they are thechildren of Negroes; we can't quite forget that, can we?"

"No, I suppose not, " Miss Taylor admitted, a little helplessly. "But--itseems to me--that's the modern idea of taking culture to the masses. "

"Frankly, then, the modern idea is not my idea; it is too socialistic. And as for culture applied to the masses, you utter a paradox. Themasses and work is the truth one must face. "

"And culture and work?"

"Quite incompatible, I assure you, my dear. " She stretched her silkenlimbs, lazily, while Miss Taylor sat silently staring at the waters. 

Just then Mrs. Grey drove up in her new red motor. 

Up to the time of Mary Taylor's arrival the acquaintance of theVanderpools and Mrs. Grey had been a matter chiefly of smiling bows. After Miss Taylor came there had been calls and casual intercourse, toMrs. Grey's great gratification and Mrs. Vanderpool's mingled amusementand annoyance. Mrs. Grey announced the arrival of the Easterlys and JohnTaylor for the week-end. As Mrs. Vanderpool could think of nothing lessboring, she consented to dine. 

The atmosphere of Mrs. Grey's ornate cottage was different from that ofthe Vanderpools. The display of wealth and splendor had a touch of thebarbaric. Mary Taylor liked it, although she found the Vanderpoolatmosphere more subtly satisfying. There was a certain grim powerbeneath the Greys' mahogany and velvets that thrilled while it appalled. Precisely that side of the thing appealed to her brother. He would haveseen little or nothing in the plain elegance yonder, while here he saw aJapanese vase that cost no cent less than a thousand dollars. He meantto be able to duplicate it some day. He knew that Grey was poor and lessknowing than he sixty years ago. 

The dead millionaire had begun his fortune by buying and sellingcotton--travelling in the South in reconstruction times, and sending hisagents. In this way he made his thousands. Then he took a step forward, and instead of following the prices induced the prices to follow him. Two or three small cotton corners brought him his tens of thousands. About this time Easterly joined him and pointed out a new road--thebuying and selling of stock in various cotton-mills and other industrialenterprises. Grey hesitated, but Easterly pushed him on and he made hishundreds of thousands. Then Easterly proposed buying controllinginterests in certain large mills and gradually consolidating them. Theplan grew and succeeded, and Grey made his millions. 

Then Grey stopped; he had money enough, and he would venture no farther. He "was going to retire and eat peanuts, " he said with a chuckle. 

Easterly was disgusted. He, too, had made millions--not as many as Grey, but a few. It was not, however, simply money that he wanted, but power. The lust of financial dominion had gripped his soul, and he had a visionof a vast trust of cotton manufacturing covering the land. He talkedthis incessantly into Grey, but Grey continued to shake his head; thething was too big for his imagination. He was bent on retiring, and justas he had set the date a year hence he inadvertently died. On the whole, Mr. Easterly was glad of his partner's definite withdrawal, since heleft his capital behind him, until he found his vast plans about to becircumvented by Mrs. Grey withdrawing this capital from his control. "Togive to the niggers and Chinamen, " he snorted to John Taylor, and strodeup and down the veranda. John Taylor removed his coat, lighted a blackcigar, and elevated his heels. The ladies were in the parlor, where thefemale Easterlys were prostrating themselves before Mrs. Vanderpool. 

"Just what is your plan?" asked Taylor, quite as if he did not know. 

"Why, man, the transfer of a hundred millions of stock would give mecontrol of the cotton-mills of America. Think of it!--the biggest trustnext to steel. "

"Why not bigger?" asked Taylor, imperturbably puffing away. Mr. Easterlyeyed him. He had regarded Taylor hitherto as a very valuable asset tothe business--had relied on his knowledge of routine, his judgment andhis honesty; but he detected tonight a new tone in his clerk, somethingalmost authoritative and self-reliant. He paused and smiled at him. 

"Bigger?"

But John Taylor was dead in earnest. He did not smile. 

"First, there's England--and all Europe; why not bring them into thetrust?"

"Possibly, later; but first, America. Of course, I've got my eyes on theEuropean situation and feelers out; but such matters are more difficultand slower of adjustment over there--so damned much law and gospel. "

"But there's another side. "

"What's that?"

"You are planning to combine and control the manufacture of cotton--"

"Yes. "

"But how about your raw material? The steel trust owns its iron mines. "

"Of course--mines could be monopolized and hold the trust up; but ourraw material is perfectly safe--farms growing smaller, farms isolated, and we fixing the price. It's a cinch. "

"Are you sure?" Taylor surveyed him with a narrowed look. 

"Certain. "

"I'm not. I've been looking up things, and there are three points you'dbetter study: First, cotton farms are not getting smaller; they'regetting bigger almighty fast, and there's a big cotton-land monopoly insight. Second, the banks and wholesale houses in the South _can_ controlthe cotton output if they work together. Third, watch the Southern'Farmers' League' of big landlords. "

Mr. Easterly threw away his cigar and sat down. Taylor straightened up, switched on the porch light, and took a bundle of papers from his coatpocket. 

"Here are census figures, " he said, "commercial reports and letters. "They pored over them a half hour. Then Easterly arose. 

"There's something in it, " he admitted, "but what can we do? What do youpropose?"

"Monopolize the growth as well as the manufacture of cotton, and usethe first to club European manufacturers into submission. "

Easterly stared at him. 

"Good Lord!" he ejaculated; "you're crazy!"

But Taylor smiled a slow, thin smile, and put away his papers. Easterlycontinued to stare at his subordinate with a sort of fascination, withthe awe that one feels when genius unexpectedly reveals itself from asource hitherto regarded as entirely ordinary. At last he drew a longbreath, remarking indefinitely:

"I'll think it over. "

A stir in the parlor indicated departure. 

"Well, you watch the Farmers' League, and note its success and methods, "counselled John Taylor, his tone and manner unchanged. "Then figure whatit might do in the hands of--let us say, friends. "

"Who's running it?"

"A Colonel Cresswell is its head, and happens also to be the forcebehind it. Aristocratic family--big planter--near where my sisterteaches. "

"H'm--well, we'll watch _him_. "

"And say, " as Easterly was turning away, "you know Congressman Smith?"

"I should say I did. "

"Well, Mrs. Grey seems to be depending on him for advice in distributingsome of her charity funds. "

Easterly appeared startled. 

"She is, is she!" he exclaimed. "But here come the ladies. " He wentforward at once, but John Taylor drew back. He noted Mrs. Vanderpool, and thought her too thin and pale. The dashing young Miss Easterly wasmore to his taste. He intended to have a wife like that one of thesedays. 

"Mary, " said he to his sister as he finally rose to go, "tell me aboutthe Cresswells. "

Mary explained to him at length the impossibility of her knowing muchabout the local white aristocracy of Tooms County, and then told him allshe had heard. 

"Mrs. Grey talked to you much?"

"Yes. "

"About darky schools?"

"Yes. "

"What does she intend to do?"

"I think she will aid Miss Smith first. "

"Did you suggest anything?"

"Well, I told her what I thought about coöperating with the local whitepeople. "

"The Cresswells?"

"Yes--you see Mrs. Vanderpool knows the Cresswells. "

"Does, eh? Good! Say, that's a good point. You just bear heavy onit--coöperate with the Cresswells. "

"Why, yes. But--you see, John, I don't just know whether one _could_coöperate with the Cresswells or not--one hears such contradictorystories of them. But there must be some other white people--"

"Stuff! It's the Cresswells we want. "

"Well, " Mary was very dubious, "they are--the most important. "

_Seven_

THE PLACE OF DREAMS

When she went South late in September, Mary Taylor had two definite butallied objects: she was to get all possible business informationconcerning the Cresswells, and she was to induce Miss Smith to preparefor Mrs. Grey's benevolence by interesting the local whites in her work. The programme attracted Miss Taylor. She felt in touch, even if dimlyand slightly, with great industrial movements, and she felt, too, like adiscerning pioneer in philanthropy. Both roles she liked. Besides, theyheld, each, certain promises of social prestige; and society, MissTaylor argued, one must have even in Alabama. 

Bles Alwyn met her at the train. He was growing to be a big fine bronzegiant, and Mary was glad to see him. She especially tried, in the firstfew weeks of opening school, to glean as much information as possibleconcerning the community, and particularly the Cresswells. She found theNegro youth quicker, surer, and more intelligent in his answers thanthose she questioned elsewhere, and she gained real enjoyment from herlong talks with him. 

"Isn't Bles developing splendidly?" she said to Miss Smith oneafternoon. There was an unmistakable note of enthusiasm in her voice. Miss Smith slowly closed her letter-file but did not look up. 

"Yes, " she said crisply. "He's eighteen now--quite a man. "

"And most interesting to talk with. "

"H'm--very"--drily. Mary was busy with her own thoughts, and she did notnotice the other woman's manner. 

"Do you know, " she pursued, "I'm a little afraid of one thing. "

"So am I. "

"Oh, you've noted it, too?--his friendship for that impossible girl, Zora?"

Miss Smith gave her a searching look. 

"What of it?" she demanded. 

"She is so far beneath him. "

"How so?"

"She is a bold, godless thing; I don't understand her. "

"The two are not quite the same. "

"Of course not; but she is unnaturally forward. "

"Too bright, " Miss Smith amplified. 

"Yes; she knows quite too much. You surely remember that awful scarletdress? Well, all her clothes have arrived, or remained, at a simplicityand vividness that is--well--immodest. "

"Does she think them immodest?"

"What she thinks is a problem. "

"_The_ problem, you mean?"

"Well, yes. "

They paused a moment. Then Miss Smith said slowly: "What I don'tunderstand, I don't judge. "

"No, but you can't always help seeing and meeting it, " laughed MissTaylor. 

"Certainly not. I don't try; I court the meeting and seeing. It is theonly way. "

"Well, perhaps, for us--but not for a boy like Bles, and a girl likeZora. "

"True; men and women must exercise judgment in their intercourseand"--she glanced sharply at Miss Taylor--"my dear, you yourself mustnot forget that Bles Alwyn is a man. "

Far up the road came a low, long, musical shouting; then with creakingand straining of wagons, four great black mules dashed into sight withtwelve bursting bales of yellowish cotton looming and swaying behind. The drivers and helpers were lolling and laughing and singing, but MissTaylor did not hear nor see. She had sat suddenly upright; her face hadflamed crimson, and then went dead white. 

"Miss--Miss Smith!" she gasped, overwhelmed with dismay, a picture ofwounded pride and consternation. 

Miss Smith turned around very methodically and took her hand; but whileshe spoke the girl merely stared at her in stony silence. 

"Now, dear, don't mean more than I do. I'm an old woman, and I've seenmany things. This is but a little corner of the world, and yet manypeople pass here in thirty years. The trouble with new teachers who comeis, that like you, they cannot see black folk as human. All to them areeither impossible Zoras, or else lovable Blessings. They forget thatZora is not to be annihilated, but studied and understood, and that Blesis a young man of eighteen and not a clod. "

"But that he should dare--" Mary began breathlessly. 

"He hasn't dared, " Miss Smith went gently on. "No thought of you but asa teacher has yet entered his dear, simple head. But, my point is simplythis: he's a man, and a human one, and if you keep on making much overhim, and talking to him and petting him, he'll have the right tointerpret your manner in his own way--the same that any young manwould. "

"But--but, he's a--a--"

"A Negro. To be sure, he is; and a man in addition. Now, dear, don'ttake this too much to heart; this is not a rebuke, but a clumsy warning. I am simply trying to make clear to you _why_ you should be careful. Treat poor Zora a little more lovingly, and Bles a little less warmly. They are just human--but, oh! so human. "

Mary Taylor rose up stiffly and mumbled a brief good-night. She went toher room, and sat down in the dark. The mere mention of the thing was toher so preposterous--no, loathsome, she kept repeating. 

She slowly undressed in the dark, and heard the rumbling of the cottonwagons as they swayed toward town. The cry of the Naked was sweeping theworld, and yonder in the night black men were answering the call. Theyknew not what or why they answered, but obeyed the irresistible call, with hearts light and song upon their lips--the Song of Service. Theylashed their mules and drank their whiskey, and all night the piledfleece swept by Mary Taylor's window, flying--flying to that far cry. Miss Taylor turned uneasily in her bed and jerked the bed-clothes abouther ears. 

"Mrs. Vanderpool is right, " she confided to the night, with something ofthe awe with which one suddenly comprehends a hidden oracle; "there mustbe a difference, always, always! That impudent Negro!"

All night she dreamed, and all day, --especially when trim and immaculateshe sat in her chair and looked down upon fifty dark faces--and uponZora. 

Zora sat thinking. She saw neither Miss Taylor nor the long straightrows of desks and faces. She heard neither the drone of the spellers nordid she hear Miss Taylor say, "Zora!" She heard and saw none of this. She only heard the prattle of the birds in the wood, far down where theSilver Fleece would be planted. 

For the time of cotton-planting was coming; the gray and drizzle ofDecember was past and the hesitation, of January. Already a certainwarmth and glow had stolen into the air, and the Swamp was calling itschild with low, seductive voice. She knew where the first leaves werebursting, where tiny flowers nestled, and where young living thingslooked upward to the light and cried and crawled. A wistful longing wasstealing into her heart. She wanted to be free. She wanted to run anddance and sing, but Bles wanted--

"Zora!"

This time she heard the call, but did not heed it. Miss Taylor was verytiresome, and was forever doing and saying silly things. So Zora paid noattention, but sat still and thought. Yes, she would show Bles the placethat very night; she had kept it secret from him until now, out ofperverseness, out of her love of mystery and secrets. But tonight, afterschool, when he met her on the big road with the clothes, she would takehim and show him the chosen spot. 

Soon she was aware that school had been dismissed, and she leisurelygathered up her books and rose. Mary Taylor regarded her in perplexeddespair. Oh, these people! Mrs. Vanderpool was right: culture and--somemasses, at least--were not to be linked; and, too, culture andwork--were they incompatible? At any rate, culture and _this_ work were. 

Now, there was Mrs. Vanderpool--she toiled not, neither did she spin, and yet! If all these folk were like poor, stupid, docile Jennie itwould be simpler, but what earthly sense was there in trying do toanything with a girl like Zora, so stupid in some matters, sostartlingly bright in others, and so stubborn in everything? Here, shewas doing some work twice as well and twice as fast as the class, andother work she would not touch because she "didn't like it. " Herclassification in school was nearly as difficult as her classificationin the world, and Miss Taylor reached up impatiently and removed thegold pin from her stock to adjust it more comfortably when Zorasauntered past unseeing, unheeding, with that curious gliding walk whichMiss Taylor called stealthy. She laid the pin on the desk and on suddenimpulse spoke again to the girl as she arranged her neck trimmings. 

"Zora, " she said evenly, "why didn't you come to class when I called?"

"I didn't hear you, " said Zora, looking at her full-eyed and telling thehalf-truth easily. 

Miss Taylor was sure Zora was lying, and she knew that she had lied toher on other occasions. Indeed, she had found lying customary in thiscommunity, and she had a New England horror of it. She looked at Zoradisapprovingly, while Zora looked at her quite impersonally, butsteadily. Then Miss Taylor braced herself, mentally, and took the warinto Africa. 

"Do you ever tell lies, Zora?"

"Yes. "

"Don't you know that is a wicked, bad habit?"

"Why?"

"Because God hates them. "

"How does _you_ know He does?" Zora's tone was still impersonal. 

"He hates all evil. "

"But why is lies evil?"

"Because they make us deceive each other. "

"Is that wrong?"

"Yes. "

Zora bent forward and looked squarely into Miss Taylor's blue eyes. MissTaylor looked into the velvet blackness of hers and wondered what theyveiled. 

"Is it wrong, " asked Zora, "to make believe you likes people when youdon't, when you'se afeared of them and thinks they may rub off and dirtyyou?"

"Why--why--yes, if you--if you, deceive. "

"Then you lies sometimes, don't you?"

Miss Taylor stared helplessly at the solemn eyes that seemed to look sodeeply into her. 

"Perhaps--I do, Zora; I'm sure I don't mean to, and--I hope God willforgive me. "

Zora softened. 

"Oh, I reckon He will if He's a good God, because He'd know that lieslike that are heaps better than blabbing the truth right out. Only, " sheadded severely, "you mustn't keep saying it's wicked to lie 'cause itain't. Sometimes I lies, " she reflected pensively, "and sometimes Idon't--it depends. "

Miss Taylor forgot her collar, and fingered the pin on the desk. Shefelt at once a desperate desire to know this girl better and toestablish her own authority. Yet how should she do it? She kept toyingwith the pin, and Zora watched her. Then Miss Taylor said, absently:

"Zora, what do you propose to do when you grow up?"

Zora considered. 

"Think and walk--and rest, " she concluded. 

"I mean, what work?"

"Work? Oh, I sha'n't work. I don't like work--do you?"

Miss Taylor winced, wondering if the girl were lying again. She saidquickly:

"Why, yes--that is, I like some kinds of work. "

"What kinds?"

But Miss Taylor refused to have the matter made personal, as Zora had adisconcerting way of pointing all their discussions. 

"Everybody likes some kinds of work, " she insisted. 

"If you likes it, it ain't work, " declared Zora; but Mary Taylorproceeded around her circumscribed circle:

"You might make a good cook, or a maid. "

"I hate cooking. What's a maid?"

"Why, a woman who helps others. "

"Helps folks that they love? I'd like that. "

"It is not a question of affection, " said Miss Taylor, firmly: "one ispaid for it. "

"I wouldn't work for pay. "

"But you'll have to, child; you'll have to earn a living. "

"Do you work for pay?"

"I work to earn a living. "

"Same thing, I reckon, and it ain't true. Living just comes free, like--like sunshine. "

"Stuff! Zora, your people must learn to work and work steadily and workhard--" She stopped, for she was sure Zora was not listening; the faraway look was in her eyes and they were shining. She was beautiful asshe stood there--strangely, almost uncannily, but startlingly beautifulwith her rich dark skin, softly moulded features, and wonderful eyes. 

"My people?--my people?" she murmured, half to herself. "Do you know mypeople? They don't never work; they plays. They is all little, funnydark people. They flies and creeps and crawls, slippery-like; and theycries and calls. Ah, my people! my poor little people! they misses methese days, because they is shadowy things that sing and smell and bloomin dark and terrible nights--"

Miss Taylor started up. "Zora, I believe you're crazy!" she cried. ButZora was looking at her calmly again. 

"We'se both crazy, ain't we?" she returned, with a simplicity that leftthe teacher helpless. 

Miss Taylor hurried out, forgetting her pin. Zora looked it overleisurely, and tried it on. She decided that she liked it, and puttingit in her pocket, went out too. 

School was out but the sun was still high, as Bles hurried from the barnup the big road beside the soft shadows of the swamp. His head was busywith new thoughts and his lips were whistling merrily, for today Zorawas to show him the long dreamed of spot for the planting of the SilverFleece. He hastened toward the Cresswell mansion, and glanced anxiouslyup the road. At last he saw her coming, swinging down the road, litheand dark, with the big white basket of clothes poised on her head. 

"Zora, " he yodled, and she waved her apron. 

He eased her burden to the ground and they sat down together, henervous and eager; she silent, passive, but her eyes restless. Bles wasfull of his plans. 

"Zora, " he said, "we'll make it the finest bale ever raised in Tooms;we'll just work it to the inch--just love it into life. "

She considered the matter intently. 

"But, "--presently, --"how can we sell it without the Cresswells knowing?"

"We won't try; we'll just take it to them and give them half, like theother tenants. "

"But the swamp is mortal thick and hard to clear. "

"We can do it. "

Zora had sat still, listening; but now, suddenly, she leapt to her feet. 

"Come, " she said, "I'll take the clothes home, then we'll go"--sheglanced at him--"down where the dreams are. " And laughing, they hurriedon. 

Elspeth stood in the path that wound down to the cottage, and without aword Zora dropped the basket at her feet. She turned back; but Bles, struck by a thought, paused. The old woman was short, broad, black andwrinkled, with yellow fangs, red hanging lips, and wicked eyes. Sheleered at them; the boy shrank before it, but stood his ground. 

"Aunt Elspeth, " he began, "Zora and I are going to plant and tend somecotton to pay for her schooling--just the very best cotton we canfind--and I heard"--he hesitated, --"I heard you had some wonderfulseed. "

"Yes, " she mumbled, "I'se got the seed--I'se got it--wonder seed, sowedwid the three spells of Obi in the old land ten tousand moons ago. Butyou couldn't plant it, " with a sudden shrillness, "it would kill you. "

"But--" Bles tried to object, but she waved him away. 

"Git the ground--git the ground; dig it--pet it, and we'll see whatwe'll see. " And she disappeared. 

Zora was not sure that it had been wise to tell their secret. 

"I was going to steal the seed, " she said. "I knows where it is, and Idon't fear conjure. "

"You mustn't steal, Zora, " said Bles, gravely. 

"Why?" Zora quickly asked. 

But before he answered, they both forgot; for their faces were turnedtoward the wonder of the swamp. The golden sun was pouring floods ofglory through the slim black trees, and the mystic sombre pools caughtand tossed back the glow in darker, duller crimson. Long echoing criesleapt to and fro; silent footsteps crept hither and yonder; and thegirl's eyes gleamed with a wild new joy. 

"The dreams!" she cried. "The dreams!" And leaping ahead, she dancedalong the shadowed path. He hastened after her, but she flew fast andfaster; he followed, laughing, calling, pleading. He saw her twinklinglimbs a-dancing as once he saw them dance in a halo of firelight; butnow the fire was the fire of the world. Her garments twined and flew inshadowy drapings about the perfect moulding of her young and darkhalf-naked figure. Her heavy hair had burst its fastenings and lay instiffened, straggling masses, bending reluctantly to the breeze, likecurled smoke; while all about, the mad, wild singing rose and fell andtrembled, till his head whirled. He paused uncertainly at a parting ofthe paths, crying:

"Zora! Zora!" as for some lost soul. "Zora! Zora!" echoed the cry, faintly. 

Abruptly the music fell; there came a long slow-growing silence; andthen, with a flutter, she was beside him again, laughing in his ears andcrying with mocking voice:

"Is you afeared, honey?"

He saw in her eyes sweet yearnings, but could speak nothing. He couldonly clasp her hand tightly, and again down they raced through the wood. 

All at once the swamp changed and chilled to a dull grayness; tall, dull trees started down upon the murky waters; and long pendentstreamings of moss-like tears dripped from tree to earth. Slowly andwarily they threaded their way. 

"Are you sure of the path, Zora?" he once inquired anxiously. 

"I could find it asleep, " she answered, skipping sure-footed onward. Hecontinued to hold her hand tightly, and his own pace never slackened. Around them the gray and death-like wilderness darkened. They felt andsaw the cold white mist rising slowly from the ground, and watersgrowing blacker and broader. 

At last they came to what seemed the end. Silently and dismally thehalf-dead forest, with its ghostly moss, lowered and darkened, and theblack waters spread into a great silent lake of slimy ooze. The deadtrunk of a fallen tree lay straight in front, torn and twisted, its tophidden yonder and mingled with impenetrable undergrowth. 

"Where now, Zora?" he cried. 

In a moment she had slipped her hand away and was scrambling upon thetree trunk. The waters yawned murkily below. 

"Careful! careful!" he warned, struggling after her until shedisappeared amid the leaves. He followed eagerly, but cautiously; andall at once found himself confronting a paradise. 

Before them lay a long island, opening to the south, on the black lake, but sheltered north and east by the dense undergrowth of the black swampand the rampart of dead and living trees. The soil was virgin and black, thickly covered over with a tangle of bushes, vines, and smaller growthall brilliant with early leaves and wild flowers. 

"A pretty tough proposition for clearing and ploughing, " said Bles, withpractised eye. But Zora eagerly surveyed the prospect. 

"It's where the Dreams lives, " she whispered. 

Meantime Miss Taylor had missed her brooch and searched for it in vain. In the midst of this pursuit the truth occurred to her--Zora had stolenit. Negroes would steal, everybody said. Well, she must and would havethe pin, and she started for Elspeth's cabin. 

On the way she met the old woman in the path, but got littlesatisfaction. Elspeth merely grunted ungraciously while eyeing the whitewoman with suspicion. 

Mary Taylor, again alone, sat down at a turn in the path, just out ofsight of the house, and waited. Soon she saw, with a certain grimsatisfaction, Zora and Bles emerging from the swamp engaged in earnestconversation. Here was an opportunity to overwhelm both with anunforgettable reprimand. She rose before them like a spectral vengeance. 

"Zora, I want my pin. "

Bles started and stared; but Zora eyed her calmly with something likedisdain. 

"What pin?" she returned, unmoved. 

"Zora, don't deny that you took my pin from the desk this afternoon, "the teacher commanded severely. 

"I didn't say I didn't take no pin. "

"Persons who will lie and steal will do anything. "

"Why shouldn't people do anything they wants to?"

"And you knew the pin was mine. "

"I saw you a-wearing of it, " admitted Zora easily. 

"Then you have stolen it, and you are a thief. "

Still Zora appeared to be unimpressed with the heinousness of her fault. 

"Did you make that pin?" she asked. 

"No, but it is mine. "

"Why is it yours?"

"Because it was given to me. "

"But you don't need it; you've got four other prettier ones--I counted. "

"That makes no difference. "

"Yes it does--folks ain't got no right to things they don't need. "

"That makes no difference, Zora, and you know it. The pin is mine. Youstole it. If you had wanted a pin and asked me I might have given you--"

The girl blazed. 

"I don't want your old gifts, " she almost hissed. "You don't own whatyou don't need and can't use. God owns it and I'm going to send it backto Him. "

With a swift motion she whipped the pin from her pocket and raised herarm to hurl it into the swamp. Bles caught her hand. He caught itlightly and smiled sorrowfully into her eyes. She wavered a moment, thenthe answering light sprang to her face. Dropping the brooch into hishand, she wheeled and fled toward the cabin. 

Bles handed it silently to Miss Taylor. Mary Taylor was beside herselfwith impatient anger--and anger intensified by a conviction of utterhelplessness to cope with any strained or unusual situations betweenherself and these two. 

"Alwyn, " she said sharply, "I shall report Zora for stealing. And youmay report yourself to Miss Smith tonight for disrespect toward ateacher. "

_Eight_

MR. HARRY CRESSWELL

The Cresswells, father and son, were at breakfast. The daughter wastaking her coffee and rolls up stairs in bed. 

"P'sh! I don't like it!" declared Harry Cresswell, tossing the letterback to his father. "I tell you, it is a damned Yankee trick. "

He was a man of thirty-five, smooth and white, slight, well-bred andmasterful. His father, St. John Cresswell, was sixty, white-haired, mustached and goateed; a stately, kindly old man with a temper and muchfamily pride. 

"Well, well, " he said, his air half preoccupied, half unconcerned, "Isuppose so--and yet"--he read the letter again, aloud: "'Approaching youas one of the most influential landowners of Alabama, on a confidentialmatter'--h'm--h'm--'a combination of capital and power, such as thisnation has never seen'--'cotton manufacturers and cotton growers. ' . . . Well, well! Of course, I suppose there's nothing in it. And yet, Harry, my boy, this cotton-growing business is getting in a pretty tight pinch. Unless relief comes somehow--well, we'll just have to quit. We simplycan't keep the cost of cotton down to a remunerative figure with niggersgetting scarcer and dearer. Every year I have to pinch 'em closer andcloser. I had to pay Maxwell two hundred and fifty to get that old darkyand his boys turned over to me, and one of the young ones has run awayalready. "

Harry lighted a cigarette. 

"We must drive them more. You're too easy, father; they understand that. By the way, what did that letter say about a 'sister'?"

"Says he's got a sister over at the nigger school whom perhaps we know. I suppose he thinks we dine there occasionally. " The old man chuckled. "That reminds me, Elspeth is sending her girl there. "

"What's that?" An angry gleam shot into the younger man's eye. 

"Yes. She announced this morning, pert as you please, that she couldn'ttote clothes any more--she had to study. "

"Damn it! This thing is going too far. We can't keep a maid or aplough-boy on the place because of this devilish school. It's going toruin the whole labor system. We've been too mild and decent. I'm goingto put my foot down right here. I'll make Elspeth take that girl out ofschool if I have to horse-whip her, and I'll warn the school againstfurther interference with our tenants. Here, in less than a week, go twoplough-hands--and now this girl. "

The old man smiled. 

"You'll hardly miss any work Zora does, " he said. 

"I'll make her work. She's giving herself too many damned airs. I knowwho's back of this--it's that nigger we saw talking to the white womanin the field the other day. "

"Well, don't work yourself up. The wench don't amount to much anyhow. Bythe way, though, if you do go to the school it won't hurt to see thisTaylor's sister and size the family up. "

"Pshaw! I'm going to give the Smith woman such a scare that she'll keepher hands off our niggers. " And Harry Cresswell rode away. 

Mary Taylor had charge of the office that morning, while Miss Smith, shut up in her bedroom, went laboriously over her accounts. Miss Marysuddenly sat up, threw a hasty glance into the glass and felt the backof her belt. It was--it couldn't be--surely, it was Mr. Harry Cresswellriding through the gateway on his beautiful white mare. He kicked thegate open rather viciously, did not stop to close it, and rode straightacross the lawn. Miss Taylor noticed his riding breeches and leggings, his white linen and white, clean-cut, high-bred face. Such apparitionswere few about the country lands. She felt inclined to flutter, butgripped herself. 

"Good-morning, " she said, a little stiffly. 

Mr. Cresswell halted and stared; then lifting the hat which he hadneglected to remove in crossing the hall, he bowed in stately grace. Miss Taylor was no ordinary picture. Her brown hair was almost golden;her dark eyes shone blue; her skin was clear and healthy, and her whitedress--happy coincidence!--had been laundered that very morning. Herhalf-suppressed excitement at the sudden duty of welcoming the greataristocrat of the county, gave a piquancy to her prettiness. 

"The--devil!" commented Mr. Harry Cresswell to himself. But to MissTaylor:

"I beg pardon--er--Miss Smith?"

"No--I'm sorry. Miss Smith is engaged this morning. I am Miss Taylor. "

"I cannot share Miss Taylor's sorrow, " returned Mr. Cresswell gravely, "for I believe I have the honor of some correspondence with MissTaylor's brother. " Mr. Cresswell searched for the letter, but did notfind it. 

"Oh! Has John written you?" She beamed suddenly. "I'm so glad. It's morethan he's done for me this three-month. I beg your pardon--do sitdown--I think you'll find this one easier. Our stock of chairs islimited. "

It was delightful to have a casual meeting receive this social stamp;the girl was all at once transfigured--animated, glowing, lovely; all ofwhich did not escape the caller's appraising inspection. 

"There!" said Mr. Cresswell. "I've left your gate gaping. "

"Oh, don't mind . . . I hope John's well?"

"The truth is, " confessed Cresswell, "it was a business matter--cotton, you know. "

"John is nothing but cotton; I tell him his soul is fibrous. "

"He mentioned your being here and I thought I'd drop over and welcomeyou to the South. "

"Thank you, " returned Miss Taylor, reddening with pleasure despiteherself. There was a real sincerity in the tone. All this confirmed somany convictions of hers. 

"Of course, you know how it is in the South, " Cresswell pursued, theopening having been so easily accomplished. 

"I understand perfectly. "

"My sister would be delighted to meet you, but--"

"Oh I realize the--difficulties. "

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind riding by some day--it's embarrassing tosuggest this, but, you know--"

Miss Taylor was perfectly self-possessed. 

"Mr. Cresswell, " she said seriously, "I know very well that it wouldn'tdo for your sister to call here, and I sha'n't mind a bit coming by tosee her first. I don't believe in standing on stupid ceremony. "

Cresswell thanked her with quiet cordiality, and suggested that when hewas driving by he might pick her up in his gig some morning. Miss Taylorexpressed her pleasure at the prospect. Then the talk wandered togeneral matters--the rain, the trees, the people round about, and, inevitably--the Negro. 

"Oh, by the bye, " said Mr. Cresswell, frowning and hesitating over therecollection of his errand's purpose, "there was one matter"--he paused. Miss Taylor leant forward, all interest. "I hardly know that I ought tomention it, but your school--"

This charming young lady disarmed his truculent spirit, and the usuallycollected and determined young man was at a loss how to proceed. Thegirl, however, was obviously impressed and pleased by his evidence ofinterest, whatever its nature; so in a manner vastly different from theone he had intended to assume, he continued:

"There is a way in which we may be of service to you, and that is byenlightening you upon points concerning which the nature of yourposition--both as teacher and socially--must keep you in the dark. 

"For instance, all these Negroes are, as you know, of wretchedly lowmorals; but there are a few so depraved that it would be suicidal totake them into this school. We recognize the good you are doing, but wedo not want it more than offset by utter lack of discrimination inchoosing your material. "

"Certainly not--have we--" Miss Mary faltered. This beginning was a bitominous, wholly unexpected. 

"There is a girl, Zora, who has just entered, who--I must speakcandidly--who ought not to be here; I thought it but right to let youknow. "

"Thank you, so much. I'll tell Miss Smith. " Mary Taylor suddenly feltherself a judge of character. "I suspected that she was--not what sheought to be. Believe me, we appreciate your interest. "

A few more words, and Mr. Cresswell, after bending courteously over herhand with a deference no New Englander had ever shown, was riding awayon his white mare. 

For a while Mary Taylor sat very quietly. It was like a breath of airfrom the real world, this hour's chat with a well-bred gentleman. Shewondered how she had done her part--had she been too eager andschool-girlish? Had she met this stately ceremony with enough breedingto show that she too was somebody? She pounced upon Miss Smith theminute that lady entered the office. 

"Miss Smith, who do you think has been here?" she burst outenthusiastically. 

"I saw him on the lawn. " There was a suspicious lack of warmth in thisbrief affirmation. 

"He was so gracious and kindly, and he knows my brother. And oh, MissSmith! we've got to send that Zora right away. "

"Indeed"--the observation was not even interrogatory. The preceptress ofthe struggling school for Negro children merely evinced patience for theyounger woman's fervency. 

"Yes; he says she's utterly depraved. "

"Said that, did he?" Miss Smith watched her with tranquil regard. MissTaylor paused. 

"Of course, we cannot think of keeping her. "

Miss Smith pursed her lips, offering her first expression of opinion. 

"I guess we'll worry along with her a little while anyhow, " she said. 

The girl stared at Miss Smith in honest, if unpardonable, amazement. 

"Do you mean to say that you are going to keep in this school a girl whonot only lies and steals but is positively--_immoral_?"

Miss Smith smiled, wholly unmoved. 

"No; but I mean that _I_ am here to learn from those whose ideas ofright do not agree with mine, to discover _why_ they differ, and to letthem learn of me--so far as I am worthy. "

Mary Taylor was not unappreciative of Miss Smith's sternhigh-mindedness, but her heart hardened at this, to her, misdirectedzeal. Echo of the spirit of an older day, Miss Smith seemed, to her, tobe cramped and paralyzed in an armor of prejudice and sectionalisms. Plain-speaking was the only course, and Mary, if a little complacentperhaps in her frankness, was sincere in her purpose. 

"I think, Miss Smith, you are making a very grave mistake. I regardZora as a very undesirable person from every point of view. I look uponMr. Cresswell's visit today as almost providential. He came offering anolive branch from the white aristocracy to this work; to bespeak hisappreciation and safeguard the future. Moreover, " and Miss Taylor'svoice gathered firmness despite Miss Smith's inscrutable eye, "moreover, I have reason to know that the disposition--indeed, the plan--in certainquarters to help this work materially depends very largely on yourwillingness to meet the advances of the Southern whites half way. "

She paused for a reply or a question. Receiving neither, she walked withdignity up the stairs. From her window she could see Cresswell'sstraight shoulders, as he rode toward town, and beyond him a black speckin the road. But she could not see the smile on Mr. Cresswell's lips, nor did she hear him remark twice, with seeming irrelevance, "Thedevil!"

The rider, being closer to it, recognized in Mary Taylor's "black speck"Bles Alwyn walking toward him rapidly with axe and hoe on shoulder, whistling merrily. They saw each other almost at the same moment andwhistle and smile faded. Mr. Cresswell knew the Negro by sight anddisliked him. He belonged in his mind to that younger class ofhalf-educated blacks who were impudent and disrespectful toward theirsuperiors, not even touching his hat when he met a white man. Moreover, he was sure that it was Miss Taylor with whom this boy had been talkingso long and familiarly in the cotton-field last Spring--an offencedoubly heinous now that he had seen Miss Taylor. 

His first impulse was to halt the Negro then and there and tell him afew plain truths. But he did not feel quarrelsome at the moment, andthere was, after all, nothing very tangible to justify a berating. Thefellow's impudence was sure to increase, and then! So he merely reinedhis horse to the better part of the foot-path and rode on. 

Bles, too, was thinking. He knew the well-dressed man with hismilk-white face and overbearing way. He would expect to be greeted withraised hat but Bles bit his lips and pulled down his cap firmly. Theaxe, too, in some indistinct way felt good in his hand. He saw the horsecoming in his pathway and stepping aside in the dust continued on hisway, neither looking nor speaking. 

So they passed each other by, Mr. Cresswell to town, Bles to the swamp, apparently ignorant of each other's very existence. Yet, as the spacewidened between them, each felt a more vindictive anger for the other. 

How dares the black puppy to ignore a Cresswell on the highway? If thiswent on, the day would surely come when Negroes felt no respect or fearwhatever for whites? And then--my God! Mr. Cresswell struck his mare avicious blow and dashed toward town. 

The black boy, too, went his way in silent, burning rage. Why should hebe elbowed into the roadside dust by an insolent bully? Why had he notstood his ground? Pshaw! All this fine frenzy was useless, and he knewit. The sweat oozed on his forehead. It wasn't man against man, or hewould have dragged the pale puppy from his horse and rubbed his face inthe earth. It wasn't even one against many, else how willingly, swinginghis axe, would have stood his ground before a mob. 

No, it was one against a world, a world of power, opinion, wealth, opportunity; and he, the one, must cringe and bear in silence lest theworld crash about the ears of his people. He slowly plodded on in bittersilence toward the swamp. But the day was balmy, the way was beautiful;contempt slowly succeeded anger, and hope soon triumphed over all. Foryonder was Zora, poised, waiting. And behind her lay the Field ofDreams. 

_Nine_

THE PLANTING

Zora looked down upon Bles, where he stood to his knees in mud. The toilwas beyond exhilaration--it was sickening weariness and panting despair. The great roots, twined in one unbroken snarl, clung frantically to theblack soil. The vines and bushes fought back with thorn and bramble. Zora stood wiping the blood from her hands and staring at Bles. She sawthe long gnarled fingers of the tough little trees and they looked likethe fingers of Elspeth down there beneath the earth pulling against theboy. Slowly Zora forgot her blood and pain. Who would win--the witch, orJason?

Bles looked up and saw the bleeding hands. With a bound he was besideher. 

"Zora!" The cry seemed wrung from his heart by contrition. Why had henot known--not seen before! "Zora, come right out of this! Sit down hereand rest. "

She looked at him unwaveringly; there was no flinching of her spirit. 

"I sha'n't do it, " she said. "You'se working, and I'se going to work. "

"But--Zora--you're not used to such work, and I am. You're tired out. "

"So is you, " was her reply. 

He looked himself over ruefully, and dropping his axe, sat down besideher on a great log. Silently they contemplated the land; it seemedindeed a hopeless task. Then they looked at each other in sudden, unspoken fear of failure. 

"If we only had a mule!" he sighed. Immediately her face lighted and herlips parted, but she said nothing. He presently bounded to his feet. 

"Never mind, Zora. To-morrow is Saturday, and I'll work all day. We just_will_ get it done--sometime. " His mouth closed with determination. 

"We won't work any more today, then?" cried Zora, her eagernessbetraying itself despite her efforts to hide it. 

"_You_ won't, " affirmed Bles. "But I've got to do just a little--"

But Zora was adamant: he was tired; she was tired; they would rest. To-morrow with the rising sun they would begin again. 

"There'll be a bright moon tonight, " ventured Bles. 

"Then I'll come too, " Zora announced positively, and he had to promisefor her sake to rest. 

They went up the path together and parted diffidently, he watching herflit away with sorrowful eyes, a little disturbed and puzzled at theburden he had voluntarily assumed, but never dreaming of drawing back. 

Zora did not go far. No sooner did she know herself well out of hissight than she dropped lightly down beside the path, listening intentlyuntil the last echo of his footsteps had died away. Then, leaving thecabin on her right, and the scene of their toil on her left, she cutstraight through the swamp, skirted the big road, and in a half-hourwas in the lower meadows of the Cresswell plantations, where the tiredstock was being turned out to graze for the night. Here, in the shadowof the wood, she lingered. Slowly, but with infinite patience, she brokeone strand after another of the barbed-wire fencing, watching, thewhile, the sun grow great and crimson, and die at last in mightysplendor behind the dimmer westward forests. 

The voices of the hands and hostlers grew fainter and thinner in thedistance of purple twilight until the last of them disappeared. Silencefell, deep and soft; the silence of a day sinking to sleep. Not untilthen did Zora steal forth from her hiding-place. 

She had chosen her mule long before--a big, black beast, snorting overhis pile of corn, --and gliding up to him, she gathered his supper intoher skirt, found a stout halter, and fed him sparingly as he followedher. Quickly she unfastened the pieces of the fence, led the animalthrough, and spliced them again; and then, with fox-like caution, sheguided her prize through the labyrinthine windings of the swamp. It wasdark and haunting, and ever and again rose lonely night cries. The girltrembled a little, but plodded resolutely on until the dim silver diskof the half-moon began to glimmer through the trees. Then she pressed onmore swiftly, and fed more scantily, until finally, with the moonlightpouring over them at the black lagoon, Zora attempted to drive theanimal into the still waters; but he gave a loud protesting snort andbalked. By subtle temptings she gave him to understand that plenty laybeyond the dark waters, and quickly swinging herself to his back shestarted to ride him up and down along the edge of the lagoon, pettingand whispering to him of good things beyond. Slowly her eyes grew wide;she seemed to be riding out of dreamland on some hobgoblin beast. 

Deeper and deeper they penetrated into the dark waters. Now they enteredthe slime; now they stumbled on hidden roots; but deeper and deeper theywaded until at last, turning the animal's head with a jerk, and givinghim a sharp stroke of the whip, she headed straight for the island. Amoment the beast snorted and plunged; higher and higher the black stillwaters rose round the girl. They crept up her little limbs, swirledround her breasts and gleamed green and slimy along her shoulders. Awild terror gripped her. Maybe she was riding the devil's horse, andthese were the yawning gates of hell, black and sombre beneath the cold, dead radiance of the moon. She saw again the gnarled and black andclaw-like fingers of Elspeth gripping and dragging her down. 

A scream struggled in her breast, her fingers relaxed, and the bigbeast, stretching his cramped neck, rose in one mighty plunge andplanted his feet on the sand of the island. 

 * * * * *

Bles, hurrying down in the morning with new tools and new determination, stopped and stared in blank amazement. Zora was perched in a treesinging softly and beneath a fat black mule was finishing his breakfast. 

"Zora--" he gasped, "how--how did you do it?"

She only smiled and sang a happier measure, pausing only to whisper:

"Dreams--dreams--it's all dreams here, I tells you. "

Bles frowned and stood irresolute. The song proceeded with lessassurance, slower and lower, till it stopped, and the singer dropped tothe ground, watching him with wide eyes. He looked down at her, slight, tired, scratched, but undaunted, striving blindly toward the light withstanch, unfaltering faith. A pity surged in his heart. He put his armabout her shoulders and murmured:

"You poor, brave child. "

And she shivered with joy. 

All day Saturday and part of Sunday they worked feverishly. The treescrashed and the stumps groaned and crept up into the air, the bramblesblazed and smoked; little frightened animals fled for shelter; and awide black patch of rich loam broadened and broadened till it kissed, on every side but the sheltered east, the black waters of the lagoon. Late Sunday night the mule again swam the slimy lagoon, and disappearedtoward the Cresswell fields. Then Bles sat down beside Zora, facing thefields, and gravely took her hand. She looked at him in quick, breathless fear. 

"Zora, " he said, "sometimes you tell lies, don't you?"

"Yes, " she said slowly; "sometimes. "

"And, Zora, sometimes you steal--you stole the pin from Miss Taylor, andwe stole Mr. Cresswell's mule for two days. "

"Yes, " she said faintly, with a perplexed wrinkle in her brows, "I stoleit. "

"Well, Zora, I don't want you ever to tell another lie, or ever to takeanything that doesn't belong to you. "

She looked at him silently with the shadow of something like terror farback in the depths of her deep eyes. 

"Always--tell--the truth?" she repeated slowly. 

"Yes. "

Her fingers worked nervously. 

"All the truth?" she asked. 

He thought a while. 

"No, " said he finally, "it is not necessary always to tell all thetruth; but never tell anything that isn't the truth. "

"Never?"

"Never. "

"Even if it hurts me?"

"Even if it hurts. God is good, He will not let it hurt much. "

"He's a fair God, ain't He?" she mused, scanning the evening sky. 

"Yes--He's fair, He wouldn't take advantage of a little girl that didwrong, when she didn't know it was wrong. "

Her face lightened and she held his hands in both hers, and saidsolemnly as though saying a prayer:

"I won't lie any more, and I won't steal--and--" she looked at him instartled wistfulness--he remembered it in after years; but he felt hehad preached enough. 

"And now for the seed!" he interrupted joyously. "And then--the SilverFleece!"

That night, for the first time, Bles entered Zora's home. It was asingle low, black room, smoke-shadowed and dirty, with two dingy bedsand a gaping fire-place. On one side of the fire-place sat the yellowwoman, young, with traces of beauty, holding the white child in herarms; on the other, hugging the blaze, huddled a formless heap, wreathedin coils of tobacco smoke--Elspeth, Zora's mother. 

Zora said nothing, but glided in and stood in the shadows. 

"Good-evening, " said Bles cheerily. The woman with the baby aloneresponded. 

"I came for the seed you promised us--the cotton-seed. "

The hag wheeled and approached him swiftly, grasping his shoulders andtwisting her face into his. She was a horrible thing--filthy of breath, dirty, with dribbling mouth and red eyes. Her few long black teeth hungloosely like tusks and the folds of fat on her chin curled down on hergreat neck. Bles shuddered and stepped back. 

"Is you afeared, honey?" she whispered. 

"No, " he said sturdily. 

She chuckled drily. "Yes, you is--everybody's 'feared of old Elspeth;but she won't hurt you--you's got the spell;" and wheeling again, shewas back at the fire. 

"But the seed?" he ventured. 

She pointed impressively roofward. "The dark of the moon, boy, the darkof the moon--the first dark--at midnight. " Bles could not wring anotherword from her; nor did the ancient witch, by word or look, again givethe slightest indication that she was aware of his presence. 

With reluctant farewell, Bles turned home. For a space Zora watched him, and once she started after him, but came slowly back, and sat by thefire-place. 

Out of the night came voices and laughter, and the sound of wheels andgalloping horses. It was not the soft, rollicking laughter of black men, but the keener, more metallic sound of white men's cries, and Bles Alwynpaused at the edge of the wood, looked back and hesitated, but decidedafter a moment to go home and to bed. 

Zora, however, leapt to her feet and fled into the night, while the hagscreamed after her and cursed. There was tramping of feet on the cabinfloor, and loud voices and singing and cursing. 

"Where's Zora?" some one yelled, with an oath. "Damn it! where is she? Ihaven't seen her for a year, you old devil. "

The hag whimpered and snarled. Far down in the field of the Fleece, Zoralay curled beneath a tall dark tree asleep. All night there was comingand going in the cabin; the talk and laughter grew loud and boisterous, and the red fire glared in the night. 

 * * * * *

The days flew by and the moon darkened. In the swamp, the hidden islandlay spaded and bedded, and Bles was throwing up a dyke around the edge;Zora helped him until he came to the black oak at the western edge. Itwas a large twisted thing with one low flying limb that curled outacross another tree and made a mighty seat above the waters. 

"Don't throw the dirt too high there, " she begged; "it'll bring my seattoo near the earth. "

He looked up. 

"Why, it's a throne, " he laughed. 

"It needs a roof, " he whimsically told her when his day's work was done. Deftly twisting and intertwining the branches of tree and bush, he wovea canopy of living green that shadowed the curious nest and warded itsnugly from wind and water. 

Early next morning Bles slipped down and improved the nest; addingfoot-rests to make the climbing easy, peep-holes east and west, a bitof carpet over the bark, and on the rough main trunk, a little picturein blue and gold of Bougereau's Madonna. Zora sat hidden and alone insilent ecstasy. Bles peeped in--there was not room to enter: the girlwas staring silently at the Madonna. She seemed to feel rather than hearhis presence, and she inquired softly:

"Who's it, Bles?"

"The mother of God, " he answered reverently. 

"And why does she hold a lily?"

"It stands for purity--she was a good woman. "

"With a baby, " Zora added slowly. 

"Yes--" said Bles, and then more quickly--"It is the Christ Child--God'sbaby. "

"God is the father of all the little babies, ain't He, Bles?"

"Why, yes--yes, of course; only this little baby didn't have any otherfather. "

"Yes, I know one like that, " she said, --and then she added softly: "Poorlittle Christ-baby. "

Bles hesitated, and before he found words Zora was saying:

"How white she is; she's as white as the lily, Bles; but--I'm sorryshe's white--Bles, what's purity--just whiteness?"

Bles glanced at her awkwardly but she was still staring wide-eyed at thepicture, and her voice was earnest. She was now so old and again so mucha child, an eager questioning child, that there seemed about herinnocence something holy. 

"It means, " he stammered, groping for meanings--"it means beinggood--just as good as a woman knows how. "

She wheeled quickly toward him and asked him eagerly:

"Not better--not better than she knows, but just as good, in--lying andstealing and--and everything?"

Bles smiled. 

"No--not better than she knows, but just as good. "

She trembled happily. 

"I'm--pure, " she said, with a strange little breaking voice andgesture. A sob struggled in his throat. 

"Of course you are, " he whispered tenderly, hiding her little hands inhis. 

"I--I was so afraid--sometimes--that I wasn't, " she whispered, liftingup to him her eyes streaming with tears. Silently he kissed her lips. 

From that day on they walked together in a new world. No revealing wordwas spoken; no vows were given, none asked for; but a new bond heldthem. She grew older, quieter, taller, he humbler, more tender andreverent, as they toiled together. 

So the days passed. The sun burned in the heavens; but the silveredglory of the moon grew fainter and fainter and each night it rose laterthan the night before. Then one day Zora whispered:

"Tonight!"

Bles came to the cabin, and he and Zora and Elspeth sat silently aroundthe fire-place with its meagre embers. The night was balmy and still;only occasionally a wandering breeze searching the hidden places of theswamp, or the call and song of night birds, jarred the stillness. Longthey sat, until the silence crept into Bles's flesh, and stretching outhis hand, he touched Zora's, clasping it. 

After a time the old woman rose and hobbled to a big black chest. Out ofit she brought an old bag of cotton seed--not the white-green seed whichBles had always known, but small, smooth black seeds, which she handledcarefully, dipping her hands deep down and letting them drop through hergnarled fingers. And so again they sat and waited and waited, saying noword. 

Not until the stars of midnight had swung to the zenith did they startdown through the swamp. Bles sought to guide the old woman, but he foundshe knew the way better than he did. Her shadowy figure darting in andout among the trunks till they crossed the tree bridge, moved evernoiselessly ahead. 

She motioned the boy and girl away to the thicket at the edge, andstood still and black in the midst of the cleared island. Bles slippedhis arm protectingly around Zora, glancing fearfully about in thedarkness. Slowly a great cry rose and swept the island. It struck madlyand sharply, and then died away to uneasy murmuring. From afar thereseemed to come the echo or the answer to the call. The form of Elspethblurred the night dimly far off, almost disappearing, and then growingblacker and larger. They heard the whispering "_swish-swish_" of fallingseed; they felt the heavy tread of a great coming body. The form of theold woman suddenly loomed black above them, hovering a moment formlessand vast then fading again away, and the "_swish-swish_" of the fallingseed alone rose in the silence of the night. 

At last all was still. A long silence. Then again the air seemedsuddenly filled with that great and awful cry; its echoing answerscreamed afar and they heard the raucous voice of Elspeth beating intheir ears:

_"De seed done sowed! De seed done sowed!"_

_Ten_

MR. TAYLOR CALLS

"Thinking the matter over, " said Harry Cresswell to his father, "I'minclined to advise drawing this Taylor out a little further. "

The Colonel puffed his cigar and one eye twinkled, the lid of the otherbeing at the moment suggestively lowered. 

"Was she pretty?" he asked; but his son ignored the remark, and thefather continued:

"I had a telegram from Taylor this morning, after you left. He'll bepassing through Montgomery the first of next month, and proposescalling. "

"I'll wire him to come, " said Harry, promptly. 

At this juncture the door opened and a young lady entered. HelenCresswell was twenty, small and pretty, with a slightly languid air. Outside herself there was little in which she took very great interest, and her interest in herself was not absorbing. Yet she had a curiouslysweet way. Her servants liked her and the tenants could count on herspasmodic attentions in time of sickness and trouble. 

"Good-morning, " she said, with a soft drawl. She sauntered over to herfather, kissed him, and hung over the back of his chair. 

"Did you get that novel for me, Harry?"--expectantly regarding herbrother. 

"I forgot it, Sis. But I'll be going to town again soon. "

The young lady showed that she was annoyed. 

"By the bye, Sis, there's a young lady over at the Negro school whom Ithink you'd like. "

"Black or white?"

"A young lady, I said. Don't be sarcastic. "

"I heard you. I did not know whether you were using our language orothers'. "

"She's really unusual, and seems to understand things. She's planning tocall some day--shall you be at home?"

"Certainly not, Harry; you're crazy. " And she strolled out to the porch, exchanged some remarks with a passing servant, and then nestledcomfortably into a hammock. She helped herself to a chocolate and calledout musically:

"Pa, are you going to town today?"

"Yes, honey. "

"Can I go?"

"I'm going in an hour or so, and business at the bank will keep me untilafter lunch. "

"I don't care, I just must go. I'm clean out of anything to read. And Iwant to shop and call on Dolly's friend--she's going soon. "

"All right. Can you be ready by eleven?"

She considered. 

"Yes--I reckon, " she drawled, prettily swinging her foot and watchingthe tree-tops above the distant swamp. 

Harry Cresswell, left alone, rang the bell for the butler. 

"Still thinking of going, are you, Sam?" asked Cresswell, carelessly, when the servant appeared. He was a young, light-brown boy, his mannerobsequious. 

"Why, yes, sir--if you can spare me. "

"Spare you, you black rascal! You're going anyhow. Well, you'll repentit; the North is no place for niggers. See here, I want lunch for two atone o'clock. " The directions that followed were explicit and given witha particularity that made Sam wonder. "Order my trap, " he finallydirected. 

Cresswell went out on the high-pillared porch until the trap appeared. 

"Oh, Harry! I wanted to go in the trap--take me?" coaxed his sister. 

"Sorry, Sis, but I'm going the other way. "

"I don't believe it, " said Miss Cresswell, easily, as she settled downto another chocolate. Cresswell did not take the trouble to reply. 

Miss Taylor was on her morning walk when she saw him spinning down theroad, and both expressed surprise and pleasure at the meeting. 

"What a delightful morning!" said the school-teacher, and the glow onher face said even more. 

"I'm driving round through the old plantation, " he explained; "won't youjoin me?"

"The invitation is tempting, " she hesitated; "but I've got just oodlesof work. "

"What! on Saturday?"

"Saturday is my really busy day, don't you know. I guess I could getoff; really, though, I suspect I ought to tell Miss Smith. "

He looked a little perplexed; but the direction in which herinclinations lay was quite clear to him. 

"It--it would be decidedly the proper thing, " he murmured, "and wecould, of course, invite Miss--"

She saw the difficulty and interrupted him:

"It's quite unnecessary; she'll think I have simply gone for a longwalk. " And soon they were speeding down the silent road, breathing theperfume of the pines. 

Now a ride of an early spring morning, in Alabama, over a leisurely oldplantation road and behind a spirited horse, is an event to be enjoyed. Add to this a man bred to be agreeable and outdoing his training, and apretty girl gay with new-found companionship--all this is apt to make amorning worth remembering. 

They turned off the highway and passed through long stretches ofploughed and tumbled fields, and other fields brown with the dead ghostsof past years' cotton standing straggling and weather-worn. Long, straight, or curling rows of ploughers passed by with steaming, struggling mules, with whips snapping and the yodle of workers or thesharp guttural growl of overseers as a constant accompaniment. 

"They're beginning to plough up the land for the cotton-crop, " heexplained. 

"What a wonderful crop it is!" Mary had fallen pensive. 

"Yes, indeed--if only we could get decent returns for it. "

"Why, I thought it was a most valuable crop. " She turned to himinquiringly. 

"It is--to Negroes and manufacturers, but not to planters. "

"But why don't the planters do something?"

"What can be done with Negroes?" His tone was bitter. "We tried tocombine against manufacturers in the Farmers' League of last winter. Myfather was president. The pastime cost him fifty thousand dollars. "

Miss Taylor was perplexed, but eager. "You must correspond with mybrother, Mr. Cresswell, " she gravely observed. "I'm sure he--" Beforeshe could finish, an overseer rode up. He began talking abruptly, with aquick side-glance at Mary, in which she might have caught a gleam ofsurprised curiosity. 

"That old nigger, Jim Sykes, over on the lower place, sir, ain't showedup again this morning. "

Cresswell nodded. "I'll drive by and see, " he said carelessly. 

The old man was discovered sitting before his cabin with his head inhis hands. He was tall, black, and gaunt, partly bald, with tufted hair. One leg was swathed in rags, and his eyes, as he raised them, wore acowed and furtive look. 

"Well, Uncle Jim, why aren't you at work?" called Cresswell from theroadside. The old man rose painfully to his feet, swayed against thecabin, and clutched off his cap. 

"It's my leg again, Master Harry--the leg what I hurt in the gin lastfall, " he answered, uneasily. 

Cresswell frowned. "It's probably whiskey, " he assured his companion, inan undertone; then to the man:

"You must get to the field to-morrow, "--his habitually calm, unfeelingpositiveness left no ground for objection; "I cannot support you inidleness, you know. "

"Yes, Master Harry, " the other returned, with conciliatory eagerness; "Iknows that--I knows it and I ain't shirking. But, Master Harry, theyain't doing me right 'bout my cabin--I just wants to show you. " He gotout some dirty papers, and started to hobble forward, wincing with pain. Mary Taylor stirred in her seat under an involuntary impulse to help, but Cresswell touched the horse. 

"All right, Uncle Jim, " he said; "we'll look it over to-morrow. "

They turned presently to where they could see the Cresswell oaks wavinglazily in the sunlight and the white gleam of the pillared "Big House. "

A pause at the Cresswell store, where Mr. Cresswell entered, affordedMary Taylor an opportunity further to extend her fund of information. 

"Do you go to school?" she inquired of the black boy who held the horse, her mien sympathetic and interested. 

"No, ma'am, " he mumbled. 

"What's your name?"

"Buddy--I'se one of Aunt Rachel's chilluns. "

"And where do you live, Buddy?"

"I lives with granny, on de upper place. "

"Well, I'll see Aunt Rachel and ask her to send you to school. "

"Won't do no good--she done ast, and Mr. Cresswell, he say he ain'tgoing to have no more of his niggers--"

But Mr. Cresswell came out just then, and with him a big, fat, andgreasy black man, with little eyes and soft wheedling voice. He wasfollowing Cresswell at the side but just a little behind, hat in hand, head aslant, and talking deferentially. Cresswell strode carelessly on, answering him with good-natured tolerance. 

The black man stopped with humility before the trap and swept a profoundobeisance. Cresswell glanced up quizzically at Miss Taylor. 

"This, " he announced, "is Jones, the Baptist preacher--begging. "

"Ah, lady, "--in mellow, unctuous tones--"I don't know what we poor blackfolks would do without Mr. Cresswell--the Lord bless him, " said theminister, shoving his hand far down into his pocket. 

Shortly afterward they were approaching the Cresswell Mansion, when theyoung man reined in the horse. 

"If you wouldn't mind, " he suggested, "I could introduce my sister toyou. "

"I should be delighted, " answered Miss Taylor, readily. 

When they rolled up to the homestead under its famous oaks the hour waspast one. The house was a white oblong building of two stories. In frontwas the high pillared porch, semi-circular, extending to the roof with abalcony in the second story. On the right was a broad verandah lookingtoward a wide lawn, with the main road and the red swamp in thedistance. 

The butler met them, all obeisance. 

"Ask Miss Helen to come down, " said Mr. Cresswell. 

Sam glanced at him. 

"Miss Helen will be dreadful sorry, but she and the Colonel have justgone to town--I believe her Aunty ain't well. "

Mr. Cresswell looked annoyed. 

"Well, well! that's too bad, " he said. "But at any rate, have a seat amoment out here on the verandah, Miss Taylor. And, Sam, can't you findus a sandwich and something cool? I could not be so inhospitable as tosend you away hungry at this time of day. "

Miss Taylor sat down in a comfortable low chair facing the refreshingbreeze, and feasted her eyes on the scene. Oh, this was life: a smoothgreen lawn, and beds of flowers, a vista of brown fields, and the darkline of wood beyond. The deft, quiet butler brought out a little table, spread with the whitest of cloths and laid with the brightest of silver, and "found" a dainty lunch. There was a bit of fried chicken breast, some crisp bacon, browned potatoes, little round beaten biscuit, androse-colored sherbet with a whiff of wine in it. Miss Taylor wondered alittle at the bounty of Southern hospitality; but she was hungry, andshe ate heartily, then leaned back dreamily and listened to Mr. Cresswell's smooth Southern _r_'s, adding a word here and there thatkept the conversation going and brought a grave smile to his pale lips. At last with a sigh she arose to her feet. 

"I must go! What shall I tell Miss Smith! No, no--no carriage; I mustwalk. " Of course, however, she could not refuse to let him go at leasthalf-way, ostensibly to tell her of the coming of her brother. Heexpressed again his disappointment at his sister's absence. 

Somewhat to Miss Taylor's surprise Miss Smith said nothing until theywere parting for the night, then she asked:

"Was Miss Cresswell at home?"

Mary reddened. 

"She had been called suddenly to town. "

"Well, my dear, I wouldn't do it again. "

The girl was angry. 

"I'm not a school-girl, but a grown woman, and capable of caring formyself. Moreover, in matter of propriety I do not think you have usuallyfound my ideas too lax--rather the opposite. "

"There, there, dear; don't be angry. Only I think if your brotherknew--"

"He will know in a very few weeks; he is coming to visit theCresswells. " And Miss Taylor sailed triumphantly up the stairs. 

But John Taylor was not the man to wait weeks when a purpose could beaccomplished in days or hours. No sooner was Harry Cresswell's telegramat hand than he hastened back from Savannah, struck across country, andthe week after his sister's ride found him striding up the carriage-wayof the Cresswell home. 

John Taylor had prospered since summer. The cotton manufacturers'combine was all but a fact; Mr. Easterly had discovered that his chiefclerk's sense and executive ability were invaluable, and John Taylor wasslated for a salary in five figures when things should be finallysettled, not to mention a generous slice of stock--watery at present, but warranted to ripen early. 

While Mr. Easterly still regarded Taylor's larger trust as chimerical, some occurrences of the fall made him take a respectful attitude towardit. Just as the final clauses of the combine agreement were to besigned, there appeared a shortage in the cotton-crop, and prices beganto soar. The cause was obviously the unexpected success of the newFarmers' League among the cotton-growers. Mr. Easterly found itcomparatively easy to overthrow the corner, but the flurry made some ofthe manufacturers timid, and the trust agreement was postponed until ayear later. This experience and the persistence of Mr. Taylor inducedMr. Easterly to take a step toward the larger project: he let in someeager outside capital to the safer manufacturing scheme, and withdrew acorresponding amount of Mrs. Grey's money. This he put into JohnTaylor's hands to invest in the South in bank stock and industries withthe idea of playing a part in the financial situation there. 

"It's a risk, Taylor, of course, and we'll let the old lady take therisk. At the worst it's safer than the damned foolishness she has inmind. "

So it happened that John Taylor went South to look after largeinvestments and, as Mr. Easterly expressed it, "to bring back facts, not dreams. " His investment matters went quickly and well, and now heturned to his wider and bigger scheme. He wrote the Cresswellstentatively, expecting no reply, or an evasive one; planning to circlearound them, drawing his nets closer, and trying them again later. Tohis surprise they responded quickly. 

"Humph! Hard pressed, " he decided, and hurried to them. 

So it was the week after Mary Taylor's ride that found him atCresswell's front door, thin, eagle-eyed, fairly well dressed andradiating confidence. 

"John Taylor, " he announced to Sam, jerkily, thrusting out a card. "Wantto see Mr. Cresswell; soon as possible. "

Sam made him wait a half-hour, for the sake of discipline, and thenbrought father and son. 

"Good-morning, Mr. Cresswell, and Mr. Cresswell again, " said Mr. Taylor, helping himself to a straight-backed chair. "Hope you'll pardon thisunexpected visit. Found myself called through Montgomery, just after Igot your wire; thought I'd better drop over. "

At Harry's suggestion they moved to the verandah and sat down overwhiskey and soda, which Taylor refused, and plunged into the subjectwithout preliminaries. 

"I'm assuming that you gentlemen are in the cotton business for makingmoney. So am I. I see a way in which you and your friends can help meand mine, and clear up more millions than all of us can spend; for thisreason I've hunted you up. This is my scheme. 

"See here; there are a thousand cotton-mills in this country, half ofthem in the South, one-fourth in New England, and one-fourth in theMiddle States. They are capitalized at six hundred million dollars. Nowlet me tell you: we control three hundred and fifty millions of thatcapitalization. The trust is going through capitalization at a billion. The only thing that threatens it is child-labor legislation in theSouth, the tariff, and the control of the supply of cotton. Pretty bighindrances, you say. That's so, but look here: we've got the stock soplaced that nothing short of a popular upheaval can send any Child Laborbill through Congress in six years. See? After that we don't care. Samething applies to the tariff. The last bill ran ten years. The presentbill will last longer, or I lose my guess--'specially if Smith is in theSenate. 

"Well, then, there remains raw cotton. The connection of cotton-raisingand its raw material is too close to risk a manufacturing trust thatdoes not include practical control of the raw material. For that reasonwe're planning a trust to include the raising and manufacturing ofcotton in America. Then, too, cornering the cotton market here means thewhip-hand of the industrial world. Gentlemen, it's the biggest idea ofthe century. It beats steel. "

Colonel Cresswell chuckled. 

"How do you spell that?" he asked. 

But John Taylor was not to be diverted; his thin face was pale, but hisgray eyes burned with the fire of a zealot. Harry Cresswell only smileddimly and looked interested. 

"Now, again, " continued John Taylor. "There are a million cotton farmsin the South, half run by colored people and half by whites. Leave thecolored out of account as long as they are disfranchised. The halfmillion white farms are owned or controlled by five thousand wholesalemerchants and three thousand big landowners, of whom you, ColonelCresswell, are among the biggest with your fifty thousand acres. Tenbanks control these eight thousand people--one of these is the JeffersonNational of Montgomery, of which you are a silent director. "

Colonel Cresswell started; this man evidently had inside information. Did he know of the mortgage, too?

"Don't be alarmed. I'm safe, " Taylor assured him. "Now, then, if we canget the banks, wholesale merchants, and biggest planters into line wecan control the cotton crop. "

"But, " objected Harry Cresswell, "while the banks and the largemerchants may be possibilities, do you know what it means to try to getplanters into line?"

"Yes, I do. And what I don't know you and your father do. ColonelCresswell is president of the Farmers' League. That's the reason I'mhere. Your success last year made you indispensable to our plans. "

"Our success?" laughed Colonel Cresswell, ruefully, thinking of thefifty thousand dollars lost and the mortgage to cover it. 

"Yes, sir--success! You didn't know it; we were too careful to allowthat; and I say frankly you wouldn't know it now if we weren't convincedyou were too far involved and the League too discouraged to repeat thedose. "

"Now, look here, sir, " began Colonel Cresswell, flushing and drawinghimself erect. 

"There, there, Colonel Cresswell, don't misunderstand me. I'm a plainman. I'm playing a big game--a tremendous one. I need you, and I knowyou need me. I find out about you, and my sources of knowledge are wideand unerring. But the knowledge is safe, sir; it's buried. Last yearwhen you people curtailed cotton acreage and warehoused a big chunk ofthe crop you gave the mill men the scare of their lives. We had a hastyconference and the result was that the bottom fell out of your credit. "

Colonel Cresswell grew pale. There was a disquieting, relentless elementin this unimpassioned man's tone. 

"You failed, " pursued John Taylor, "because you couldn't get the banksand the big merchants behind you. We've got 'em behind us--with bigchunks of stock and a signed iron-clad agreement. You can wheel theplanters into line--will you do it?" John Taylor bent forward tense butcool and steel-like. Harry Cresswell laid his hand on his father's armand said quietly:

"And where do we come in?"

"That's business, " affirmed John Taylor. "You and two hundred and fiftyof the biggest planters come in on the ground-floor of thetwo-billion-dollar All-Cotton combine. It can easily mean two millionto you in five years. "

"And the other planters?"

"They come in for high-priced cotton until we get our grip. "

"And then?"

The quiet question seemed to invoke a vision for John Taylor; the grayeyes took on the faraway look of a seer; the thin, bloodless lips formeda smile in which there was nothing pleasant. 

"They keep their mouths shut or we squeeze 'em and buy the land. Wepropose to own the cotton belt of the South. "

Colonel Cresswell started indignantly from his seat. 

"Do you think--by God, sir!--that I'd betray Southern gentlemen to--"

But Harry's hand and impassive manner restrained him; he cooled assuddenly as he had flared up. 

"Thank you very much, Mr. Taylor, " he concluded; "we'll consider thismatter carefully. You'll spend the night, of course. "

"Can't possibly--must catch that next train back. "

"But we must talk further, " the Colonel insisted. "And then, there'syour sister. "

"By Jove! Forgot all about Mary. " John Taylor after a little desultorytalk, followed his host up-stairs. 

The next afternoon John Taylor was sitting beside Helen Cresswell on theporch which overlooked the terrace, and was, on the whole, thinking lessof cotton than he had for several years. To be sure, he was talkingcotton; but he was doing it mechanically and from long habit, and wasreally thinking how charming a girl Helen Cresswell was. She fascinatedhim. For his sister Taylor had a feeling of superiority that was almostcontempt. The idea of a woman trying to understand and argue aboutthings men knew! He admired the dashing and handsome Miss Easterly, butshe scared him and made him angrily awkward. This girl, on the otherhand, just lounged and listened with an amused smile, or asked the mostchild-like questions. She required him to wait on her quite as a matterof course--to adjust her pillows, hand her the bon-bons, and hunt forher lost fan. Mr. Taylor, who had not waited on anybody since his motherdied, and not much before, found a quite inexplicable pleasure in theselittle domesticities. Several times he took out his watch and frowned;yet he managed to stay with her quite happily. 

On her part Miss Cresswell was vastly amused. Her acquaintance with menwas not wide, but it was thorough so far as her own class was concerned. They were all well-dressed and leisurely, fairly good looking, and theysaid the same words and did the same things in the same way. They paidher compliments which she did not believe, and they did not expect herto believe. They were charmingly deferential in the matter of droppedhandkerchiefs, but tyrannical of opinion. They were thoughtful aboutcandy and flowers, but thoughtless about feelings and income. Altogetherthey were delightful, but cloying. This man was startlingly different;ungainly and always in a desperate, unaccountable hurry. He knew nopretty speeches, he certainly did not measure up to her standard ofbreeding, and yet somehow he was a gentleman. All this was new to HelenCresswell, and she liked it. 

Meanwhile the men above-stairs lingered in the Colonel's office--theolder one perturbed and sputtering, the younger insistent andimperturbable. 

"The fact is, father, " he was saying, "as you yourself have said, onebad crop of cotton would almost ruin us. "

"But the prospects are good. "

"What are prospects in March? No, father, this is the situation--threegood crops in succession will wipe off our indebtedness and leave usfacing only low prices and a scarcity of niggers; on the other hand--"The father interrupted impatiently. 

"Yes, on the other hand, if we plunge deeper in debt and betray ourfriends we may come out millionaires or--paupers. "

"Precisely, " said Harry Cresswell, calmly. "Now, our plan is to take nochances; I propose going North and looking into this matter thoroughly. If he represents money and has money, and if the trust has really gotthe grip he says it has, why, it's a case of crush or get crushed, andwe'll have to join them on their own terms. If he's bluffing, or thething looks weak, we'll wait. "

It all ended as matters usually did end, in Harry's having his way. Hecame downstairs, expecting, indeed, rather hoping, to find Taylorimpatiently striding to and fro, watch in hand; but here he was, ungainly, it might be, but quite docile, drawing the picture of apower-loom for Miss Cresswell, who seemed really interested. Harrysilently surveyed them from the door, and his face lighted with a newthought. 

Taylor, espying him, leapt to his feet and hauled out his watch. 

"Well--I--" he began lamely. 

"No, you weren't either, " interrupted Harry, with a laugh that wasunmistakably cordial and friendly. "You had quite forgotten what youwere waiting for--isn't that so, Sis?"

Helen regarded her brother through her veiling lashes: what meant thissudden assumption of warmth and amiability?

"No, indeed; he was raging with impatience, " she returned. 

"Why, Miss Cresswell, I--I--" John Taylor forsook social amenities andpulled himself together. "Well, " shortly, "now for that talk--ready?"And quite forgetting Miss Cresswell, he bolted into the parlor. 

"The decision we have come to is this, " said Harry Cresswell. "We are indebt, as you know. "

"Forty-nine thousand, seven hundred and forty-two dollars and twelvecents, " responded Taylor; "in three notes, due in twelve, twenty-four, and thirty-six months, interest at eight per cent, held by--"

The Colonel snorted his amazement, and Harry Cresswell cut in:

"Yes, " he calmly admitted; "and with good crops for three years we'd beall right; good crops even for two years would leave us fairly welloff. "

"You mean it would relieve you of the present stringency and put youface to face with the falling price of cotton and rising wages, " wasJohn Taylor's dry addendum. 

"Rising price of cotton, you mean, " Harry corrected. 

"Oh, temporarily, " John Taylor admitted. 

"Precisely, and thus postpone the decision. "

"No, Mr. Cresswell. I'm offering to let you in on the groundfloor--_now_--not next year, or year after. "

"Mr. Taylor, have you any money in this?"

"Everything I've got. "

"Well, the thing is this way: if you can prove to us that conditions areas you say, we're in for it. "

"Good! Meet me in New York, say--let's see, this is March tenth--well, May third. "

Young Cresswell was thinking rapidly. This man without doubt representedmoney. He was anxious for an alliance. Why? Was it all straight, or didthe whole move conceal a trick?

His eyes strayed to the porch where his pretty sister sat languidly, andthen toward the school where the other sister lived. John Taylor lookedout on the porch, too. They glanced quickly at each other, and eachwondered if the other had shared his thought. Harry Cresswell did notvoice his mind for he was not wholly disposed to welcome what was there;but he could not refrain from saying in tones almost confidential:

"You could recommend this deal, then, could you--to your own friends?"

"To my own family, " asserted John Taylor, looking at Harry Cresswellwith sudden interest. But Mr. Cresswell was staring at the end of hiscigar. 

_Eleven_

THE FLOWERING OF THE FLEECE

"Zora, " observed Miss Smith, "it's a great blessing not to needspectacles, isn't it?"

Zora thought that it was; but she was wondering just what spectacles hadto do with the complaint she had brought to the office from Miss Taylor. 

"I'm always losing my glasses and they get dirty and--Oh, dear! nowwhere is that paper?"

Zora pointed silently to the complaint. 

"No, not that--another paper. It must be in my room. Don't you want tocome up and help me look?"

They went up to the clean, bare room, with its white iron bed, its cool, spotless shades and shining windows. Zora walked about softly andlooked, while Miss Smith quietly searched on desk and bureau, paying noattention to the girl. For the time being she was silent. 

"I sometimes wish, " she began at length, "I had a bright-eyed girl likeyou to help me find and place things. "

Zora made no comment. 

"Sometimes Bles helps me, " added Miss Smith, guilefully. 

Zora looked sharply at her. "Could I help?" she asked, almost timidly. 

"Why, I don't know, "--the answer was deliberate. "There are one or twolittle things perhaps--"

Placing a hand gently upon Zora's shoulder, she pointed out a few oddtasks, and left the girl busily doing them; then she returned to theoffice, and threw Miss Taylor's complaint into the waste-basket. 

For a week or more Zora slipped in every day and performed the littletasks that Miss Smith laid out: she sorted papers, dusted the bureau, hung a curtain; she did not do the things very well, and she broke somechina, but she worked earnestly and quickly, and there was no thought ofpay. Then, too, did not Bles praise her with a happy smile, as together, day after day, they stood and watched the black dirt where the SilverFleece lay planted? She dreamed and sang over that dark field, and againand again appealed to him: "S'pose it shouldn't come up after all?" Andhe would laugh and say that of course it would come up. 

One day, when Zora was helping Miss Smith in the bedroom, she pausedwith her arms full of clothes fresh from the laundry. 

"Where shall I put these?"

Miss Smith looked around. "They might go in there, " she said, pointingto a door. Zora opened it. A tiny bedroom was disclosed, with one broadwindow looking toward the swamp; white curtains adorned it, and whitehangings draped the plain bureau and wash-stand and the little bed. There was a study table, and a small bookshelf holding a few books, allsimple and clean. Zora paused uncertainly, and surveyed the room. 

"Sometimes when you're tired and want to be alone you can come up here, Zora, " said Miss Smith carelessly. "No one uses this room. "

Zora caught her breath sharply, but said nothing. The next day MissSmith said to her when she came in:

"I'm busy now, dear, but you go up to your little room and read and I'llcall. "

Zora quietly obeyed. An hour later Miss Smith looked in, then she closedthe door lightly and left. Another hour flew by before Zora hurrieddown. 

"I was reading, and I forgot, " she said. 

"It's all right, " returned Miss Smith. "I didn't need you. And any day, after you get all your lessons, I think Miss Taylor will excuse you andlet you go to your room and read. " Miss Taylor, it transpired, was morethan glad. 

Day after day Bles and Zora visited the field; but ever the ground layan unrelieved black beneath the bright sun, and they would goreluctantly home again, today there was much work to be done, and Zoralabored steadily and eagerly, never pausing, and gaining in deftness andcare. 

In the afternoon Bles went to town with the school wagon. A light showerflew up from the south, lingered a while and fled, leaving a fragrancein the air. For a moment Zora paused, and her nostrils quivered; thenwithout a word she slipped down-stairs, glided into the swamp, and spedaway to the island. She swung across the tree and a low, delighted crybubbled on her lips. All the rich, black ground was sprinkled withtender green. She bent above the verdant tenderness and kissed it; thenshe rushed back, bursting into the room. 

"_It's come! It's come!--the Silver Fleece!_"

Miss Smith was startled. 

"The Silver Fleece!" she echoed in bewilderment. 

Zora hesitated. It came over her all at once that this one greatall-absorbing thing meant nothing to the gaunt tired-look woman beforeher. 

"Would Bles care if I told?" she asked doubtfully. 

"No, " Miss Smith ventured. 

And then the girl crouched at her feet and told the dream and thestory. Many factors were involved that were quite foreign to the olderwoman's nature and training. The recital brought to her New England mindmany questions of policy and propriety. And yet, as she looked down uponthe dark face, hot with enthusiasm, it all seemed somehow more thanright. Slowly and lightly Miss Smith slipped her arm about Zora, andnodded and smiled a perfect understanding. They looked out together intothe darkening twilight. 

"It is so late and wet and you're tired tonight--don't you think you'dbetter sleep in your little room?"

Zora sat still. She thought of the noisy flaming cabin and the darkswamp; but a contrasting thought of the white bed made her timid, andslowly she shook her head. Nevertheless Miss Smith led her to the room. 

"Here are things for you to wear, " she pointed out, opening the bureau, "and here is the bath-room. " She left the girl standing in the middle ofthe floor. 

In time Zora came to stay often at Miss Smith's cottage, and to learnnew and unknown ways of living and dressing. She still refused to board, for that would cost more than she could pay yet, and she would accept nocharity. Gradually an undemonstrative friendship sprang up between thepale old gray-haired teacher and the dark young black-haired girl. Delicately, too, but gradually, the companionship of Bles and Zora wasguided and regulated. Of mornings Zora would hurry through her lessonsand get excused to fly to the swamp, to work and dream alone. At noonBles would run down, and they would linger until he must hurry back todinner. After school he would go again, working while she was busy inMiss Smith's office, and returning later, would linger awhile to tellZora of his day while she busied herself with her little tasks. Saturdaymornings they would go to the swamp and work together, and sometimesMiss Smith, stealing away from curious eyes, would come and sit and talkwith them as they toiled. 

In those days, for these two souls, earth came very near to heaven. Both were in the midst of that mighty change from youth to womanhood andmanhood. Their manner toward each other by degrees grew shyer and morethoughtful. There was less of comradeship, but the little meant more. The rough good fellowship was silently put aside; they no longer lightlyclasped hands; and each at times wondered, in painfulself-consciousness, if the other cared. 

Then began, too, that long and subtle change wherein a soul, until nowunmindful of its wrappings, comes suddenly to consciousness of body andclothes; when it gropes and tries to adjust one with the other, andthrough them to give to the inner deeper self, finer and fullerexpression. One saw it easily, almost suddenly, in Alwyn's Sunday suit, vivid neckties, and awkward fads. 

Slower, subtler, but more striking was the change in Zora, as she beganto earn bits of pin money in the office and to learn to sew. Dresseshung straighter; belts served a better purpose; stockings were smoother;underwear was daintier. Then her hair--that great dark mass of immovableinfinitely curled hair--began to be subdued and twisted and combeduntil, with steady pains and study, it lay in thick twisted braids abouther velvet forehead, like some shadowed halo. All this came much moreslowly and spasmodically than one tells it. Few noticed the change much;none noticed all; and yet there came a night--a student's social--whenwith a certain suddenness the whole school, teachers and pupils, realized the newness of the girl, and even Bles was startled. 

He had bought her in town, at Christmas time, a pair of white satinslippers, partly to test the smallness of her feet on which in youngerdays he had rallied her, and partly because she had mentioned a possiblewhite dress. They were a cheap, plain pair but dainty, and they fittedwell. 

When the evening came and the students were marching and the teachers, save Miss Smith, were sitting rather primly apart and commenting, sheentered the room. She was a little late, and a hush greeted her. Oneboy, with the inimitable drawl of the race, pushed back his ice-creamand addressed it with a mournful head-shake:

"Go way, honey, yo' los' yo' tas'e!"

The dress was plain and fitted every curving of a healthy girlish form. She paused a moment white-bodied and white-limbed but dark andvelvet-armed, her full neck and oval head rising rich and almost blackabove, with its deep-lighted eyes and crown of silent darkling hair. 

To some, such a revelation of grace and womanliness in this hoyden, thegentle swelling of lankness to beauty, of lowliness to shy self-poise, was a sudden joy, to others a mere blindness. Mary Taylor was perplexedand in some indefinite way amazed; and many of the other teachers saw nobeauty, only a strangeness that brought a smile. They were such as knowbeauty by convention only, and find it lip-ringed, hoop-skirted, tattooed, or corsetted, as time and place decree. 

The change in Zora, however, had been neither cataclysmic norrevolutionary and it was yet far--very far--from complete. She still ranand romped in the woods, and dreamed her dreams; she still waspassionately independent and "queer. " Tendencies merely had becomemanifest, some dominant. She would, unhindered, develop to a brilliant, sumptuous womanhood; proud, conquering, full-blooded, and deepbosomed--a passionate mother of men. Herein lay all her early wildnessand strangeness. Herein lay, as yet half hidden, dimly sensed and allunspoken, the power of a mighty all-compelling love for one human soul, and, through it, for all the souls of men. All this lay growing anddeveloping; but as yet she was still a girl, with a new shyness andcomeliness and a bold, searching heart. 

In the field of the Silver Fleece all her possibilities were beginningto find expression. These new-born green things hidden far down in theswamp, begotten in want and mystery, were to her a living wonderfulfairy tale come true. All the latent mother in her brooded over them;all her brilliant fancy wove itself about them. They were herdream-children, and she tended them jealously; they were her Hope, andshe worshipped them. When the rabbits tried the tender plants shewatched hours to drive them off, and catching now and then a pulsingpink-eyed invader, she talked to it earnestly:

"Brer Rabbit--poor little Brer Rabbit, don't you know you mustn't eatZora's cotton? Naughty, naughty Brer Rabbit. " And then she would show itwhere she had gathered piles of fragrant weeds for it and its fellows. 

The golden green of the first leaves darkened, and the plants sprangforward steadily. Never before was such a magnificent beginning, a fullmonth ahead of other cotton. The rain swept down in laughing, bubblingshowers, and laved their thirsty souls, and Zora held her beating breastday by day lest it rain too long or too heavily. The sun burned fiercelyupon the young cotton plants as the spring hastened, and they liftedtheir heads in darker, wilder luxuriance; for the time of hoeing was athand. 

These days were days of alternate hope and doubt with Bles Alwyn. Strength and ambition and inarticulate love were fighting within him. Hefelt, in the dark thousands of his kind about him, a mighty calling todeeds. He was becoming conscious of the narrowness and straightness ofhis black world, and red anger flashed in him ever and again as he felthis bonds. His mental horizon was broadening as he prepared for thecollege of next year; he was faintly grasping the wider, fuller world, and its thoughts and aspirations. 

But beside and around and above all this, like subtle, permeating ether, was--Zora. His feelings for her were not as yet definite, expressed, orgrasped; they were rather the atmosphere in which all things occurredand were felt and judged. From an amusing pastime she had come to be acompanion and thought-mate; and now, beyond this, insensibly they weredrifting to a silenter, mightier mingling of souls. But drifting, merely--not arrived; going gently, irresistibly, but not yet at therealized goal. 

He felt all this as the stirring of a mighty force, but knew not whathe felt. The teasing of his fellows, the common love-gossip of theschool yard, seemed far different from his plight. He laughed at it andindignantly denied it. Yet he was uncomfortable, restless, unhappy. Hefancied Zora cared less for his company, and he gave her less, and thenwas puzzled to find time hanging so empty, so wretchedly empty, on hishands. When they were together in these days they found less to talkabout, and had it not been for the Silver Fleece which in magicwilfulness opened both their mouths, they would have found theircompanionship little more than a series of awkward silences. Yet intheir silences, their walks, and their sittings there was acompanionship, a glow, a satisfaction, as came to them nowhere else onearth, and they wondered at it. 

They were both wondering at it this morning as they watched theircotton. It had seemingly bounded forward in a night and it must be hoedforthwith. Yet, hoeing was murder--the ruthless cutting away of tendererplants that the sturdier might thrive the more and grow. 

"I hate it, Bles, don't you?"

"Hate what?"

"Killing any of it; it's all so pretty. "

"But it must be, so that what's left will be prettier, or at least moreuseful. "

"But it shouldn't be so; everything ought to have a chance to bebeautiful and useful. "

"Perhaps it ought to be so, " admitted Bles, "but it isn't. "

"Isn't it so--anywhere?"

"I reckon not. Death and pain pay for all good things. "

She hoed away silently, hesitating over the choice of the plants, pondering this world-old truth, saddened by its ruthless cruelty. 

"Death and pain, " she murmured; "what a price!"

Bles leaned on his hoe and considered. It had not occurred to him tillnow that Zora was speaking better and better English: the idioms anderrors were dropping away; they had not utterly departed, however, butcame crowding back in moments of excitement. At other times she clothedMiss Smith's clear-cut, correct speech in softer Southern accents. Shewas drifting away from him in some intangible way to an upper world ofdress and language and deportment, and the new thought was pain to him. 

So it was that the Fleece rose and spread and grew to its wonderfulflowering; and so these two children grew with it into theirs. Zoranever forgot how they found the first white flower in that green andbillowing sea, nor her low cry of pleasure and his gay shout of joy. Slowly, wonderfully the flowers spread--white, blue, and purple bells, hiding timidly, blazing luxuriantly amid the velvet leaves; until oneday--it was after a southern rain and the sunlight was twinkling throughthe morning--all the Fleece was in flower--a mighty swaying sea, darkling rich and waving, and upon it flecks and stars of white andpurple foam. The joy of the two so madly craved expression that theyburst into singing; not the wild light song of dancing feet, but a low, sweet melody of her fathers' fathers, whereunto Alwyn's own deep voicefell fitly in minor cadence. 

Miss Smith and Miss Taylor, who were sorting the mail, heard themsinging as they came up out of the swamp. Miss Taylor looked at them, then at Miss Smith. 

But Miss Smith sat white and rigid with the first opened letter in herhand. 

_Twelve_

THE PROMISE

Miss Smith sat with her face buried in her hands while the tearstrickled silently through her thin fingers. Before her lay the letter, read a dozen times:

"Old Mrs. Grey has been to see me, and she has announced her intentionof endowing five colored schools, yours being one. She asked if $500, 000would do it. She has plenty of money, so I told her $750, 000 would bebetter--$150, 000 apiece. She's arranging for a Board of Trust, etc. You'll probably hear from her soon. You've been so worried aboutexpenses that I thought I'd send this word on; I knew you'd be glad. "

Glad? Dear God, how flat the word fell! For thirty years she had sownthe seed, planting her life-blood in this work, that had become themarrow of her soul. 

Successful? No, it had not been successful; but it had been human. Through yonder doorway had trooped an army of hundreds upon hundreds ofbright and dull, light and dark, eager and sullen faces. There had beengood and bad, honest and deceptive, frank and furtive. Some had caught, kindled and flashed to ambition and achievement; some, glowing dimly, had plodded on in a slow, dumb faithful work worth while; and yet othershad suddenly exploded, hurtling human fragments to heaven and to hell. Around this school home, as around the centre of some little universe, had whirled the sorrowful, sordid, laughing, pulsing drama of a world:birth pains, and the stupor of death; hunger and pale murder; the riotof thirst and the orgies of such red and black cabins as Elspeth's, crouching in the swamp. 

She groaned as she read of the extravagances of the world and saw herown vanishing revenues; but the funds continued to dwindle until SarahSmith asked herself: "What will become of this school when I die?" Withtrembling fingers she had sat down to figure how many teachers must bedropped next year, when her brother's letter came, and she slipped toher knees and prayed. 

Mrs. Grey's decision was due in no little way to Mary Taylor's reports. Slowly but surely the girl had begun to think that she had found herselfin this new world. She would never be attuned to it thoroughly, for shewas set for different music. The veil of color and race still hungthickly between her and her pupils; and yet she seemed to see somepoints of penetration. No one could meet daily a hundred or more ofthese light-hearted, good-natured children without feeling drawn tothem. No one could cross the thresholds of the cabins and not see theold and well-known problems of life and striving. More and more, therefore, the work met Miss Taylor's approval and she told Mrs. Greyso. 

At the same time Mary Taylor had come to some other definiteconclusions: she believed it wrong to encourage the ambitions of thesechildren to any great extent; she believed they should be servants andfarmers, content to work under present conditions until those conditionscould be changed; and she believed that the local white aristocracy, helped by Northern philanthropy, should take charge of such gradualchanges. 

These conclusions she did not pretend to have originated; but sheadopted them from reading and conversation, after hesitating for a yearbefore such puzzling contradictions as Bles Alwyn and Harry Cresswell. For her to conclude to treat Bles Alwyn as a man despite his color wasas impossible as to think Mr. Cresswell a criminal. Some compromise wasimperative which would save her the pleasure of Mr. Cresswell's companyand at the same time leave open a way of fulfilling the world's duty tothis black boy. She thought she had found this compromise and she wroteMrs. Grey suggesting a chain of endowed Negro schools under themanagement of trustees composed of Northern business men and localSouthern whites. Mrs. Grey acquiesced gladly and announced her plan, eventually writing Miss Smith of her decision "to second her nobleefforts in helping the poor colored people, " and she hoped to have theplan under way before next fall. 

The sharpness of Miss Smith's joy did not let her dwell on the proposed"Board of Trust"; of course, it would be a board of friends of theschool. 

She sat in her office looking out across the land. School had closed forthe year and Bles with the carryall was just taking Miss Taylor to thetrain with her trunk and bags. Far up the road she could see dotted hereand there the little dirty cabins of Cresswell's tenants--the Cresswelldomain that lay like a mighty hand around the school, ready at a word tosqueeze its life out. Only yonder, to the eastward, lay the way out; thefive hundred acres of the Tolliver plantation, which the school neededso sadly for its farm and community. But the owner was a hard andignorant white man, hating "niggers" only a shade more than he hatedwhite aristocrats of the Cresswell type. He had sold the school itsfirst land to pique the Cresswells; but he would not sell any more, shewas sure, even now when the promise of wealth faced the school. 

She lay back and closed her eyes and fell lightly asleep. As she sleptan old woman came toiling up the hill northward from the school, andout of the eastward spur of the Cresswell barony. She was fat and black, hooded and aproned, with great round head and massive bosom. Her facewas dull and heavy and homely, her old eyes sorrowful. She movedswiftly, carrying a basket on her arm. Opposite her, to the southward, but too far for sight, an old man came out of the lower Cresswell place, skirting the swamp. He was tall, black, and gaunt, part bald with tuftedhair, and a cowed and furtive look was in his eyes. One leg wascrippled, and he hobbled painfully. 

Up the road to the eastward that ran past the school, with the morningsun at his back, strode a young man, yellow, crisp-haired, strong-faced, with darkly knit brows. He greeted Bles and the teacher coldly, andmoved on in nervous haste. A woman, hurrying out of the westward swampup the path that led from Elspeth's, saw him and shrank back hastily. She turned quickly into the swamp and waited, looking toward the school. The old woman hurried into the back gate just as the old man appeared tothe southward on the road. The young man greeted him cordially and theystopped a moment to talk, while the hiding woman watched. 

"Howdy, Uncle Jim. "

"Howdy, son. Hit's hot, ain't it? How is you?"

"Tolerable, how are you?"

"Poorly, son, poorly--and worser in mind. I'se goin' up to talk to oldMiss. "

"So am I, but I just see Aunt Rachel going in. We'd better wait. "

Miss Smith started up at the timid knocking, and rubbed her eyes. It waslong since she had slept in the daytime and she was annoyed at suchlaziness. She opened the back door and led the old woman to the office. 

"Now, what have you got there?" she demanded, eyeing the basket. 

"Just a little chicken fo' you and a few aigs. "

"Oh, you are so thoughtful!" Sarah Smith's was a grateful heart. 

"Go 'long now--hit ain't a thing. "

Then came a pause, the old woman sliding into the proffered seat, whileover her genial, dimpled smile there dropped a dull veil of care. Hereyes shifted uneasily. Miss Smith tried not to notice the change. 

"Well, are you all moved, Aunt Rachel?" she inquired cheerfully. 

"No'm, and we ain't gwine to move. "

"But I thought it was all arranged. "

"It was, " gloomily, "but de ole Cunnel, he won't let us go. "

The listener was instantly sympathetic. "Why not?" she asked. 

"He says we owes him. "

"But didn't you settle at Christmas?"

"Yas'm; but when he found we was goin' away, he looked up some moredebts. "

"How much?"

"I don't know 'zactly--more'n a hundred dollars. Den de boys done got indat trouble, and he paid their fines. "

"What was the trouble?"

"Well, one was a-gambling, and the other struck the overseer what wasa-whippin' him. "

"Whipping him!"--in horrified exclamation, quite as much at AuntRachel's matter-of-fact way of regarding the matter as at the deeditself. 

"Yas'm. He didn't do his work right and he whipped him. I speck heneeded it. "

"But he's a grown man, " Miss Smith urged earnestly. 

"Yas'm; he's twenty now, and big. "

"Whipped him!" Miss Smith repeated. "And so you can't leave?"

"No'm, he say he'll sell us out and put us in de chain-gang if we go. The boys is plumb mad, but I'se a-pleadin' with 'em not to do nothin'rash. "

"But--but I thought they had already started to work a crop on theTolliver place?"

"Yes'm, dey had; but, you see, dey were arrested, and then CunnelCresswell took 'em and 'lowed they couldn't leave his place. Ol' manTolliver was powerful mad. "

"Why, Aunt Rachel, it's slavery!" cried the lady in dismay. Aunt Racheldid not offer to dispute her declaration. 

"Yas'm, hit's slavery, " she agreed. "I hates it mighty bad, too, 'causeI wanted de little chillens in school; but--" The old woman broke downand sobbed. 

A knocking came at the door; hastily wiping her eyes Aunt Rachel rose. 

"I'll--I'll see what I can do, Aunt Rachel--I must do something, "murmured Miss Smith hastily, as the woman departed, and an old black mancame limping in. Miss Smith looked up in surprise. 

"I begs pardon, Mistress--I begs pardon. Good-morning. "

"Good-morning--" she hesitated. 

"Sykes--Jim Sykes--that's me. "

"Yes, I've heard of you, Mr. Sykes; you live over south of the swamp. "

"Yes, ma'am, that's me; and I'se got a little shack dar and a bit ofland what I'se trying to buy. "

"Of Colonel Cresswell?"

"Yas'm, of de Cunnel. "

"And how long have you been buying it?"

"Going on ten year now; and dat's what I comes to ask you about. "

"Goodness me! And how much have you paid a year?"

"I gen'rally pays 'bout three bales of cotton a year. "

"Does he furnish you rations?"

"Only sugar and coffee and a little meat now and then. "

"What does it amount to a year?"

"I doesn't rightly know--but I'se got some papers here. "

Miss Smith looked them over and sighed. It was the same old tale ofblind receipts for money "on account"--no items, no balancing. By hishelp she made out that last year his total bill at Cresswell's store wasperhaps forty dollars. 

"An' last year's bill was bigger'n common 'cause I hurt my leg workingat the gin and had to have some medicine. "

"Why, as far as I can see, Mr. Sykes, you've paid Cresswell about athousand dollars in the last ten years. How large is your place?"

"About twenty acres. "

"And what were you to pay for it?"

"Four hundred. "

"Have you got the deed?"

"Yes'm, but I ain't finished paying yet; de Cunnel say as how I owes himtwo hundred dollars still, and I can't see it. Dat's why I come overhere to talk wid you. "

"Where is the deed?"

He handed it to her and her heart sank. It was no deed, but acomplicated contract binding the tenant hand and foot to the landlord. She sighed, he watching her eagerly. 

"I'se getting old, " he explained, "and I ain't got nobody to take careof me. I can't work as I once could, and de overseers dey drives me toohard. I wants a little home to die in. "

Miss Smith's throat swelled. She couldn't tell him that he would neverget one at the present rate; she only said:

"I'll--look this up. You come again next Saturday. "

Then sadly she watched the ragged old slave hobble away with hischerished "papers. " He greeted the young man at the gate and passed out, while the latter walked briskly up to the door and knocked. 

"Why, how do you do, Robert?"

"How do you do, Miss Smith?"

"Well, are you getting things in shape so as to enter school early nextyear?"

Robert looked embarrassed. 

"That's what I came to tell you, Miss Smith. Mr. Cresswell has offeredme forty acres of good land. "

Miss Smith looked disheartened. 

"Robert, here you are almost finished, and my heart is set on your goingto Atlanta University and finishing college. With your fine voice andtalent for drawing--"

A dogged look settled on Robert's young bright face, and the speakerpaused. 

"What's the use, Miss Smith--what opening is there for a--a nigger withan education?"

Miss Smith was shocked. 

"Why--why, every chance, " she protested, "and where there's none _make_a chance!"

"Miss Taylor says"--Miss Smith's heart sank; how often had she heardthat deadening phrase in the last year!--"that there's no use. Thatfarming is the only thing we ought to try to do, and I reckon she thinksthere ain't much chance even there. "

"Robert, farming is a noble calling. Whether you're suited to it or not, I don't yet know, but I'd like nothing better than to see you settledhere in a decent home with a family, running a farm. But, Robert, farming doesn't call for less intelligence than other things; it callsfor more. It is because the world thinks any training good enough for afarmer that the Southern farmer is today practically at the mercy of hiskeener and more intelligent fellows. And of all people, Robert, yourpeople need trained intelligence to cope with this problem of farminghere. Without intelligence and training and some capital it is thewildest nonsense to think you can lead your people out of slavery. Lookround you. " She told him of the visitors. "Are they not hard workinghonest people?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

"Yet they are slaves--dumb driven cattle. "

"But they have no education. "

"And you have a smattering; therefore are ready to pit yourself againstthe organized plantation system without capital or experience. Robert, you may succeed; you may find your landlord honest and the way clear;but my advice to you is--finish your education, develop your talents, and then come to your life work a full-fledged man and not ahalf-ignorant boy. "

"I'll think of it, " returned the boy soberly. "I reckon you're right. Iknow Miss Taylor don't think much of us. But I'm tired of waiting; Iwant to get to work. "

Miss Smith laid a kindly hand upon his shoulder. 

"I've been waiting thirty years, Robert, " she said, with feeling, and hehung his head. 

"I wanted to talk about it, " he awkwardly responded, turning slowlyaway. But Miss Smith stopped him. 

"Robert, where is the land Cresswell offers you?"

"It's on the Tolliver place. "

"The Tolliver place?"

"Yes, he is going to buy it. "

Miss Smith dismissed the boy absently and sat down. The crisis seemeddrawing near. She had not dreamed the Tolliver place was for sale. Theold man must be hard pressed to sell to the Cresswells. 

She started up. Why not go see him? Perhaps a mortgage on the strengthof the endowment? It was dangerous--but--

She threw a veil over her hair, and opened the door. A woman stoodthere, who shrank and cowered, as if used to blows. Miss Smith eyed hergrimly, then slowly stepped back. 

"Come in, " she commanded briefly, motioning the woman to a chair. 

But she stood, a pathetic figure, faded, worn, yet with unmistakabletraces of beauty in her golden face and soft brown hair. Miss Smithcontemplated her sadly. Here was her most haunting failure, this girlwhom she first had seen twelve years ago in her wonderful girlishcomeliness. She had struggled and fought for her, but the forces of thedevil had triumphed. She caught glimpses of her now and then, but todaywas the first time she had spoken to her for ten years. She saw thetears that gathered but did not fall; then her hands quivered. 

"Bertie, " she began brokenly. The girl shivered, but stood aloof. 

"Miss Smith, " she said. "No--don't talk--I'm bad--but I've got a littlegirl, Miss Smith, ten years old, and--and--I'm afraid for her; I wantyou to take her. "

"I have no place for one so young. And why are you afraid for her?"

"The men there are beginning to notice her. "

"Where?"

"At Elspeth's. "

"Do you stay there now?"

"Yes. "

"Why?"

"_He_ wants me to. "

"Must you do as he wants?"

"Yes. But I want the child--different. "

"Don't _you_ want to be different?"

The woman quivered again but she answered steadily: "No. "

Miss Smith sank into a chair and moistened her dry lips. 

"Elspeth's is an awful place, " she affirmed solemnly. 

"Yes. "

"And Zora?"

"She is not there much now, she stays away. "

"But if she escapes, why not you?"

"She wants to escape. "

"And you?"

"I don't want to. "

This stubborn depravity was so distressing that Sarah Smith was at anutter loss what to say or do. 

"I can do nothing--" she began. 

"For me, " the woman quickly replied; "I don't ask anything; but for thechild, --she isn't to blame. "

The older woman wavered. 

"Won't you try?" pleaded the younger. 

"Yes--I'll try, I'll try; I am trying all the time, but there are morethings than my weak strength can do. Good-bye. "

Miss Smith stood a long time in the doorway, watching the fading figureand vaguely trying to remember what it was that she had started to do, when the sharp staccato step of a mule drew her attention to a rider whostopped at the gate. It was her neighbor, Tolliver--a gaunt, yellow-faced white man, ragged, rough, and unkempt; one of the poorwhites who had struggled up and failed. He spent no courtesy on the"nigger" teacher, but sat in his saddle and called her to the gate, andshe went. 

"Say, " he roughly opened up, "I've got to sell some land and them damnCresswells are after it. You can have it for five thousand dollars ifyou git the cash in a week. " With a muttered oath he rode abruptly off;but not before she had seen the tears in his eyes. 

All night Sarah Smith lay thinking, and all day she thought and dreamed. Toward dark she walked slowly out the gate and up the highway toward theCresswell oaks. She had never been within the gates before, and shelooked about thoughtfully. The great trees in their regular curving rowsmust have been planted more than half a century ago. The lawn was welltended and the flowers. Yes, there were signs of taste and wealth. "Butit was built on a moan, " cried Miss Smith to herself, passionately, andshe would not look round any more, but stared straight ahead where shesaw old Colonel Cresswell smoking and reading on the verandah. 

The Colonel saw her, too, and was uneasy, for he knew that Miss Smithhad a sharp tongue and a most disconcerting method of argument, whichhe, as a Southern gentleman, courteous to all white females, even ifthey did eat with "niggers, " could not properly answer. He received herwith courtesy, offered a chair, laid aside his cigar, and essayed somegeneral remarks on cotton weather. But Miss Smith plunged into hersubject:

"Colonel Cresswell, I'm thinking of raising some money from a mortgageon our school property. "

The Colonel's face involuntarily lighted up. He thought he saw thebeginning of the end of an institution which had been a thorn in hisflesh ever since Tolliver, in a fit of rage, had sold land for a Negroschool. 

"H'm, " he reflected deprecatingly, wiping his brow. 

"I need some ready money, " she continued, "to keep from curtailing ourwork. "

"Indeed?"

"I have good prospects in a year or so"--the Colonel looked up sharply, but said nothing--"and so I thought of a mortgage. "

"Money is pretty tight, " was the Colonel's first objection. 

"The land is worth, you know, at least fifty dollars an acre. "

"Not more than twenty-five dollars, I fear. "

"Why, you wanted seventy-five dollars for poorer land last year! We havetwo hundred acres. " It was not for nothing that this lady had been bornin New England. 

"I wouldn't reckon it as worth more than five thousand dollars, "insisted the Colonel. 

"And ten thousand dollars for improvements. "

But the Colonel arose. "You had better talk to the directors of theJefferson Bank, " he said politely. "They may accommodate you--how muchwould you want?"

"Five thousand dollars, " Miss Smith replied. Then she hesitated. Thatwould buy the land, to be sure; but money was needed to develop and runit; to install tenants; and then, too, for new teachers. But she saidnothing more, and, nodding to his polite bow, departed. ColonelCresswell had noticed her hesitation, and thought of it as he settled tohis cigar again. 

Bles Alwyn arose next morning and examined the sky critically. Hefeared rain. The season had been quite wet enough, particularly down onthe swamp land, and but yesterday Bles had viewed his dykes withapprehension for the black pool scowled about them. He dared not thinkwhat a long heavy rain might do to the wonderful island of cotton whichnow stood fully five feet high, with flowers and squares and buddingbolls. It might not rain, but the safest thing would be to work at thosedykes, so he started for spade and hoe. He heard Miss Smith calling, however. 

"Bles--hitch up!"

He was vexed. "Are you--in a hurry, Miss Smith?" he asked. 

"Yes, I am, " she replied, with unmistakable positiveness. 

He started off, and hesitated. "Miss Smith, would Jim do to drive?"

"No, " sharply. "I want you particularly. " At another time she might haveobserved his anxiety, but today she was agitated. She knew she wastaking a critical step. 

Slowly Bles hitched up. After all it might not rain, he argued as theyjogged toward town. In silence they rode on. Bles kept looking at theskies. The south was getting darker and darker. It might rain. It mightrain only an hour or so, but, suppose it should rain a day--two days--aweek?

Miss Smith was looking at her own skies and despite the promised sunrisethey loomed darkly. Five thousand was needed for the land and at leastanother thousand for repairs. Two thousand would "buy" a half dozendesirable tenants by paying their debts to their present landlords. Thentwo thousand would be wanted for new teachers and a carpenter shop--tenthousand dollars!

It was a great temptation. And yet, once in the hands of thesepast-masters of debt-manipulation, would her school be safe? Suppose, after all, this Grey gift--but she caught her breath sharply just as awet splash of rain struck upon her forehead. No. God could not be socruel. She pushed her bonnet back: how good and cool the water felt! Buton Bles as he raised the buggy top it felt hot and fiery. 

He felt the coming of some great calamity, the end of a dream. Thisrain might stay for days; it looked like such a downpour; and that wouldmean the end of the Silver Fleece; the end of Zora's hopes; the end ofeverything. He gulped in despairing anger and hit the staid old horsethe smartest tap she had known all summer. 

"Why, Bles, what's the matter?" called Miss Smith, as the horse startedforward. He murmured something about getting wet and drew up at theToomsville bank. 

Miss Smith was invited politely into the private parlor. She explainedher business. The President was there and Colonel Cresswell and oneother local director. 

"I have come for a mortgage. Our land is, as you know, gentlemen, worthat least ten thousand dollars; the buildings cost fifteen thousanddollars; our property is, therefore, conservatively valued attwenty-five thousand dollars. Now I want to mortgage it for"--shehesitated--"five thousand dollars. "

Colonel Cresswell was silent, but the president said:

"Money is rather scarce just now, Miss Smith; but it happens that I haveten thousand dollars on hand, which we prefer, however, to loan in onelump sum. Now, if the security were ample, I think perhaps you might getthis ten thousand dollars. "

Miss Smith grew white; it was the sum she wanted. She tried to escapethe temptation, yet the larger amount was more than twice as desirableto her as the smaller, and she knew that they knew it. They were tryingto tempt her; they wanted as firm a hold on the school property aspossible. And yet, why should she hesitate? It was a risk, but thereturns would be enormous--she must do it. Besides, there was theendowment; it was certain; yes--she felt forced to close the bargain. 

"Very well, " she declared her decision, and they handed her thepreliminary papers. She took the pen and glanced at Mr. Cresswell; hewas smiling slightly, but nevertheless she signed her name grimly, in alarge round hand, "Sarah Smith. "

_Thirteen_

MRS. GREY GIVES A DINNER

The Hon. Charles Smith, Miss Sarah's brother, was walking swiftly uptownfrom Mr. Easterly's Wall Street office and his face was pale. At lastthe Cotton Combine was to all appearances an assured fact and he wasslated for the Senate. The price he had paid was high: he was torepresent the interests of the new trust and sundry favorable measureswere already drafted and reposing in the safe of the combine's legaldepartment. Among others was one relating to child labor, another thatwould effect certain changes in the tariff, and a proposed law providingfor a cotton bale of a shape and dimensions different from thecustomary--the last constituting a particularly clever artifice which, under the guise of convenience in handling, would necessitate theinstallation of entirely new gin and compress machinery, to be supplied, of course, by the trust. 

As Mr. Smith drew near Mrs. Grey's Murray Hill residence his face hadmelted to a cynical smile. After all why should he care? He had triedindependence and philanthropy and failed. Why should he not be as othermen? He had seen many others that very day swallow the golden bait andpromise everything. They were gentlemen. Why should he pose as betterthan his fellows? There was young Cresswell. Did his aristocratic airprevent his succumbing to the lure of millions and promising theinfluence of his father and the whole Farmer's League to the newproject? Mr. Smith snapped his fingers and rang the bell. The dooropened softly. The dark woodwork of the old English wainscoting glowedwith the crimson flaming of logs in the wide fireplace. There was justthe touch of early autumn chill in the air without, that made both thefire and the table with its soft linen, gold and silver plate, andtwinkling glasses a warming, satisfying sight. 

Mrs. Grey was a portly woman, inclined to think much of her dinner andher clothes, both of which were always rich and costly. She was notherself a notably intelligent woman; she greatly admired intelligence orwhatever looked to her like intelligence in others. Her money, too, wasto her an ever worrying mystery and surprise, which she found herselfalways scheming to husband shrewdly and spend philanthropically--adifficult combination. 

As she awaited her guests she surveyed the table with both satisfactionand disquietude, for her social functions were few, tonight therewere--she checked them off on her fingers--Sir James Creighton, the richEnglish manufacturer, and Lady Creighton, Mr. And Mrs. Vanderpool, Mr. Harry Cresswell and his sister, John Taylor and his sister, and Mr. Charles Smith, whom the evening papers mentioned as likely to be UnitedStates Senator from New Jersey--a selection of guests that had beendetermined, unknown to the hostess, by the meeting of cotton interestsearlier in the day. 

Mrs. Grey's chef was high-priced and efficient, and her butler was theenvy of many; consequently, she knew the dinner would be good. To herintense satisfaction, it was far more than this. It was a most agreeablecouple of hours; all save perhaps Mr. Smith unbent, the Englishmanespecially, and the Vanderpools were most gracious; but if the generalpleasure was owing to any one person particularly it was to Mr. HarryCresswell. Mrs. Grey had met Southerners before, but not intimately, andshe always had in mind vividly their cruelty to "poor Negroes, " asubject she made a point of introducing forthwith. She was thereforemost agreeably surprised to hear Mr. Cresswell express himself socordially as approving of Negro education. 

"Why, I thought, " said Mrs. Grey, "that you Southerners ratherdisapproved--or at least--"

Mr. Cresswell inclined his head courteously. 

"We Southerners, my dear Mrs. Grey, are responsible for a variety ofreputations. " And he told an anecdote that set the table laughing. "Seriously, though, " he continued, "we are not as black as the blackspaint us, although on the whole I _prefer_ that Helen should marry--awhite man. "

They all glanced at Miss Cresswell, who lay softly back in her chairlike a white lily, gleaming and bejewelled, her pale face flushing underthe scrutiny; Mrs. Grey was horrified. 

"Why--why the idea!" she sputtered. "Why, Mr. Cresswell, how can youconceive of anything else--no Northerner dreams--"

Mr. Cresswell sipped his wine slowly. 

"No--no--I do not think you do _mean_ that--" He paused and theEnglishman bent forward. 

"Really, now, you do not mean to say that there is a danger of--ofamalgamation, do you?" he sang. 

Mr. Cresswell explained. No, of course there was no immediate danger;but when people were suddenly thrust beyond their natural station, filled with wild ideas and impossible ambitions, it meant terribledanger to Southern white women. 

"But you believe in some education?" asked Mary Taylor. 

"I believe in the training of people to their highest capacity. " TheEnglishman here heartily seconded him. 

"But, " Cresswell added significantly, "capacity differs enormouslybetween races. "

The Vanderpools were sure of this and the Englishman, instancing India, became quite eloquent. Mrs. Grey was mystified, but hardly dared admitit. The general trend of the conversation seemed to be that mostindividuals needed to be submitted to the sharpest scrutiny before beingallowed much education, and as for the "lower races" it was simplycriminal to open such useless opportunities to them. 

"Why, I had a colored servant-girl once, " laughed Mrs. Vanderpool by wayof climax, "who spent half her wages in piano lessons. "

Then Mary Taylor, whose conscience was uncomfortable, said:

"But, Mr. Cresswell, you surely believe in schools like Miss Smith's?"

"Decidedly, " returned Mr. Cresswell, with enthusiasm, "it has done greatgood. "

Mrs. Grey was gratified and murmured something of Miss Smith's"sacrifice. "

"Positively heroic, " added Cresswell, avoiding his sister's eyes. 

"Of course, " Mary Taylor hastened to encourage this turn of theconversation, "there are many points on which Miss Smith and I disagree, but I think everybody admires her work. "

Mrs. Grey wanted particulars. "What did you disagree about?" she askedbluntly. 

"I may be responsible for some of the disagreement, " interrupted Mr. Cresswell, hesitatingly; "I'm afraid Miss Smith does not approve of uswhite Southerners. "

"But you mean to say you can't even advise her?"

"Oh, no; we can. But--we're not--er--exactly welcomed. In fact, " saidCresswell gravely, "the chief criticism I have against your Northerners'schools for Negroes is, that they not only fail to enlist the sympathyand aid of the _best_ Southerners, but even repel it. "

"That is very wrong--very wrong, " commented the Englishman warmly, asentiment in which Mrs. Grey hastened to agree. 

"Of course, " continued Cresswell, "I am free to confess that I have nopersonal desire to dabble in philanthropy, or conduct schools of anykind; my hands are full of other matters. "

"But it's precisely the advice of such disinterested men thatphilanthropic work needs, " Mr. Vanderpool urged. 

"Well, I volunteered advice once in this case and I sha'n't repeat theexperiment soon, " said Cresswell laughing. Mrs. Grey wanted to hear theincident, but the young man was politely reluctant. Mary Taylor, however, related the tale of Zora to Mrs. Grey's private ear later. 

"Fortunately, " said Mr. Vanderpool, "Northerners and Southerners arearriving at a better mutual understanding on most of these matters. "

"Yes, indeed, " Cresswell agreed. "After all, they never were far apart, even in slavery days; both sides were honest and sincere. "

All through the dinner Mr. Smith had been preoccupied and taciturn. Nowhe abruptly shot a glance at Cresswell. 

"I suppose that one was right and one was wrong. "

"No, " said Cresswell, "both were right. "

"I thought the only excuse for fighting was a great Right; if Right ison neither side or simultaneously on both, then War is not only Hell butDamnation. "

Mrs. Grey looked shocked and Mrs. Vanderpool smiled. 

"How about fighting for exercise?" she suggested. 

"At any rate, " said Cresswell, "we can all agree on helping these poorvictims of our quarrel as far as their limited capacity will allow--andno farther, for that is impossible. "

Very soon after dinner Charles Smith excused himself. He was not yetinured to the ways of high finance, and the programme of the cottonbarons, as unfolded that day, lay heavy on his mind, despite all hisphilosophy. 

"I have had a--full day, " he explained to Mrs. Grey. 

_Fourteen_

LOVE

The rain was sweeping down in great thick winding sheets. The windscreamed in the ancient Cresswell oaks and swirled across the swamp inloud, wild gusts. The waters roared and gurgled in the streams, andalong the roadside. Then, when the wind fell murmuring away, the cloudsgrew blacker and blacker and rain in long slim columns fell straightfrom Heaven to earth digging itself into the land and throwing back thered mud in angry flashes. 

So it rained for one long week, and so for seven endless days Bleswatched it with leaden heart. He knew the Silver Fleece--his andZora's--must be ruined. It was the first great sorrow of his life; itwas not so much the loss of the cotton itself--but the fantasy, thehopes, the dreams built around it. If it failed, would not they fail?Was not this angry beating rain, this dull spiritless drizzle, this wildwar of air and earth, but foretaste and prophecy of ruin anddiscouragement, of the utter futility of striving? But if his owndespair was great his pain at the plight of Zora made it almostunbearable. He did not see her in these seven days. He pictured herhuddled there in the swamp in the cheerless leaky cabin with worse thanno companions. Ah! the swamp, the cruel swamp! It was a fearful place inthe rain. Its oozing mud and fetid vapors, its clinging slimydraperies, --how they twined about the bones of its victims and chilledtheir hearts. Yet here his Zora, --his poor disappointed child--wasimprisoned. 

Child? He had always called her child--but now in the inwardillumination of these dark days he knew her as neither child nor sisternor friend, but as the One Woman. The revelation of his love lighted andbrightened slowly till it flamed like a sunrise over him and left him inburning wonder. He panted to know if she, too, knew, or knew and carednot, or cared and knew not. She was so strange and human a creature. Toher all things meant something--nothing was aimless, nothing merelyhappened. Was this rain beating down and back her love for him, or hadshe never loved? He walked his room, gripping his hands, peering throughthe misty windows toward the swamp--rain, rain, rain, nothing but rain. The world was water veiled in mists. 

Then of a sudden, at midday, the sun shot out, hot and still; no breathof air stirred; the sky was like blue steel; the earth steamed. Blesrushed to the edge of the swamp and stood there irresolute. Perhaps--ifthe water had but drained from the cotton!--it was so strong and tall!But, pshaw! Where was the use of imagining? The lagoon had been levelwith the dykes a week ago; and now? He could almost see the beautifulSilver Fleece, bedraggled, drowned, and rolling beneath the black lakeof slime. He went back to his work, but early in the morning the thoughtof it lured him again. He must at least see the grave of his hope andZora's, and out of it resurrect new love and strength. 

Perhaps she, too, might be there, waiting, weeping. He started at thethought. He hurried forth sadly. The rain-drops were still dripping andgleaming from the trees, flashing back the heavy yellow sunlight. Hesplashed and stamped along, farther and farther onward until he nearedthe rampart of the clearing, and put foot upon the tree-bridge. Then helooked down. The lagoon was dry. He stood a moment bewildered, thenturned and rushed upon the island. A great sheet of dazzling sunlightswept the place, and beneath lay a mighty mass of olive green, thick, tall, wet, and willowy. The squares of cotton, sharp-edged, heavy, werejust about to burst to bolls! And underneath, the land lay carefullydrained and black! For one long moment he paused, stupid, agape withutter amazement, then leaned dizzily against a tree. 

The swamp, the eternal swamp, had been drained in its deepest fastness;but, how?--how? He gazed about, perplexed, astonished. What a field ofcotton! what a marvellous field! But how had it been saved?

He skirted the island slowly, stopping near Zora's oak. Here lay thereading of the riddle: with infinite work and pain, some one had dug acanal from the lagoon to the creek, into which the former had drained bya long and crooked way, thus allowing it to empty directly. The canalwent straight, a hundred yards through stubborn soil, and it was oozingnow with slimy waters. 

He sat down weak, bewildered, and one thought was uppermost--Zora! Andwith the thought came a low moan of pain. He wheeled and leapt towardthe dripping shelter in the tree. There she lay--wet, bedraggled, motionless, gray-pallid beneath her dark-drawn skin, her burning eyessearching restlessly for some lost thing, her lips a-moaning. 

In dumb despair he dropped beside her and gathered her in his arms. Theearth staggered beneath him as he stumbled on; the mud splashed andsunlight glistened; he saw long snakes slithering across his path andfear-struck beasts fleeing before his coming. He paused for neither pathnor way but went straight for the school, running in mighty strides, yetgently, listening to the moans that struck death upon his heart. Once hefell headlong, but with a great wrench held her from harm, and mindednot the pain that shot through his ribs. The yellow sunshine beatfiercely around and upon him, as he stumbled into the highway, lurchedacross the mud-strewn road, and panted up the porch. 

"Miss Smith--!" he gasped, and then--darkness. 

The years of the days of her dying were ten. The boy that entered thedarkness and the shadow of death emerged a man, a silent man and grave, working furiously and haunting, day and night, the little window abovethe door. At last, of one gray morning when the earth was stillest, theycame and told him, "She will live!" And he went out under the stars, lifted his long arms and sobbed: "Curse me, O God, if I let me lose heragain!" And God remembered this in after years. 

The hope and dream of harvest was upon the land. The cotton crop wasshort and poor because of the great rain; but the sun had saved thebest, and the price had soared. So the world was happy, and the face ofthe black-belt green and luxuriant with thickening flecks of the comingfoam of the cotton. 

Up in the sick room Zora lay on the little white bed. The net and web ofendless things had been crawling and creeping around her; she hadstruggled in dumb, speechless terror against some mighty grasping thatstrove for her life, with gnarled and creeping fingers; but now at last, weakly, she opened her eyes and questioned. 

Bles, where was he? The Silver Fleece, how was it? The Sun, the Swamp?Then finding all well, she closed her eyes and slept. After some daysthey let her sit by the window, and she saw Bles pass, but drew backtimidly when he looked; and he saw only the flutter of her gown, andwaved. 

At last there came a day when they let her walk down to the porch, andshe felt the flickering of her strength again. Yet she looked different;her buxom comeliness was spiritualized; her face looked smaller, and hermasses of hair, brought low about her ears, heightened her ghostlybeauty; her skin was darkly transparent, and her eyes looked out fromvelvet veils of gloom. For a while she lay in her chair, in happy, dreamy pleasure at sun and bird and tree. Bles did not know yet that shewas down; but soon he would come searching, for he came each hour, andshe pressed her little hands against her breast to still the beating ofher heart and the bursting wonder of her love. 

Then suddenly a panic seized her. He must not find her here--not here;there was but one place in all the earth for them to meet, and that wasyonder in the Silver Fleece. She rose with a fleeting glance, gatheredthe shawl round her, then gliding forward, wavering, tremulous, slippedacross the road and into the swamp. The dark mystery of the Swamp sweptover her; the place was hers. She had been born within its borders;within its borders she had lived and grown, and within its borders shehad met her love. On she hurried until, sweeping down to the lagoon andthe island, lo! the cotton lay before her! A great white foam was spreadupon its brown and green; the whole field was waving and shivering inthe sunlight. A low cry of pleasure burst from her lips; she forgot herweakness, and picking her way across the bridge, stood still amid thecotton that nestled about her shoulders, clasping it lovingly in herhands. 

He heard that she was down-stairs and ran to meet her with beatingheart. The chair was empty; but he knew. There was but one place thenfor these two souls to meet. Yet it was far, and he feared, and ran withstartled eyes. 

She stood on the island, ethereal, splendid, like some tall, dark, andgorgeous flower of the storied East. The green and white of the cottonbillowed and foamed about her breasts; the red scarf burned upon herneck; the dark brown velvet of her skin pulsed warm and tremulous withthe uprushing blood, and in the midnight depths of her great eyes flamedthe mighty fires of long-concealed and new-born love. 

He darted through the trees and paused, a tall man strongly but slimlymade. He threw up his hands in the old way and hallooed; happily shecrooned back a low mother-melody, and waited. He came down to herslowly, with fixed, hungry eyes, threading his way amid the Fleece. Shedid not move, but lifted both her dark hands, white with cotton; andthen, as he came, casting it suddenly to the winds, in tears andlaughter she swayed and dropped quivering in his arms. And all the worldwas sunshine and peace. 

_Fifteen_

REVELATION

Harry Cresswell was scowling over his breakfast. It was not because hisapartment in the New York hotel was not satisfactory, or his breakfastunpalatable; possibly a rather bewildering night in Broadway wasexpressing its influence; but he was satisfied that his ill-temper wasdue to a paragraph in the morning paper:

"It is stated on good authority that the widow of the latemultimillionaire, Job Grey, will announce a large and carefully plannedscheme of Negro education in the South, and will richly endow schools inSouth Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana, and Texas. "

Cresswell finally thrust his food away. He knew that Mrs. Grey helpedMiss Smith's school, and supposed she would continue to do so; with thatin mind he had striven to impress her, hoping that she might trust hisjudgment in later years. He had no idea, however, that she meant toendow the school, or entertained wholesale plans for Negro education. The knowledge made him suspicious. Why had neither Mary nor John Taylormentioned this? Was there, after all, some "nigger-loving" conspiracyback of the cotton combine? He took his hat and started down-town. 

Once in John Taylor's Broadway office, he opened the subjectabruptly--the more so perhaps because he felt a resentment againstTaylor for certain unnamed or partially voiced assumptions. Here was aplace, however, for speech, and he spoke almost roughly. 

"Taylor, what does this mean?" He thrust the clipping at him. 

"Mean? That Mrs. Grey is going to get rid of some of her surpluscash--is going to endow some nigger schools, " Taylor drily retorted. 

"It must be stopped, " declared Cresswell. 

The other's brows drew up. 

"Why?" in a surprised tone. 

"Why? Why? Do you think the plantation system can be maintained withoutlaborers? Do you think there's the slightest chance of cornering cottonand buying the Black Belt if the niggers are unwilling to work underpresent conditions? Do you know the man that stands ready to gobble upevery inch of cotton land in this country at a price which no trust canhope to rival?"

John Taylor's interest quickened. 

"Why, no, " he returned sharply. "Who?"

"The Black Man, whose woolly head is filled with ideas of rising. We'restriving by main force to prevent this, and here come your damnedNorthern philanthropists to plant schools. Why, Taylor, it'll knock thecotton trust to hell. "

"Don't get excited, " said Taylor, judicially. "We've got things in ourhands; it's the Grey money, you know, that is back of us. "

"That's just what confounds me, " declared the perplexed young man. "Areyou men fools, or rascals? Don't you see the two schemes can't mix?They're dead opposite, mutually contradictory, absolutely--" Taylorchecked him; it was odd to behold Harry Cresswell so disturbed. 

"Well, wait a moment. Let's see. Sit down. Wish I had a cigar for you, but I don't smoke. "

"Do you happen to have any whiskey handy?"

"No, I don't drink. "

"Well, what the devil--Oh, well, fire away. "

"Now, see here. We control the Grey millions. Of course, we've got tolet her play with her income, and that's considerable. Her favorite gamejust now is Negro education, and she's planning to go in heavy. Heradviser in this line, however, is Smith, and he belongs to us. "

"What Smith?"

"Why, the man who's going to be Senator from New Jersey. He has a sisterteaching in the South--you know, of course; it's at your home where mysister Mary taught. "

"Great Scott! Is that woman's brother going to spend this money? Why, are you daft? See here! American cotton-spinning supremacy is built oncheap cotton; cheap cotton is built on cheap niggers. Educating, orrather _trying_ to educate niggers, will make them restless anddiscontented--that is, scarce and dear as workers. Don't you see you'replanning to cut off your noses? This Smith School, particularly, hasnearly ruined our plantation. It's stuck almost in our front yard; _you_are planning to put our plough-hands all to studying Greek, and at thesame time to corner the cotton crop--rot!"

John Taylor caressed his lean jaw. 

"New point of view to me; I sort of thought education would improvethings in the South, " he commented, unmoved. 

"It would if we ran it. "

"We?"

"Yes--we Southerners. "

"Um!--I see--there's light. See here, let's talk to Easterly aboutthis. " They went into the next office, and after a while got audiencewith the trust magnate. Mr. Easterly heard the matter carefully andwaved it aside. 

"Oh, that doesn't concern us, Taylor; let Cresswell take care of thewhole thing. We'll see that Smith does what Cresswell wants. "

But Taylor shook his head. 

"Smith would kick. Mrs. Grey would get suspicious, and the devil be topay. This is better. Form a big committee of Northern business men likeyourself--philanthropists like Vanderpool, and Southerners likeCresswell; let them be a sort of Negro Education steering-committee. We'll see that on such committee you Southerners get what youwant--control of Negro education. "

"That sounds fair. But how about the Smith School? My father writes methat they are showing signs of expecting money right off--is that true?If it is, I want it stopped; it will ruin our campaign for the Farmers'League. "

John Taylor looked at Cresswell. He thought he saw something more thangeneral policy, or even racial prejudice--something personal--in hisvehemence. The Smith School was evidently a severe thorn in the flesh ofthis man. All the more reason for mollifying him. Then, too, there wassomething in his argument. It was not wise to start educating theseNegroes and getting them discontented just now. Ignorant labor was notideal, but it was worth too much to employers to lose it now. EducatedNegro labor might be worth more to Negroes, but not to the cottoncombine. "H'm--well, then--" and John Taylor went into a brown study, while Cresswell puffed impatiently at a cigarette. 

"I have it, " said Taylor. Cresswell sat up. "First, let Mr. Easterly getSmith. " Easterly turned to the telephone. 

"Is that you, Smith?"

"Well, this is Easterly. . . . Yes--how about Mrs. Grey's educationschemes?. . . Yes. . . . H'm--well, --see here Smith, we must go a little easythere. . . . Oh, no, no, --but to advertise just now a big scheme of NegroEducation would drive the Cresswells, the Farmers' League, and the wholebusiness South dead against us. . . . Yes, yes indeed; they believe ineducation all right, but they ain't in for training lawyers andprofessors just yet. . . . No, I don't suppose her school is. . . . Well, then; see here. She'll be reasonable, won't she, and placate theCresswells?. . . No, I mean run the school to suit their ideas. . . . No, no, but in general along the lines which they could approve. . . . Yes, Ithought so . . . Of course . . . Good-bye. "

"Inclined to be a little nasty?" asked Taylor. 

"A little sharp--but tractable. Now, Mr. Cresswell, the thing is in yourhands. We'll get this committee which Taylor suggests appointed, andsend it on a junket to Alabama; you do the rest--see?"

"Who'll be the committee?" asked Cresswell. 

"Name it. "

Mr. Cresswell smiled and left. 

The winter started in severely, and it was easy to fill two private carswith members of the new Negro Education Board right after Thanksgiving. Cresswell had worked carefully and with caution. There was Mrs. Grey, comfortable and beaming, Mr. Easterly, who thought this a good businessopportunity, and his family. Mrs. Vanderpool liked the South and wasamused at the trip, and had induced Mr. Vanderpool to come by stories ofshooting. 

"Ah!" said Mr. Vanderpool. 

Mr. Charles Smith and John Taylor were both too busy to go, butbronchial trouble induced the Rev. Dr. Boldish of St. Faith's richparish to be one of the party, and at the last moment Temple Bocombe, the sociologist, consented to join. 

"Awfully busy, " he said, "but I've been reading up on the Negro problemsince you mentioned the matter to me last week, Mr. Cresswell, and Ithink I understand it thoroughly. I may be able to help out. "

The necessary spice of young womanhood was added to the party by MissTaylor and Miss Cresswell, together with the silent Miss Boldish. Theywere a comfortable and sometimes merry party. Dr. Boldish pointed outthe loafers at the stations, especially the black ones; Mr. Bocombecounted them and estimated the number of hours of work lost at ten centsan hour. 

"Do they get that--ten cents an hour?" asked Miss Taylor. 

"Oh, I don't know, " replied Mr. Bocombe; "but suppose they do, forinstance. That is an average wage today. "

"They look lazy, " said Mrs. Grey. 

"They are lazy, " said Mr. Cresswell. 

"So am I, " added Mrs. Vanderpool, suppressing a yawn. 

"It is uninteresting, " murmured her husband, preparing for a nap. 

On the whole the members of the party enjoyed themselves from the momentthey drew out of Jersey City to the afternoon when, in four carriages, they rolled beneath the curious eyes of all Toomsville and swept underthe shadowed rampart of the swamp. 

"The Christmas" was coming and all the Southern world was busy. Fewpeople were busier than Bles and Zora. Slowly, wonderfully for them, heaven bent in these dying days of the year and kissed the earth, andthe tremor thrilled all lands and seas. Everything was good, all thingswere happy, and these two were happiest of all. Out of the shadows andhesitations of childhood they had stepped suddenly into manhood andwomanhood, with firm feet and uplifted heads. All the day that wastheirs they worked, picking the Silver Fleece--picking it tenderly andlovingly from off the brown and spent bodies which had so utterlyyielded life and beauty to the full fruition of this long and silkentendril, this white beauty of the cotton. November came and flew, andstill the unexhausted field yielded its frothing fruit. 

Today seemed doubly glorious, for Bles had spoken of their marriage;with twined hands and arms, and lips ever and again seeking their mates, they walked the leafy way. 

Unconscious, rapt, they stepped out into the Big Road skirting the edgeof the swamp. Why not? Was it not the King's Highway? And Love was King. So they talked on, unknowing that far up the road the Cresswell coacheswere wheeling along with precious burdens. In the first carriage wereMrs. Grey and Mrs. Vanderpool, Mr. Cresswell and Miss Taylor. Mrs. Vanderpool was lolling luxuriously, but Mrs. Grey was a little stifffrom long travel and sat upright. Mr. Cresswell looked clean-cut andhandsome, and Miss Taylor seemed complacent and responsible. The dyingof the day soothed them all insensibly. Groups of dark little childrenpassed them as they neared the school, staring with wide eyes andgreeting timidly. 

"There seems to be marrying and giving in marriage, " laughed Mrs. Vanderpool. 

"Not very much, " said Mr. Cresswell drily. 

"Well, at least plenty of children. "

"Plenty. "

"But where are the houses?" asked Mrs. Grey. 

"Perhaps in the swamp, " said Mrs. Vanderpool lightly, looking up at thesombre trees that lined the left. 

"They live where they please and do as they please, " Cresswellexplained; to which Mrs. Vanderpool added: "Like other animals. "

Mary Taylor opened her lips to rebuke this levity when suddenly thecoachman called out and the horses swerved, and the carriage's fouroccupants faced a young man and a young woman embracing heartily. 

Out through the wood Bles and Zora had come to the broad red road;playfully he celebrated all her beauty unconscious of time and place. 

"You are tall and bend like grasses on the swamp, " he said. 

"And yet look up to you, " she murmured. 

"Your eyes are darkness dressed in night. "

"To see you brighter, dear, " she said. 

"Your little hands are much too frail for work. "

"They must grow larger, then, and soon. "

"Your feet are far too small to travel on. "

"They'll travel on to you--that's far enough. "

"Your lips--your full and purple lips--were made alone for kissing, notfor words. "

"They'll do for both. "

He laughed in utter joy and touched her hair with light caressing hands. 

"It does not fly with sunlight, " she said quickly, with an upwardglance. 

"No, " he answered. "It sits and listens to the night. "

But even as she nestled to him happily there came the harsh thunder ofhorses' hoofs, beating on their ears. He drew her quickly to him infear, and the coach lurched and turned, and left them facing four pairsof eyes. Miss Taylor reddened; Mrs. Grey looked surprised; Mrs. Vanderpool smiled; but Mr. Cresswell darkened with anger. The coupleunclasped shamefacedly, and the young man, lifting his hat, started tostammer an apology; but Cresswell interrupted him:

"Keep your--your philandering to the woods, or I shall have youarrested, " he said slowly, his face colorless, his lips twitching withanger. "Drive on, John. "

Miss Taylor felt that her worst suspicions had been confirmed; but Mrs. Vanderpool was curious as to the cause of Cresswell's anger. It was sogenuine that it needed explanation. 

"Are kisses illegal here?" she asked before the horses started, turningthe battery of her eyes full upon him. But Cresswell had himself well inhand. 

"No, " he said. "But the girl is--notorious. "

On the lovers the words fell like a blow. Zora shivered, and a grayishhorror mottled the dark burning of her face. Bles started in anger, thenpaused in shivering doubt. What had happened? They knew not; yetinvoluntarily their hands fell apart; they avoided each other's eyes. 

"I--I must go now, " gasped Zora, as the carriage swept away. 

He did not hold her, he did not offer the farewell kiss, but stoodstaring at the road as she walked into the swamp. A moment she pausedand looked back; then slowly, almost painfully, she took the path backto the field of the Fleece, and reaching it after long, long minutes, began mechanically to pick the cotton. But the cotton glowed crimson inthe failing sun. 

Bles walked toward the school. What had happened? he kept asking. Andyet he dared not question the awful shape that sat somewhere, cold andstill, behind his soul. He heard the hoofs of horses again. It was MissTaylor being brought back to the school to greet Miss Smith and breakthe news of the coming of the party. He raised his hat. She did notreturn the greeting, but he found her pausing at the gate. It seemed toher too awful for this foolish fellow thus to throw himself away. Shefaced him and he flinched as from some descending blow. 

"Bles, " she said primly, "have you absolutely no shame?"

He braced himself and raised his head proudly. 

"I am going to marry her; it is no crime. " Then he noted the expressionon her face, and paused. 

She stepped back, scandalized. 

"Can it be, Bles Alwyn, " she said, "that you don't know the sort of girlshe is?"

He raised his hands and warded off her words, dumbly, as she turned togo, almost frightened at the havoc she saw. The heavens flamed scarletin his eyes and he screamed. 

"It's a lie! It's a damned lie!" He wheeled about and tore into theswamp. 

"It's a damned lie!" he shouted to the trees. "Is it?--is it?" chirpedthe birds. "It's a cruel falsehood!" he moaned. "Is it?--is it?"whispered the devils within. 

It seemed to him as though suddenly the world was staggering andfaltering about him. The trees bent curiously and strange breathingswere upon the breezes. He unbuttoned his collar that he might get moreair. A thousand things he had forgotten surged suddenly to life. Slowerand slower he ran, more and more the thoughts crowded his head. Hethought of that first red night and the yelling and singing and wilddancing; he thought of Cresswell's bitter words; he thought of Zoratelling how she stayed out nights; he thought of the little bower thathe had built her in the cotton field. A wild fear struggled with hisanger, but he kept repeating, "No, no, " and then, "At any rate, she willtell me the truth. " She had never lied to him; she would not dare; heclenched his hands, murder in his heart. 

Slowly and more slowly he ran. He knew where she was--where she must be, waiting. And yet as he drew near huge hands held him back, and heavyweights clogged his feet. His heart said: "On! quick! She will tell thetruth, and all will be well. " His mind said: "Slow, slow; this is theend. " He hurled the thought aside, and crashed through the barrier. 

She was standing still and listening, with a huge basket of the piledfroth of the field upon her head. One long brown arm, tender withcurvings, balanced the cotton; the other, poised, balanced the slimswaying body. Bending she listened, her eyes shining, her lips apart, her bosom fluttering at the well-known step. 

He burst into her view with the fury of a beast, rending the wood awayand trampling the underbrush, reeling and muttering until he saw her. She looked at him. Her hands dropped, she stood very still with drawnface, grayish-brown, both hands unconsciously out-stretched, and thecotton swaying, while deep down in her eyes, dimly, slowly, a horror litand grew. He paused a moment, then came slowly onward doggedly, drunkenly, with torn clothes, flying collar, and red eyes. Then hepaused again, still beyond arm's-length, looking at her with fear-struckeyes. The cotton on her head shivered and dropped in a pure mass ofwhite and silvery snow about her limbs. Her hands fell limply and thehorror flamed in her wet eyes. He struggled with his voice but it gratedand came hoarse and hard from his quivering throat. 

"Zora!"

"Yes, Bles. "

"You--you told me--you were--pure. "

She was silent, but her body went all a-tremble. He stepped forwarduntil she could almost touch him; there standing straight and tall heglared down upon her. 

"Answer me, " he whispered in a voice hard with its tight held sobs. Amisery darkened her face and the light died from her eyes, yet shelooked at him bravely and her voice came low and full as from afar. 

"I asked you what it meant to be pure, Bles, and--and you told--and Itold you the truth. "

"What it meant!--what it meant!" he repeated in the low, tense anguish. 

"But--but, Bles--" She faltered; there came an awful pleading in hereyes; her hand groped toward him; but he stepped slowly back--"But, Bles--you said--willingly--you said--if--if she knew--"

He thundered back in livid anger:

"Knew! All women know! You should have _died_!"

Sobs were rising and shaking her from head to foot, but she drove themback and gripped her breasts with her hands. 

"No, Bles--no--all girls do not know. I was a child. Not since I knewyou, Bles--never, never since I saw you. "

"Since--since, " he groaned--"Christ! But before?"

"Yes, before. "

"My God!"

She knew the end had come. Yet she babbled on tremblingly:

"He was our master, and all the other girls that gathered there did hiswill; I--I--" she choked and faltered, and he drew farther away--"Ibegan running away, and they hunted me through the swamps. Andthen--then I reckon I'd have gone back and been--as they all are--butyou came, Bles--you came, and you--you were a new great thing in mylife, and--and--yet, I was afraid I was not worthy until you--you saidthe words. I thought you knew, and I thought that--that purity was justwanting to be pure. "

He ground his teeth in fury. Oh, he was an innocent--a blind baby--thejoke and laughing-stock of the country around, with yokels grinning athim and pale-faced devils laughing aloud. The teachers knew; the girlsknew; God knew; everybody but he knew--poor blind, deaf mole, stupidjackass that he was. He must run--run away from this world, and far offin some free land beat back this pain. 

Then in sheer weariness the anger died within his soul, leaving butashes and despair. Slowly he turned away, but with a quick motion shestood in his path. 

"Bles, " she cried, "how can I grow pure?"

He looked at her listlessly. 

"Never--never again, " he slowly answered her. 

Dark fear swept her drawn face. 

"Never?" she gasped. 

Pity surged and fought in his breast; but one thought held and burnedhim. He bent to her fiercely:

"Who?" he demanded. 

She pointed toward the Cresswell Oaks, and he turned away. She did notattempt to stop him again, but dropped her hands and stared drearily upinto the clear sky with its shining worlds. 

"Good-bye, Bles, " she said slowly. "I thank God he gave you to me--justa little time. " She hesitated and waited. There came no word as the manmoved slowly away. She stood motionless. Then slowly he turned and cameback. He laid his hand a moment, lightly, upon her head. 

"Good-bye--Zora, " he sobbed, and was gone. 

She did not look up, but knelt there silent, dry-eyed, till the lastrustle of his going died in the night. And then, like a waiting storm, the torrent of her grief swept down upon her; she stretched herself uponthe black and fleece-strewn earth, and writhed. 

_Sixteen_

THE GREAT REFUSAL

All night Miss Smith lay holding the quivering form of Zora close to herbreast, staring wide-eyed into the darkness--thinking, thinking. In themorning the party would come. There would be Mrs. Grey and Mary Taylor, Mrs. Vanderpool, who had left her so coldly in the lurch before, andsome of the Cresswells. They would come well fed and impressed with thecharming hospitality of their hosts, and rather more than willing to seethrough those host's eyes. They would be in a hurry to return to somesocial function, and would give her work but casual attention. 

It seemed so dark an ending to so bright a dream. Never for her had afall opened as gloriously. The love of this boy and girl, blossoming asit had beneath her tender care, had been a sacred, wonderful historythat revived within her memories of long-forgotten days. But above laythe vision of her school, redeemed and enlarged, its future safe, itsusefulness broadened--small wonder that to Sarah Smith the future hadseemed in November almost golden. 

Then things began to go wrong. The transfer of the Tolliver land had notyet been effected; the money was ready, but Mr. Tolliver seemed busy orhesitating. Next came this news of Mrs. Grey's probable conditions. Sohere it was Christmas time, and Sarah Smith's castles lay almost inruins about her. 

The girl moaned in her fitful sleep and Miss Smith soothed her. Poorchild! here too was work--a strange strong soul cruelly stricken in heryouth. Could she be brought back to a useful life? How she needed such astrong, clear-eyed helper in this crisis of her work! Would Zora makeone or would this blow send her to perdition? Not if Sarah Smith couldsave her, she resolved, and stared out the window where the pale reddawn was sending its first rays on the white-pillared mansion of theCresswells. 

Mrs. Grey saw the light on the columns, too, as she lay lazily in hersoft white bed. There was a certain delicious languor in the latelingering fall of Alabama that suited her perfectly. Then, too, sheliked the house and its appointments; there was not, to be sure, all theluxury that she was used to in her New York mansion, but there was acertain finish about it, an elegance and staid old-fashioned hospitalitythat appealed to her tremendously. Mrs. Grey's heart warmed to the sightof Helen in her moments of spasmodic caring for the sick and afflictedon the estate. No better guardian of her philanthropies could be foundthan these same Cresswells. She must, of course, go over and see dearSarah Smith; but really there was not much to say or to look at. 

The prospects seemed most alluring. Later, Mr. Easterly talked a whileon routine business, saying, as he turned away:

"I am more and more impressed, Mrs. Grey, with your wisdom in placinglarge investments in the South. With peaceful social conditions thereturns will be large. "

Mrs. Grey heard this delicate flattery complacently. She had her streakof thrift, and wanted her business capacity recognized. She listenedattentively. 

"For this reason, I trust you will handle your Negro philanthropiesjudicially, as I know you will. There's dynamite in this race problemfor amateur reformers, but fortunately you have at hand wise andsympathetic advisers in the Cresswells. "

Mrs. Grey agreed entirely. 

Mary Taylor, alone of the committee, took her commission so seriously asto be anxious to begin work. 

"We are to visit the school this morning, you know, " she reminded theothers, looking at her watch; "I'm afraid we're late already. "

The remark created mild consternation. It seemed that Mr. Vanderpool hadgone hunting and his wife had not yet arisen. Dr. Boldish was veryhoarse, Mr. Easterly was going to look over some plantations withColonel Cresswell, and Mr. Bocombe was engrossed in a novel. 

"Clever, but not true to life, " he said. 

Finally the clergyman and Mr. Bocombe, Mrs. Grey and Mrs. Vanderpool andMiss Taylor started for the school, with Harry Cresswell, about an hourafter lunch. The delay and suppressed excitement among the little folkshad upset things considerably there, but at the sight of the visitors atthe gate Miss Smith rang the bell. 

The party came in, laughing and chatting. They greeted Miss Smithcordially. Dr. Boldish was beginning to tell a good story when a silencefell. 

The children had gathered, quietly, almost timidly, and before thedistinguished company realized it, they turned to meet that battery offour hundred eyes. A human eye is a wonderful thing when it simply waitsand watches. Not one of these little things alone would have been worthmore than a glance, but together, they became mighty, portentous. Mr. Bocombe got out his note-book and wrote furiously therein. Dr. Boldish, naturally the appointed spokesman, looked helplessly about and whisperedto Mrs. Vanderpool:

"What on earth shall I talk about?"

"The brotherhood of man?" suggested the lady. 

"Hardly advisable, " returned Dr. Boldish, seriously, "in our friend'spresence, "--with a glance toward Cresswell. Then he arose. 

"My friends, " he said, touching his finger-tips and using blank verse inA minor. "This is an auspicious day. You should be thankful for thegifts of the Lord. His bounty surrounds you--the trees, the fields, theglorious sun. He gives cotton to clothe you, corn to eat, devotedfriends to teach you. Be joyful. Be good. Above all, be thrifty and saveyour money, and do not complain and whine at your apparentdisadvantages. Remember that God did not create men equal but unequal, and set metes and bounds. It is not for us to question the wisdom of theAlmighty, but to bow humbly to His will. 

"Remember that the slavery of your people was not necessarily a crime. It was a school of work and love. It gave you noble friends, like Mr. Cresswell here. " A restless stirring, and the battery of eyes was turnedupon that imperturbable gentleman, as if he were some strange animal. "Love and serve them. Remember that we get, after all, little educationfrom books; rather in the fields, at the plough and in the kitchen. Letyour ambition be to serve rather than rule, to be humble followers ofthe lowly Jesus. "

With an upward glance the Rev. Dr. Boldish sat down amid a silence ashade more intense than that which had greeted him. Then slowly from thefar corner rose a thin voice, tremulously. It wavered on the air andalmost broke, then swelled in sweet, low music. Other and strongervoices gathered themselves to it, until two hundred were singing a softminor wail that gripped the hearts and tingled in the ears of thehearers. Mr. Bocombe groped with a puzzled expression to find the pocketfor his note-book; Harry Cresswell dropped his eyes, and on Mrs. Vanderpool's lips the smile died. Mary Taylor flushed, and Mrs. Greycried frankly:

"Poor things!" she whispered. 

"Now, " said Mrs. Grey, turning about, "we haven't but just a moment andwe want to take a little look at your work. " She smiled graciously uponMiss Smith. 

Mrs. Grey thought the cooking-school very nice. 

"I suppose, " she said, "that you furnish cooks for the county. "

"Largely, " said Miss Smith. Mrs. Vanderpool looked surprised, but MissSmith added: "This county, you know, is mostly black. " Mrs. Grey did notcatch the point. 

The dormitories were neat and the ladies expressed great pleasure inthem. 

"It is certainly nice for them to know what a clean place is, " commentedMrs. Grey. Mr. Cresswell, however, looked at a bath-room and smiled. 

"How practical!" he said. 

"Can you not stop and see some of the classes?" Sarah Smith knew in herheart that the visit was a failure, still she would do her part to theend. 

"I doubt if we shall have time, " Mrs. Grey returned, as they walked on. "Mr. Cresswell expects friends to dinner. "

"What a magnificent intelligence office, " remarked Mr. Bocombe, "forfurnishing servants to the nation. I saw splendid material for cooks andmaids. "

"And plough-boys, " added Cresswell. 

"And singers, " said Mary Taylor. 

"Well, now that's just my idea, " said Mrs. Grey, "that these schoolsshould furnish trained servants and laborers for the South. Isn't thatyour idea, Miss Smith?"

"Not exactly, " the lady replied, "or at least I shouldn't put it justthat way. My idea is that this school should furnish men and women whocan work and earn an honest living, train up families aright, andperform their duties as fathers, mothers, and citizens. "

"Yes--yes, precisely, " said Mrs. Grey, "that's what I meant. "

"I think the whites can attend to the duties of citizenship withouthelp, " observed Mr. Cresswell. 

"Don't let the blacks meddle in politics, " said Dr. Boldish. 

"I want to make these children full-fledged men and women, strong, self-reliant, honest, without any 'ifs' and 'ands' to theirdevelopment, " insisted Miss Smith. 

"Of course, and that is just what Mr. Cresswell wants. Isn't it, Mr. Cresswell?" asked Mrs. Grey. 

"I think I may say yes, " Mr. Cresswell agreed. "I certainly want thesepeople to develop as far as they can, although Miss Smith and I woulddiffer as to their possibilities. But it is not so much in the generaltheory of Negro education as in its particular applications where ourchief differences would lie. I may agree that a boy should learn higherarithmetic, yet object to his loafing in plough-time. I might want toeducate some girls but not girls like Zora. "

Mrs. Vanderpool glanced at Mr. Cresswell, smiling to herself. 

Mrs. Grey broke in, beaming:

"That's just it, dear Miss Smith, --just it. Your heart is good, but youneed strong practical advice. You know we weak women are so impractical, as my poor Job so often said. Now, I'm going to arrange to endow thisschool with at least--at least a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Onecondition is that my friend, Mr. Cresswell here, and these othergentlemen, including sound Northern business men like Mr. Easterly, shall hold this money in trust, and expend it for your school as theythink best. "

"Mr. Cresswell would be their local representative?" asked Miss Smithslowly with white face. 

"Why yes--yes, of course. "

There was a long, tense silence. Then the firm reply, "Mrs. Grey, I thank you, but I cannot accept your offer. "

Sarah Smith's voice was strong, the tremor had left her hands. She hadexpected something like this, of course; yet when it came--somehow itfailed to stun. She would not turn over the direction of the school, orthe direction of the education of these people, to those who were mostopposed to their education. Therefore, there was no need to hesitate;there was no need to think the thing over--she had thought it over--andshe looked into Mrs. Grey's eyes and with gathering tears in her ownsaid:

"Again, I thank you very much, Mrs. Grey. "

Mrs. Grey was a picture of the most emphatic surprise, and Mr. Cresswellmoved to the window. Mrs. Grey looked helplessly at her companions. 

"But--I don't understand, Miss Smith--why can't you accept my offer?"

"Because you ask me to put my school in control of those who do not wishfor the best interests of black folk, and in particular I object to Mr. Cresswell, " said Miss Smith, slowly but very distinctly, "because hisrelation to the forces of evil in this community has been such that hecan direct no school of mine. " Mrs. Vanderpool moved toward the door andMr. Cresswell bowing slightly followed. Dr. Boldish looked indignant andMr. Bocombe dove after his note-book. Mary Taylor, her head in a whirl, came forward. She felt that in some way she was responsible for thisdreadful situation and she wanted desperately to save matters from finaldisaster. 

"Come, " she said, "Mrs. Grey, we'll talk this matter over again later. Iam sure Miss Smith does not mean quite all she says--she is tired andnervous. You join the others and don't wait for me and I will be alongdirectly. "

Mrs. Grey was only too glad to escape and Mr. Bocombe got a chance totalk. He drew out his note-book. 

"Awfully interesting, " he said, "awfully. Now--er--let's see--oh, yes. Did you notice how unhealthy the children looked? Race is undoubtedlydying out; fact. No hope. Weak. No spontaneity either--rather languid, did you notice? Yes, and their heads--small and narrow--no braincapacity. They can't concentrate; notice how some slept when Dr. Boldishwas speaking? Mr. Cresswell says they own almost no land here; think ofit? This land was worth only ten dollars an acre a decade ago, he says. Negroes might have bought all and been rich. Very shiftless--and thatsinging. Now, I wonder where they got the music? Imitation, of course. "And so he rattled on, noting not the silence of the others. 

As the carriage drove off Mary turned to Miss Smith. 

"Now, Miss Smith, " she began--but Miss Smith looked at her, and saidsternly, "Sit down. "

Mary Taylor sat down. She had been so used to lecturing the older womanthat the sudden summoning of her well known sternness against herselftook her breath, and she sat awkwardly like the school girl that she waswaiting for Miss Smith to speak. She felt suddenly very young and veryhelpless--she who had so jauntily set out to solve this mighty problemby a waving of her wand. She saw with a swelling of pity the drawn andstricken face of her old friend and she started up. 

"Sit down, " repeated Miss Smith harshly. "Mary Taylor, you are a fool. You are not foolish, for the foolish learn; you are simply a fool. Youwill never learn; you have blundered into this life work of mine andwell nigh ruined it. Whether I can yet save it God alone knows. You haveblundered into the lives of two loving children, and sent one wanderingaimless on the face of the earth and the other moaning in yonder chamberwith death in her heart. You are going to marry the man that soughtZora's ruin when she was yet a child because you think of hisaristocratic pose and pretensions built on the poverty, crime, andexploitation of six generations of serfs. You'll marry him and--"

But Miss Taylor leapt to her feet with blazing cheeks. 

"How dare you?" she screamed, beside herself. 

"But God in heaven help you if you do, " finished Miss Smith, calmly. 

_Seventeen_

THE RAPE OF THE FLEECE

When slowly from the torpor of ether, one wakens to the misty sense ofeternal loss, and there comes the exquisite prick of pain, then onefeels in part the horror of the ache when Zora wakened to the worldagain. The awakening was the work of days and weeks. At first in sheerexhaustion, physical and mental, she lay and moaned. The sense ofloss--of utter loss--lay heavy upon her. Something of herself, somethingdearer than self, was gone from her forever, and an infinite lonelinessand silence, as of endless years, settled on her soul. She wishedneither food nor words, only to be alone. Then gradually the pain ofinjury stung her when the blood flowed fuller. As Miss Smith kneltbeside her one night to make her simple prayer Zora sat suddenlyupright, white-swathed, dishevelled, with fury in her midnight eyes. 

"I want no prayers!" she cried, "I will not pray! He is no God of mine. He isn't fair. He knows and won't tell. He takes advantage of us--Heworks and fools us. " All night Miss Smith heard mutterings of thisbitterness, and the next day the girl walked her room like atigress, --to and fro, to and fro, all the long day. Toward night a dumbdespair settled upon her. Miss Smith found her sitting by the windowgazing blankly toward the swamp. She came to Miss Smith, slowly, and puther hands upon her shoulders with almost a caress. 

"You must forgive me, " she pleaded plaintively. "I reckon I've beenmighty bad with you, and you always so good to me; but--but, you see--ithurts so. "

"I know it hurts, dear; I know it does. But men and women must learn tobear hurts in this world. "

"Not hurts like this; they couldn't. "

"Yes, even hurts like this. Bear and stand straight; be brave. Afterall, Zora, no man is quite worth a woman's soul; no love is worth awhole life. "

Zora turned away with a gesture of impatience. 

"You were born in ice, " she retorted, adding a bit more tenderly, "inclear strong ice; but I was born in fire. I live--I love; that's all. "And she sat down again, despairingly, and stared at the dull swamp. MissSmith stood for a moment and closed her eyes upon a vision. 

"Ice!" she whispered. "My God!"

Then, at length, she said to Zora:

"Zora, there's only one way: do something; if you sit thus broodingyou'll go crazy. "

"Do crazy folks forget?"

"Nonsense, Zora!" Miss Smith ridiculed the girl's fantastic vagaries;her sound common sense rallied to her aid. "They are the people whoremember; sane folk forget. Work is the only cure for such pain. "

"But there's nothing to do--nothing I want to do--nothing worthdoing--now. "

"The Silver Fleece?"

The girl sat upright. 

"The Silver Fleece, " she murmured. Without further word, slowly shearose and walked down the stairs, and out into the swamp. Miss Smithwatched her go; she knew that every step must be the keen prickle ofawakening flesh. Yet the girl walked steadily on. 

 * * * * *

It was the Christmas--not Christmas-tide of the North and West, butChristmas of the Southern South. It was not the festival of the ChristChild, but a time of noise and frolic and license, the great Pay-Day ofthe year when black men lifted their heads from a year's toiling in theearth, and, hat in hand, asked anxiously: "Master, what have I earned?Have I paid my old debts to you? Have I made my clothes and food? Have Igot a little of the year's wage coming to me?" Or, more carelessly andcringingly: "Master, gimme a Christmas gift. "

The lords of the soil stood round, gauging their cotton, measuring theirmen. Their stores were crowded, their scales groaned, their gins sang. In the long run public opinion determines all wage, but in moreprimitive times and places, private opinion, personal judgment of someman in power, determines. The Black Belt is primitive and the landlordwields the power. 

"What about Johnson?" calls the head clerk. 

"Well, he's a faithful nigger and needs encouragement; cancel his debtand give him ten dollars for Christmas. " Colonel Cresswell glowed, as ifhe were full of the season's spirit. 

"And Sanders?"

"How's his cotton?"

"Good, and a lot of it. "

"He's trying to get away. Keep him in debt, but let him draw what hewants. "

"Aunt Rachel?"

"H'm, they're way behind, aren't they? Give her a couple of dollars--nota cent more. "

"Jim Sykes?"

"Say, Harry, how about that darky, Sykes?" called out the Colonel. 

Excusing himself from his guests, Harry Cresswell came into the office. 

To them this peculiar spectacle of the market place was of unusualinterest. They saw its humor and its crowding, its bizarre effects andunwonted pageantry. Black giants and pigmies were there; kerchiefedaunties, giggling black girls, saffron beauties, and loafing white men. There were mules and horses and oxen, wagons and buggies and carts; butabove all and in all, rushing through, piled and flying, bound andbaled--was cotton. Cotton was currency; cotton was merchandise; cottonwas conversation. 

All this was "beautiful" to Mrs. Grey and "unusually interesting" toMrs. Vanderpool. To Mary Taylor it had the fascination of a puzzle whoseother side she had already been partially studying. She was particularlyimpressed with the joy and abandon of the scene--light laughter, hugeguffaws, handshakes, and gossipings. 

"At all events, " she concluded, "this is no oppressed people. " Andsauntering away from the rest she noted the smiles of an undersizedsmirking yellow man who hurried by with a handful of dollar bills. At aside entrance liquor was evidently on sale--men were drinking and women, too; some were staggering, others cursing, and yet others singing. Thensuddenly a man swung around the corner swearing in bitter rage:

"The damned thieves, they'se stole a year's work--the white--" But someone called, "Hush up, Sanders! There's a white woman. " And he threw astartled look at Mary and hurried by. She was perplexed and upset andstood hesitating a moment when she heard a well-known voice:

"Why, Miss Taylor, I was alarmed for you; you really must be carefulabout trusting yourself with these half drunken Negroes. "

"Wouldn't it be better not to give them drink, Mr. Cresswell?"

"And let your neighbor sell them poison at all hours? No, Miss Taylor. "They joined the others, and all were turning toward the carriage when afigure coming down the road attracted them. 

"Quite picturesque, " observed Mrs. Vanderpool, looking at the tall, slimgirl swaying toward them with a piled basket of white cotton poisedlightly on her head. "Why, " in abrupt recognition, "it is our Venus ofthe Roadside, is it not?"

Mary saw it was Zora. Just then, too, Zora caught sight of them, and fora moment hesitated, then came on; the carriage was in front of thestore, and she was bound for the store. A moment Mary hesitated, too, and then turned resolutely to greet her. But Zora's eyes did not seeher. After one look at that sorrow-stricken face, Mary turned away. 

Colonel Cresswell stood by the door, his hat on, his hands in hispockets. 

"Well, Zora, what have you there?" he asked. 

"Cotton, sir. "

Harry Cresswell bent over it. 

"Great heavens! Look at this cotton!" he ejaculated. His fatherapproached. The cotton lay in silken handfuls, clean and shimmering, with threads full two inches long. The idlers, black and white, clustered round, gazing at it, and fingering it with repeatedexclamations of astonishment. 

"Where did this come from?" asked the Colonel sharply. He and Harry wereboth eying the girl intently. 

"I raised it in the swamp, " Zora replied quietly, in a dead voice. Therewas no pride of achievement in her manner, no gladness; all that hadflown. 

"Is that all?"

"No, sir; I think there's two bales. "

"Two bales! Where is it? How the devil--" The Colonel was forgetting hisguests, but Harry intervened. 

"You'll need to get it picked right off, " he suggested. 

"It's all picked, sir. "

"But where is it?"

"If you'll send a wagon, sir--"

But the Colonel hardly waited. 

"Here you, Jim, take the big mules and drive like--Where's that wench?"

But Zora was already striding on ahead, and was far up the red road whenthe great mules galloped into sight and the long whip snapped abovetheir backs. The Colonel was still excited. 

"That cotton must be ours, Harry--all of it. And see that none isstolen. We've got no contract with the wench, so don't dally with her. "But Harry said firmly, quietly:

"It's fine cotton, and she raised it; she must be paid well for it. "Colonel Cresswell glanced at him with something between contempt andastonishment on his face. 

"You go along with the ladies, " Harry added; "I'll see to this cotton. "Mary Taylor's smile had rewarded him; now he must get rid of hiscompany--before Zora returned. 

It was dark when the cotton came; such a load as Cresswell's store hadnever seen before. Zora watched it weighed, received the cotton checks, and entered the store. Only the clerk was there, and he was closing. Hepointed her carelessly to the office in the back part. She went into thesmall dim room, and laying the cotton-check on the desk, stood waiting. Slowly the hopelessness and bitterness of it all came back in a greatwhelming flood. What was the use of trying for anything? She was lostforever. The world was against her, and again she saw the fingers ofElspeth--the long black claw-like talons that clutched and dragged herdown--down. She did not struggle--she dropped her hands listlessly, wearily, and stood but half conscious as the door opened and Mr. HarryCresswell entered the dimly lighted room. She opened her eyes. She hadexpected his father. Somewhere way down in the depths of her nature theprimal tiger awoke and snarled. She was suddenly alive from hair tofinger tip. Harry Cresswell paused a second and swept her full lengthwith his eye--her profile, the long supple line of bosom and hip, thelittle foot. Then he closed the door softly and walked slowly towardher. She stood like stone, without a quiver; only her eye followed thecrooked line of the Cresswell blue blood on his marble forehead as shelooked down from her greater height; her hand closed almost caressinglyon a rusty poker lying on the stove nearby; and as she sensed the hotbreath of him she felt herself purring in a half heard whisper. 

"I should not like--to kill you. "

He looked at her long and steadily as he passed to his desk. Slowly helighted a cigarette, opened the great ledger, and compared thecotton-check with it. 

"Three thousand pounds, " he announced in a careless tone. "Yes, thatwill make about two bales of lint. It's extra cotton--say fifteen centsa pound--one hundred fifty dollars--seventy-five dollars to you--h'm. "He took a note-book out of his pocket, pushed his hat back on his head, and paused to relight his cigarette. 

"Let's see--your rent and rations--"

"Elspeth pays no rent, " she said slowly, but he did not seem to hear. 

"Your rent and rations with the five years' back debt, "--he made a hastycalculation--"will be one hundred dollars. That leaves you twenty-fivein our debt. Here's your receipt. "

The blow had fallen. She did not wince nor cry out. She took thereceipt, calmly, and walked out into the darkness. 

They had stolen the Silver Fleece. 

What should she do? She never thought of appeal to courts, for ColonelCresswell was Justice of the Peace and his son was bailiff. Why had theystolen from her? She knew. She was now penniless, and in a sensehelpless. She was now a peon bound to a master's bidding. If Elspethchose to sign a contract of work for her to-morrow, it would meanslavery, jail, or hounded running away. What would Elspeth do? One neverknew. Zora walked on. An hour ago it seemed that this last blow musthave killed her. But now it was different. Into her first despair hadcrept, in one fierce moment, grim determination. Somewhere in the worldsat a great dim Injustice which had veiled the light before her youngeyes, just as she raised them to the morning. With the veiling, deathhad come into her heart. 

And yet, they should not kill her; they should not enslave her. Adesperate resolve to find some way up toward the light, if not to it, formed itself within her. She would not fall into the pit opening beforeher. Somehow, somewhere lay The Way. She must never fall lower; never beutterly despicable in the eyes of the man she had loved. There was nodream of forgiveness, of purification, of re-kindled love; all these sheplaced sadly and gently into the dead past. But in awful earnestness, she turned toward the future; struggling blindly, groping in half formedplans for a way. 

She came thus into the room where sat Miss Smith, strangely pallidbeneath her dusky skin. But there lay a light in her eyes. 

_Eighteen_

THE COTTON CORNER

All over the land the cotton had foamed in great white flakes under thewinter sun. The Silver Fleece lay like a mighty mantle across the earth. Black men and mules had staggered beneath its burden, while deep songswelled in the hearts of men; for the Fleece was goodly and gleaming andsoft, and men dreamed of the gold it would buy. All the roads in thecountry had been lined with wagons--a million wagons speeding to and frowith straining mules and laughing black men, bearing bubbling masses ofpiled white Fleece. The gins were still roaring and spitting flames andsmoke--fifty thousand of them in town and vale. Then hoarse iron throatswere filled with fifteen billion pounds of white-fleeced, black-speckedcotton, for the whirling saws to tear out the seed and fling fivethousand million pounds of the silken fibre to the press. 

And there again the black men sang, like dark earth-spirits flitting intwilight; the presses creaked and groaned; closer and closer theypressed the silken fleece. It quivered, trembled, and then lay cramped, dead, and still, in massive, hard, square bundles, tied with ironstrings. Out fell the heavy bales, thousand upon thousand, million uponmillion, until they settled over the South like some vast dull-whiteswarm of birds. Colonel Cresswell and his son, in these days, had a longand earnest conversation perforated here and there by explosions of theColonel's wrath. The Colonel could not understand some things. 

"They want us to revive the Farmers' League?" he fiercely demanded. 

"Yes, " Harry calmly replied. 

"And throw the rest of our capital after the fifty thousand dollarswe've already lost?"

"Yes. "

"And you were fool enough to consent--"

"Wait, Father--and don't get excited. Listen. Cotton is going up--"

"Of course it's going up! Short crop and big demand--"

"Cotton is going up, and then it's going to fall. "

"I don't believe it. "

"I know it; the trust has got money and credit enough to force it down. "

"Well, what then?" The Colonel glared. 

"Then somebody will corner it. "

"The Farmers' League won't stand--"

"Precisely. The Farmers' League can do the cornering and hold it forhigher prices. "

"Lord, son! if we only could!" groaned the Colonel. 

"We can; we'll have unlimited credit. "

"But--but--" stuttered the bewildered Colonel, "I don't understand. Whyshould the trust--"

"Nonsense, Father--what's the use of understanding. Our advantage isplain, and John Taylor guarantees the thing. "

"Who's John Taylor?" snorted the Colonel. "Why should we trust him?"

"Well, " said Harry slowly, "he wants to marry Helen--"

His father grew apopletic. 

"I'm not saying he will, Father; I'm only saying that he wants to, "Harry made haste to placate the rising tide of wrath. 

"No Southern gentleman--" began the Colonel. But Harry shrugged hisshoulders. 

"Which is better, to be crushed by the trust or to escape at theirexpense, even if that escape involves unwarranted assumptions on thepart of one of them? I tell you, Father, the code of the Southerngentleman won't work in Wall Street. "

"And I'll tell you why--there _are_ no Southern gentlemen, " growled hisfather. 

The Silver Fleece was golden, for its prices were flying aloft. Mr. Caldwell told Colonel Cresswell that he confidently expected twelve-centcotton. 

"The crop is excellent and small, scarcely ten million bales, " hedeclared. "The price is bound to go up. "

Colonel Cresswell was hesitant, even doubtful; the demand for cotton athigh prices usually fell off rapidly and he had heard rumors ofcurtailed mill production. While, then, he hoped for high prices headvised the Farmers' League to be on guard. 

Mr. Caldwell seemed to be right, for cotton rose to ten cents apound--ten and a half--eleven--and then the South began to see visionsand to dream dreams. 

"Yes, my dear, " said Mr. Maxwell, whose lands lay next to theCresswells' on the northwest, "yes, if cotton goes to twelve or thirteencents as seems probable, I think we can begin the New House"--for Mrs. Maxwell's cherished dream was a pillared mansion like the Cresswells'. 

Mr. Tolliver looked at his house and barns. "Well, daughter, if thiscrop sells at twelve cents, I'll be on my feet again, and I won't haveto sell that land to the nigger school after all. Once out of theclutch of the Cresswells--well, I think we can have a coat of paint. "And he laughed as he had not laughed in ten years. 

Down in the bottoms west of the swamp a man and woman were figuringpainfully on an old slate. He was light brown and she was yellow. 

"Honey, " he said tremblingly, "I b'lieve we can do it--if cotton goes totwelve cents, we can pay the mortgage. "

Two miles north of the school an old black woman was shouting and wavingher arms. "If cotton goes to twelve cents we can pay out and be free!"and she threw her apron over her head and wept, gathering her childrenin her arms. 

But even as she cried a flash and tremor shook the South. Far away tothe north a great spider sat weaving his web. The office looked downfrom the clouds on lower Broadway, and was soft with velvet and leather. Swift, silent messengers hurried in and out, and Mr. Easterly, decidingthe time was ripe, called his henchman to him. 

"Taylor, we're ready--go South. "

And John Taylor rose, shook hands silently, and went. 

As he entered Cresswell's plantation store three days later, a coloredwoman with a little boy turned sadly away from the counter. 

"No, aunty, " the clerk was telling her, "calico is too high; can't letyou have any till we see how your cotton comes out. "

"I just wanted a bit; I promised the boy--"

"Go on, go on--Why, Mr. Taylor!" And the little boy burst into tearswhile he was hurried out. 

"Tightening up on the tenants?" asked Taylor. 

"Yes; these niggers are mighty extravagant. Besides, cotton fell alittle today--eleven to ten and three-fourths; just a flurry, I reckon. Had you heard?"

Mr. Taylor said he had heard, and he hurried on. Next morning the longshining wires of that great Broadway web trembled and flashed again andcotton went to ten cents. 

"No house this year, I fear, " quoth Mr. Maxwell, bitterly. 

The next day nine and a half was the quotation, and men began to look ateach other and asked questions. 

"Paper says the crop is larger than the government estimate, " saidTolliver, and added, "There'll be no painting this year. " He lookedtoward the Smith School and thought of the five thousand dollarswaiting; but he hesitated. John Taylor had carefully mentioned seventhousand dollars as a price he was willing to pay and "perhaps more. "Was Cresswell back of Taylor? Tolliver was suspicious and moved to delaymatters. 

"It's manipulation and speculation in New York, " said Colonel Cresswell, "and the Farmers' League must begin operations. "

The local paper soon had an editorial on "our distinguished fellowcitizen, Colonel Cresswell, " and his efforts to revive the Farmers'League. It was understood that Colonel Cresswell was risking his wholeprivate fortune to hold the price of cotton, and some effort seemed tobe needed, for cotton dropped to nine cents within a week. Swiftnegotiations ensued, and a meeting of the executive committee of theFarmers' League was held in Montgomery. A system of warehouses andwarehouse certificates was proposed. 

"But that will cost money, " responded each of the dozen big landlordswho composed the committee; whereupon Harry Cresswell introduced JohnTaylor, who represented thirty millions of Southern bank stock. 

"I promise you credit to any reasonable amount, " said Mr. Taylor, "Ibelieve in cotton--the present price is abnormal. " And Mr. Taylor knewwhereof he spoke, for when he sent a cipher despatch North, cottondropped to eight and a half. The Farmers' League leased three warehousesat Savannah, Montgomery, and New Orleans. 

Then silently the South gripped itself and prepared for battle. Menstopped spending, business grew dull, and millions of eyes were gluedto the blackboards of the cotton-exchange. Tighter and tighter thereins grew on the backs of the black tenants. 

"Miss Smith, is yo' got just a drap of coffee to lend me? Mr. Cresswellwon't give me none at the store and I'se just starving for some, " saidAunt Rachel from over the hill. "We won't git free this year, MissSmith, not this year, " she concluded plaintively. 

Cotton fell to seven and a half cents and the muttered protest becameangry denunciation. Why was it? Who was doing it?

Harry Cresswell went to Montgomery. He was getting nervous. The thingwas too vast. He could not grasp it. It set his head in a whirl. HarryCresswell was not a bad man--are there any bad men? He was a man whofrom the day he first wheedled his black mammy into submission, down tohis thirty-sixth year, had seldom known what it was voluntarily to denyhimself or curb a desire. To rise when he would, eat what he craved, anddo what the passing fancy suggested had long been his day's programme. Such emptiness of life and aim had to be filled, and it was filled; hehelped his father sometimes with the plantations, but he helpedspasmodically and played at work. 

The unregulated fire of energy and delicacy of nervous poise within himcontinually hounded him to the verge of excess and sometimes beyond. Cool, quiet, and gentlemanly as he was by rule of his clan, the ice wasthin and underneath raged unappeased fires. He craved the madness ofalcohol in his veins till his delicate hands trembled of mornings. Thewomen whom he bent above in languid, veiled-eyed homage, feared lestthey love him, and what work was to others gambling was to him. 

The Cotton Combine, then, appealed to him overpoweringly--to his passionfor wealth, to his passion for gambling. But once entered upon the gameit drove him to fear and frenzy: first, it was a long game and HarryCresswell was not trained to waiting, and, secondly, it was a game whoseintricacies he did not know. In vain did he try to study the matterthrough. He ordered books from the North, he subscribed for financialjournals, he received special telegraphic reports only to toss themaway, curse his valet, and call for another brandy. After all, he keptsaying to himself, what guarantee, what knowledge had he that this wasnot a "damned Yankee trick"?

Now that the web was weaving its last mesh in early January he hauntedMontgomery, and on this day when it seemed that things must culminate orhe would go mad, he hastened again down to the Planters' Hotel and wasquickly ushered to John Taylor's room. The place was filled with tobaccosmoke. An electric ticker was drumming away in one corner, a telephoneringing on the desk, and messenger boys hovered outside the door andraced to and fro. 

"Well, " asked Cresswell, maintaining his composure by an effort, "howare things?"

"Great!" returned Taylor. "League holds three million bales and controlsfive. It's the biggest corner in years. "

"But how's cotton?"

"Ticker says six and three-fourths. "

Cresswell sat down abruptly opposite Taylor, looking at him fixedly. 

"That last drop means liabilities of a hundred thousand to us, " he saidslowly. 

"Exactly, " Taylor blandly admitted. 

Beads of sweat gathered on Cresswell's forehead. He looked at thescrawny iron man opposite, who had already forgotten his presence. Heordered whiskey, and taking paper and pencil began to figure, drinkingas he figured. Slowly the blood crept out of his white face leaving itwhiter, and went surging and pounding in his heart. Poverty--that waswhat those figures spelled. Poverty--unclothed, wineless poverty, to digand toil like a "nigger" from morning until night, and to give up horsesand carriages and women; that was what they spelled. 

"How much--farther will it drop?" he asked harshly. 

Taylor did not look up. 

"Can't tell, " he said, "'fraid not much though. " He glanced through atelegram. "No--damn it!--outside mills are low; they'll stampede soon. Meantime we'll buy. "

"But, Taylor--"

"Here are one hundred thousand offered at six and three-fourths. "

"I tell you, Taylor--" Cresswell half arose. 

"Done!" cried Taylor. "Six and one-half, " clicked the machine. 

Cresswell arose from his chair by the window and came slowly to the wideflat desk where Taylor was working feverishly. He sat down heavily inthe chair opposite and tried quietly to regain his self-control. Theliabilities of the Cresswells already amounted to half the value oftheir property, at a fair market valuation. The cotton for which theyhad made debts was still falling in value. Every fourth of a cent fallmeant--he figured it again tremblingly--meant one hundred thousand moreof liabilities. If cotton fell to six he hadn't a cent on earth. If itstayed there--"My God!" He felt a faintness stealing over him but hebeat it back and gulped down another glass of fiery liquor. 

Then the one protecting instinct of his clan gripped him. Slowly, quietly his hand moved back until it grasped the hilt of the big Colt'srevolver that was ever with him--his thin white hand became suddenlysteady as it slipped the weapon beneath the shadow of the desk. 

"If it goes to six, " he kept murmuring, "we're ruined--if it goes tosix--if--"

"Tick, " sounded the wheel and the sound reverberated like sudden thunderin his ears. His hand was iron, and he raised it slightly. "Six, " saidthe wheel--his finger quivered--"and a half. "

"Hell!" yelled Taylor. "She's turned--there'll be the devil to pay now. "A messenger burst in and Taylor scowled. 

"She's loose in New York--a regular mob in New Orleans--and--hark!--ByGod! there's something doing here. Damn it--I wish we'd got anothermillion bales. Let's see, we've got--" He figured while the wheelwhirred--"7--7-1/2--8--8-1/2. "

Cresswell listened, staggered to his feet, his face crimson and his hairwild. 

"My God, Taylor, " he gasped. "I'm--I'm a half a million ahead--greatheavens!"

The ticker whirred, "8-3/4--9--9-1/2--10. " Then it stopped dead. 

"Exchange closed, " said Taylor. "We've cornered the market allright--cornered it--d'ye hear, Cresswell? We got over half the crop andwe can send prices to the North Star--you--why, I figure it youCresswells are worth at least seven hundred and fifty thousand aboveliabilities this minute, " and John Taylor leaned back and lighted a bigblack cigar. 

"I've made a million or so myself, " he added reflectively. 

Cresswell leaned back in his chair, his face had gone white again, andhe spoke slowly to still the tremor in his voice. 

"I've gambled--before; I've gambled on cards and on horses; I'vegambled--for money--and--women--but--"

"But not on cotton, hey? Well, I don't know about cards and such; butthey can't beat cotton. "

"And say, John Taylor, you're my friend. " Cresswell stretched his handacross the desk, and as he bent forward the pistol crashed to the floor. 

_Nineteen_

THE DYING OF ELSPETH

Rich! This was the thought that awakened Harry Cresswell to a sense ofendless well-being. Rich! No longer the mirage and semblance of wealth, the memory of opulence, the shadow of homage without the substance ofpower--no; now the wealth was real, cold hard dollars, and in piles. Howmuch? He laughed aloud as he turned on his pillow. What did he care?Enough--enough. Not less than half a million; perhaps three-quarters ofa million; perhaps--was not cotton still rising?--a whole round million!That would mean from twenty-five to fifty thousand a year. Greatheavens! and he'd been starving on a bare couple of thousand and tryingto keep up appearances! today the Cresswells were almost millionaires;aye, and he might be married to more millions. 

He sat up with a start. Today Mary was going North. He had quiteforgotten it in the wild excitement of the cotton corner. He hadneglected her. Of course, there was always the hovering doubt as towhether he really wanted her or not. She had the form and carriage; herbeauty, while not startling, was young and fresh and firm. On the otherhand there was about her a certain independence that he did not like toassociate with women. She had thoughts and notions of the world whichwere, to his Southern training, hardly feminine. And yet even theypiqued him and spurred him like the sight of an untrained colt. He hadnot seen her falter yet beneath his glances or tremble at his touch. Allthis he desired--ardently desired. But did he desire her as a wife? Herather thought that he did. And if so he must speak today. 

There was his father, too, to reckon with. Colonel Cresswell, with theperversity of the simple-minded, had taken the sudden bettering of theirfortunes as his own doing. He had foreseen; he had stuck it out; hiscredit had pulled the thing through; and the trust had learned a thingor two about Southern gentlemen. 

Toward John Taylor he perceptibly warmed. His business methods were suchas a Cresswell could never stoop to; but he was a man of his word, andColonel Cresswell's correspondence with Mr. Easterly opened his eyes tothe beneficent ideals of Northern capital. At the same time he could notconsider the Easterlys and the Taylors and such folk as the socialequals of the Cresswells, and his prejudice on this score must still bereckoned with. 

Below, Mary Taylor lingered on the porch in strange uncertainty. HarryCresswell would soon be coming downstairs. Did she want him to find her?She liked him frankly, undisguisedly; but from the love she knew to beso near her heart she recoiled in perturbation. He wooed her--whetherconsciously or not, she was always uncertain--with every quietattention and subtle deference, with a devotion seemingly quite toodelicate for words; he not only fetched her flowers, but flowers thatchimed with day and gown and season--almost with mood. He had a woman'spremonitions in fulfilling her wishes. His hands, if they touched her, were soft and tender, and yet he gave a curious impression of strengthand poise and will. 

Indeed, in all things he was in her eyes a gentleman in the fineold-fashioned aristocracy of the term; her own heart voiced all he didnot say, and pleaded for him to her own confusion. 

And yet, in her heart, lay the awful doubt--and the words kept ringingin her ears! "You will marry this man--but heaven help you if you do!"

So it was that on this day when she somehow felt he would speak, hisfootsteps on the stairs filled her with sudden panic. Without a word sheslipped behind the pillars and ran down among the oaks and sauntered outupon the big road. He caught the white flutter of her dress, and smiledindulgently as he watched and waited and lightly puffed his cigarette. 

The morning was splendid with that first delicious languor of the springwhich breathes over the Southland in February. Mary Taylor filled herlungs, lifted her arms aloft, and turning, stepped into the deep shadowof the swamp. 

Abruptly the air, the day, the scene about her subtly changed. She felta closeness and a tremor, a certain brooding terror in the languidsombre winds. The gold of the sunlight faded to a sickly green, and theearth was black and burned. A moment she paused and looked back; shecaught the man's silhouette against the tall white pillars of themansion and she fled deeper into the forest with the hush of death abouther, and the silence which is one great Voice. Slowly, and mysteriouslyit loomed before her--that squat and darksome cabin which seemed tofitly set in the centre of the wilderness, beside its crawling slime. 

She paused in sudden certainty that there lay the answer to her doubtsand mistrust. She felt impelled to go forward and ask--what? She did notknow, but something to still this war in her bosom. She had seldom seenElspeth; she had never been in her cabin. She had felt an inconquerableaversion for the evil hag; she felt it now, and shivered in the warmbreeze. 

As she came in full view of the door, she paused. On the step of thecabin, framed in the black doorway, stood Zora. Measured by the squatcabin she seemed in height colossal; slim, straight as a pine, motionless, with one long outstretched arm pointing to where the pathswept onward toward the town. 

It was too far for words but the scene lay strangely clear and sharp-cutin the green mystery of the sunlight. Before that motionless, fatefulfigure crouched a slighter, smaller woman, dishevelled, clutching herbreast; she bent and rose--hesitated--seemed to plead; then turning, clasped in passionate embrace the child whose head was hid in Zora'sgown. Next instant she was staggering along the path whither Zorapointed. 

Slowly the sun was darkened, and plaintive murmurings pulsed through thewood. The oppression and fear of the swamp redoubled in Mary Taylor. 

Zora gave no sign of having seen her. She stood tall and still, and thelittle golden-haired girl still sobbed in her gown. Mary Taylor lookedup into Zora's face, then paused in awe. It was a face she did not know;it was neither the beautifully mischievous face of the girl, nor thepain-stricken face of the woman. It was a face cold and mask-like, regular and comely; clothed in a mighty calm, yet subtly, masterfullyveiling behind itself depths of unfathomed misery and wild revolt. Allthis lay in its darkness. 

"Good-morning, Miss Taylor. "

Mary, who was wont to teach this woman--so lately a child--searched invain for words to address her now. She stood bare-haired and hesitatingin the pale green light of the darkened morning. It seemed fit that adeep groan of pain should gather itself from the mysterious depths ofthe swamp, and drop like a pall on the black portal of the cabin. Butit brought Mary Taylor back to a sense of things, and under a suddenimpulse she spoke. 

"Is--is anything the matter?" she asked nervously. 

"Elspeth is sick, " replied Zora. 

"Is she very sick?"

"Yes--she has been called, " solemnly returned the dark young woman. 

Mary was puzzled. "Called?" she repeated vaguely. 

"We heard the great cry in the night, and Elspeth says it is the End. "

It did not occur to Mary Taylor to question this mysticism; she all atonce understood--perhaps read the riddle in the dark, melancholy eyesthat so steadily regarded her. 

"Then you can leave the place, Zora?" she exclaimed gladly. 

"Yes, I could leave. "

"And you will. "

"I don't know. "

"But the place looks--evil. "

"It is evil. "

"And yet you will stay?"

Zora's eyes were now fixed far above the woman's head, and she saw ahuman face forming itself in the vast rafters of the forest. Its eyeswere wet with pain and anger. 

"Perhaps, " she answered. 

The child furtively uncovered her face and looked at the stranger. Shewas blue-eyed and golden-haired. 

"Whose child is this?" queried Mary, curiously. 

Zora looked coldly down upon the child. 

"It is Bertie's. Her mother is bad. She is gone. I sent her. She and theothers like her. "

"But where have you sent them?"

"To Hell!"

Mary Taylor started under the shock. Impulsively she moved forward withhands that wanted to stretch themselves in appeal. 

"Zora! Zora! _You_ mustn't go, too!"

But the black girl drew proudly back. 

"I _am_ there, " she returned, with unmistakable simplicity of absoluteconviction. 

The white woman shrank back. Her heart was wrung; she wanted to saymore--to explain, to ask to help; there came welling to her lips a floodof things that she would know. But Zora's face again was masked. 

"I must go, " she said, before Mary could speak. "Good-bye. " And the darkgroaning depths of the cabin swallowed her. 

With a satisfied smile, Harry Cresswell had seen the Northern girldisappear toward the swamp; for it is significant when maidens run fromlovers. But maidens should also come back, and when, after the lapse ofmany minutes, Mary did not reappear, he followed her footsteps to theswamp. 

He frowned as he noted the footprints pointing to Elspeth's--what didMary Taylor want there? A fear started within him, and something else. He was suddenly aware that he wanted this woman, intensely; at themoment he would have turned Heaven and earth to get her. He strodeforward and the wood rose darkly green above him. A long, low, distantmoan seemed to sound upon the breeze, and after it came Mary Taylor. 

He met her with tender solicitude, and she was glad to feel his armbeneath hers. 

"I've been searching for you, " he said after a silence. "You should notwander here alone--it is dangerous. "

"Why, dangerous?" she asked. 

"Wandering Negroes, and even wild beasts, in the forest depths--andmalaria--see, you tremble now. "

"But not from malaria, " she slowly returned. 

He caught an unfamiliar note in his voice, and a wild desire to justifyhimself before this woman clamored in his heart. With it, too, came acooler calculating intuition that frankness alone would win her now. Atall hazards he must win, and he cast the die. 

"Miss Taylor, " he said, "I want to talk to you--I have wanted to for--ayear. " He glanced at her: she was white and silent, but she did nottremble. He went on:

"I have hesitated because I do not know that I have a right to speak orexplain to--to--a good woman. "

He felt her arm tighten on his and he continued:

"You have been to Elspeth's cabin; it is an evil place, and has meantevil for this community, and for me. Elspeth was my mother's favoriteservant and my own mammy. My mother died when I was ten and left me toher tender mercies. She let me have my way and encouraged the bad in me. It's a wonder I escaped total ruin. Her cabin became a rendezvous fordrinking and carousing. I told my father, but he, in lazy indifference, declared the place no worse than all Negro cabins, and did nothing. Iceased my visits. Still she tried every lure and set false stories goingamong the Negroes, even when I sought to rescue Zora. I tell you thisbecause I know you have heard evil rumors. I have not been a goodman--Mary; but I love you, and you can make me good. "

Perhaps no other appeal would have stirred Mary Taylor. She was in manyrespects an inexperienced girl. But she thought she knew the world; sheknew that Harry Cresswell was not all he should be, and she knew toothat many other men were not. Moreover, she argued he had not had a fairchance. All the school-ma'am in her leaped to his teaching. What heneeded was a superior person like herself. She loved him, and shedeliberately put her arms about his neck and lifted her face to bekissed. 

Back by the place of the Silver Fleece they wandered, across the BigRoad, up to the mansion. On the steps stood John Taylor and HelenCresswell hand in hand and they all smiled at each other. The Colonelcame out, smiling too, with the paper in his hands. 

"Easterly's right, " he beamed, "the stock of the Cotton Combine--" hepaused at the silence and looked up. The smile faded slowly and the redblood mounted to his forehead. Anger struggled back of surprise, butbefore it burst forth silently the Colonel turned, and muttering someunintelligible word, went slowly into the house and slammed the door. 

So for Harry Cresswell the day burst, flamed, and waned, and thensuddenly went out, leaving him dull and gray; for Mary and her brotherhad gone North, Helen had gone to bed, and the Colonel was in town. Outside the weather was gusty and lowering with a chill in the air. Hepaced the room fitfully. 

Well, he was happy. Or, was he happy?

He gnawed his mustache, for already his quick, changeable nature wasfeeling the rebound from glory to misery. He was a little ashamed of hisexaltation; a bit doubtful and uncertain. He had stooped low to thisYankee school-ma'am, lower than he had ever stooped to a woman. Usually, while he played at loving, women grovelled; for was he not a Cresswell?Would this woman recognize that fact and respect him accordingly?

Then there was Zora; what had she said and hinted to Mary? The wench wasalways eluding and mocking him, the black devil! But, pshaw!--he pouredhimself a glass of brandy--was he not rich and young? The world was his. 

His valet knocked. 

"Gentleman is asking if you forgits it's Saturday night, sir?" said Sam. 

Cresswell walked thoughtfully to the window, swept back the curtain, andlooked toward the darkness and the swamp. It lowered threateningly;behind it the night sky was tinged with blood. 

"No, " he said; "I'm not going. " And he shut out the glow. 

Yet he grew more and more restless. The devil danced in his veins andburned in his forehead. His hands shook. He heard a rustle of departingfeet beneath his window, then a pause and a faint halloo. 

"All right, " he called, and in a moment went downstairs and out intothe night. As he closed the front door there seemed to come faintly upfrom the swamp a low ululation, like the prolonged cry of some wildbird, or the wail of one's mourning for his dead. 

Within the cabin, Elspeth heard. Tremblingly, she swayed to her feet, ahaggard, awful sight. She motioned Zora away, and stretching her handspalms upward to the sky, cried with dry and fear-struck gasp:

"I'se called! I'se called!"

On the bed the child smiled in its dreaming; the red flame of thefirelight set the gold to dancing in her hair. Zora shrank back into theshadows and listened. Then it came. She heard the heavy footstepscrashing through the underbrush--coming, coming, as from the end of theworld. She shrank still farther back, and a shadow swept the door. 

He was a mighty man, black and white-haired, and his eyes were the eyesof death. He bent to enter the door, and then uplifting himself andstretching his great arms, his palms touched the blackened rafters. 

Zora started forward. Thick memories of some forgotten past came pilingin upon her. Where had she known him? What was he to her?

Slowly Elspeth, with quivering hands, unwound the black and snake-likeobject that always guarded her breast. Without a word, he took it, andagain his hands flew heavenward. With a low and fearful moan the oldwoman lurched sideways, then crashed, like a fallen pine, upon thehearthstone. She lay still--dead. 

Three times the man passed his hands, wave-like, above the dead. Threetimes he murmured, and his eyes burned into the shadows, where the girltrembled. Then he turned and went as he had come, his heavy feetcrashing through the underbrush, on and on, fainter and fainter, as tothe end of the world. 

Zora shook herself from the trance-like horror and passed her handsacross her eyes to drive out the nightmare. But, no! there lay the deadupon the hearth with the firelight flashing over her, a bloated, hideous, twisted thing, distorted in the rigor of death. A moment Zoralooked down upon her mother. She felt the cold body whence thewandering, wrecked soul had passed. She sat down and stared death in theface for the first time. A mighty questioning arose within, aquestioning and a yearning. 

Was Elspeth now at peace? Was Death the Way--the wide, dark Way? She hadnever thought of it before, and as she thought she crept forward andlooked into the fearful face pityingly. 

"Mammy!" she whispered--with bated breath--"Mammy Elspeth!" Out of thenight came a whispered answer: "_Elspeth! Elspeth!_"

Zora sprang to her feet, alert, fearful. With a swing of her arm, shepulled the great oaken door to and dropped the bar into its place. Overthe dead she spread a clean white sheet. Into the fire she thrustpine-knots. They glared in vague red, and shadowy brilliance, waving andquivering and throwing up thin swirling columns of black smoke. Thenstanding beside the fireplace with the white, still corpse between herand the door, she took up her awful vigil. 

There came a low knocking at the door; then silence and footstepswandering furtively about. The night seemed all footsteps and whispers. There came a louder knocking, and a voice:

"_Elspeth! Elspeth! Open the door; it's me. _"

Then muttering and wandering noises, and silence again. 

The child on the bed turned itself, murmuring uneasily in its dreams. And then _they_ came. Zora froze, watching the door, wide-eyed, whilethe fire flamed redder. A loud quick knock at the door--a pause--an oathand a cry. 

"_Elspeth! Open this door, damn you!_"

A moment of waiting and then the knocking came again, furious and longcontinued. Outside there was much trampling and swearing. Zora did notmove; the child slept on. A tugging and dragging, a dull blow that setthe cabin quivering; then, --

"_Bang! Crack! Crash!_"--the door wavered, splintered, and dropped uponthe floor. 

With a snarl, a crowd of some half-dozen white faces rushed forward, wavered and stopped. The awakened child sat up and stared with wide blueeyes. Slowly, with no word, the intruders turned and went silently away, leaving but one late comer who pressed forward. 

"What damned mummery is this?" he cried, and snatching at the sheet, dragged it from the black distorted countenance of the corpse. Heshuddered but for a moment he could not stir. He felt the midnight eyesof the girl--he saw the twisted, oozing mouth of the hag, blue-black andhideous. 

Suddenly back behind there in the darkness a shriek split the night likea sudden flash of flame--a great ringing scream that cracked and swelledand stopped. With one wild effort the man hurled himself out the doorand plunged through the darkness. Panting and cursing, he flashed hishuge revolver--"_bang! bang! bang!_" it cracked into the night. Thesweat poured from his forehead; the terror of the swamp was upon him. With a struggling and tearing in his throat, he tripped and fellfainting under the silent oaks. 

_Twenty_

THE WEAVING OF THE SILVER FLEECE

The Silver Fleece, darkly cloaked and girded, lay in the cottonwarehouse of the Cresswells, near the store. Its silken fibres, crampedand close, shone yellow-white in the sunlight; sadly soiled, yetbeautiful. Many came to see Zora's twin bales, as they lay, handlingthem and questioning, while Colonel Cresswell grew proud of hispossession. 

The world was going well with the Colonel. Freed from money cares, praised for his generalship in the cotton corner, able to entertainsumptuously, he was again a Southern gentleman of the older school, andso in his envied element. Yet today he frowned as he stood pokingabsently with his cane at the baled Fleece. 

This marriage--or, rather, these marriages--were not to his liking. Itwas a _mesalliance_ of a sort that pricked him tenderly; it savoredgrossly of bargain and sale. His neighbors regarded it withdisconcerting equanimity. They seemed to think an alliance withNorthern millions an honor for Cresswell blood, and the Colonel thumpedthe nearer bale vigorously. His cane slipped along the iron bandssuddenly, and the old man lurching forward, clutched in space to savehimself and touched a human hand. 

Zora, sitting shadowed on the farther bale, drew back her hand quicklyat the contact, and started to move away. 

"Who's that?" thundered the Colonel, more angry at his involuntaryfright than at the intrusion. "Here, boys!"

But Zora had come forward into the space where the sunlight of the widefront doors poured in upon the cotton bales. 

"It's me, Colonel, " she said. 

He glared at her. She was taller and thinner than formerly, darklytransparent of skin, and her dark eyes shone in strange and duskybrilliance. Still indignant and surprised, the Colonel lifted his voicesharply. 

"What the devil are you doing here?--sleeping when you ought to be atwork! Get out! And see here, next week cotton chopping begins--you'll goto the fields or to the chain-gang. I'll have no more of your loafingabout my place. "

Awaiting no reply, the Colonel, already half ashamed of his vehemence, stormed out into the sunlight and climbed upon his bay mare. 

But Zora still stood silent in the shadow of the Silver Fleece, hearingand yet not hearing. She was searching for the Way, groping for thethreads of life, seeking almost wildly to understand the foundations ofunderstanding, piteously asking for answer to the puzzle of life. Allthe while the walls rose straight about her and narrow. To continue inschool meant charity, yet she had nowhere to go and nothing to go with. To refuse to work for the Cresswells meant trouble for the school andperhaps arrest for herself. To work in the fields meant endless toil anda vista that opened upon death. 

Like a hunted thing the girl turned and twisted in thought and facedeverywhere the blank Impossible. Cold and dreamlike without, her shutteeth held back seething fires within, and a spirit of revolt thatgathered wildness as it grew. Above all flew the dream, the phantasy, the memory of the past, the vision of the future. Over and over shewhispered to herself: "This is not the End; this can not be the End. "

Somehow, somewhere, would come salvation. Yet what it would be and whatshe expected she did not know. She sought the Way, but what way andwhither she did not know, she dared not dream. 

One thing alone lay in her wild fancy like a great and wonderful factdragging the dream to earth and anchoring it there. That was the SilverFleece. Like a brooding mother, Zora had watched it. She knew how thegin had been cleaned for its pressing and how it had been baled apartand carefully covered. She knew how proud Colonel Cresswell was of itand how daily he had visitors to see it and finger the wide white woundin its side. 

"Yes, sir, grown on my place, by my niggers, sir!" he assured them; andthey marvelled. 

To Zora's mind, this beautiful baled fibre was hers; it typifiedhappiness; it was an holy thing which profane hands had stolen. When itcame back to her (as come it must, she cried with clenched hands) itwould bring happiness; not the great Happiness--that was goneforever--but illumination, atonement, and something of the power and theglory. So, involuntarily almost, she haunted the cotton storehouse, flitting like a dark and silent ghost in among the workmen, greetingthem with her low musical voice, warding them with the cold majesty ofher eyes; each day afraid of some last parting, each nighttriumphant--it was still there!

The Colonel--Zora already forgotten--rode up to the Cresswell Oaks, pondering darkly. It was bad enough to contemplate Helen's marriage indistant prospect, but the sudden, almost peremptory desire for marryingat Eastertide, a little less than two months away, was absurd. Therewere "business reasons arising from the presidential campaign in thefall, " John Taylor had telegraphed; but there was already too muchbusiness in the arrangement to suit the Colonel. With Harry it wasdifferent. Indeed it was his own quiet suggestion that made John Taylorhurry matters. 

Harry trusted to the novelty of his father's new wealth to make thelatter complacent; he himself felt an impatient longing for the haven ofa home. He had been too long untethered. He distrusted himself. Thedevil within was too fond of taking the bit in his teeth. He wouldremember to his dying day one awful shriek in the night, as of a soultormenting and tormented. He wanted the protection of a good woman, andsometimes against the clear whiteness of her letters so joyous andgenerous, even if a bit prim and didactic, he saw a vision of himselfreflected as he was, and he feared. 

It was distinctively disconcerting to Colonel Cresswell to find Harryquite in favor of early nuptials, and to learn that the sole objectioneven in Helen's mind was the improbability of getting a wedding-gown intime. Helen had all a child's naive love for beautiful and daintythings, and a wedding-gown from Paris had been her life dream. On thispoint, therefore, there ensued spirited arguments and muchcorrespondence, and both her brother and her lover evincedcharacteristic interest in the planning. 

Said Harry: "Sis, I'll cable to Paris today. They can easily hurry thething along. "

Helen was delighted; she handed over a telegram just received from JohnTaylor. "Send me, express, two bales best cotton you can get. "

The Colonel read the message. "I don't see the connection between thisand hurrying up a wedding-gown, " he growled. None of them discerned thehandwriting of Destiny. 

"Neither do I, " said Harry, who detected yielding in his father's tone. "But we'd better send him the two prize bales; it will be a fineadvertisement of our plantation, and evidently he has a surprise instore for us. "

The Colonel affected to hesitate, but next morning the Silver Fleecewent to town. 

Zora watched it go, and her heart swelled and died within her. Shewalked to town, to the station. She did not see Mrs. Vanderpool arrivingfrom New Orleans; but Mrs. Vanderpool saw her, and looked curiously atthe tall, tragic figure that leaned so dolorously beside the freightcar. The bales were loaded into the express car; the train pulled away, its hoarse snorting waking vague echoes in the forest beyond. But to thegirl who stood at the End, looking outward to darkness, those echoesroared like the crack of doom. A passing band of contract hands calledto her mockingly, and one black giant, laughing loudly, gripped herhand. 

"Come, honey, " he shouted, "you'se a'dreaming! Come on, honey!"

She turned abruptly and gripped his hand, as one drowning grips anythingoffered--gripped till he winced. She laughed a loud mirthless laugh, that came pouring like a sob from her deep lungs. 

"Come on!" she mocked, and joined them. 

They were a motley crowd, ragged, swaggering, jolly. There were husky, big-limbed youths, and bold-faced, loud-tongued girls. To-morrow theywould start up-country to some backwoods barony in the kingdom ofcotton, and work till Christmas time. Today was the last in town; therewas craftily advanced money in their pockets and riot in their hearts. In the gathering twilight they marched noisily through the streets; intheir midst, wide-eyed and laughing almost hysterically, marched Zora. 

Mrs. Vanderpool meantime rode thoughtfully out of town toward CresswellOaks. She was returning from witnessing the Mardi Gras festivities atNew Orleans and at the urgent invitation of the Cresswells had stoppedoff. She might even stay to the wedding if the new plans matured. 

Mrs. Vanderpool was quite upset. Her French maid, on whom she haddepended absolutely for five years or more, had left her. 

"I think I want to try a colored maid, " she told the Cresswells, laughingly, as they drove home. "They have sweet voices and they can'tdoff their uniform. Helene without her cap and apron was often mistakenfor a lady, and while I was in New Orleans a French confectioner marriedher under some such delusion. Now, haven't you a girl about here whowould do?"

"No, " declared Harry decisively, but his sister suggested that she mightask Miss Smith at the colored school. 

Again Mrs. Vanderpool laughed, but after tea she wandered idly down theroad. The sun behind the swamp was crimsoning the world. Mrs. Vanderpoolstrolled alone to the school, and saw Sarah Smith. There was nocordiality in the latter's greeting, but when she heard the caller'serrand her attention was at once arrested and held. The interests of hercharges were always uppermost in her mind. 

"Can't I have the girl Zora?" Mrs. Vanderpool at last inquired. 

Miss Smith started, for she was thinking of Zora at that very instant. The girl was later than usual, and she was momentarily expecting to seeher tall form moving languidly up the walk. 

She gave Mrs. Vanderpool a searching look. Mrs. Vanderpool glancedinvoluntarily at her gown and smiled as she did it. 

"Could I trust you with a human soul?" asked Miss Smith abruptly. 

Mrs. Vanderpool looked up quickly. The half mocking answer that roseinvoluntarily to her lips was checked. Within, Mrs. Vanderpool was alittle puzzled at herself. Why had she asked for this girl? She had felta strange interest in her--a peculiar human interest since she first sawher and as she saw her again this afternoon. But would she make asatisfactory maid? Was it not a rather dangerous experiment? Why had sheasked for her? She certainly had not intended to when she entered thehouse. 

In the silence Miss Smith continued: "Here is a child in whom thefountains of the great deep are suddenly broken up. With peace and careshe would find herself, for she is strong. But here there is no peace. Slavery of soul and body awaits her and I am powerless to protect her. She must go away. That going away may make or ruin her. She knowsnothing of working for wages and she has not the servant's humility; butshe has loyalty and pluck. For one she loves there is nothing she wouldnot do; but she cannot be driven. Or rather, if she is driven, it mayrouse in her the devil incarnate. She needs not exactly affection--shewould almost resent that--but intelligent interest and care. In returnfor this she will gradually learn to serve and serve loyally. Frankly, Mrs. Vanderpool, I would not have chosen you for this task of humaneducation. Indeed, you would have been my last thought--you seem tome--I speak plainly--a worldly woman. Yet, perhaps--who can tell?--Godhas especially set you to this task. At any rate, I have little choice. I am at my wits' end. Elspeth, the mother of this child, is not longdead; and here is the girl, beautiful, unprotected; and here am I, almost helpless. She is in debt to the Cresswells, and they are pressingthe claim to her service. Take her if you can get her--it is, I fear, her only chance. Mind you--if you can persuade her; and that may beimpossible. "

"Where is she now?"

Miss Smith glanced out at the darkening landscape, and then at herwatch. 

"I do not know; she's very late. She's given to wandering, but usuallyshe is here before this time. "

"I saw her in town this afternoon, " said Mrs. Vanderpool. 

"Zora? In town?" Miss Smith rose. "I'll send her to you tomorrow, " shesaid quietly. Mrs. Vanderpool had hardly reached the Oaks before MissSmith was driving toward town. 

A small cabin on the town's ragged fringe was crowded to suffocation. Within arose noisy shouts, loud songs, and raucous laughter; thescraping of a fiddle and whine of an accordion. Liquor began to appearand happy faces grew red-eyed and sodden as the dances whirled. At theedge of the orgy stood Zora, wild-eyed and bewildered, mad with the painthat gripped her heart and hammered in her head, crying in tune with thefrenzied music--"the End--the End!"

Abruptly she recognized a face despite the wreck and ruin of its beauty. 

"Bertie!" she cried as she seized the mother of little Emma by the arm. 

The woman staggered and offered her glass. 

"Drink, " she cried, "drink and forget. "

In a moment Zora sprang forward and seized the burning liquid in bothhands. A dozen hands clapped a devil's tattoo. A score of voices yelledand laughed. The shriek of the music was drowned beneath the thunder ofstamping feet. Men reeled to singing women's arms, but above the roarrose the song of the voice of Zora--she glided to the middle of theroom, standing tip-toed with skirts that curled and turned; she threwback her head, raised the liquor to her lips, paused and looked into theface of Miss Smith. 

A silence fell like a lightning flash on the room as that white facepeered in at the door. Slowly Zora's hands fell and her eyes blinked asthough waking from some awful dream. She staggered toward the woman'soutstretched arms. . . . 

Late that night the girl lay close in Miss Smith's motherly embrace. 

"I was going to hell!" she whispered, trembling. 

"Why, Zora?" asked Miss Smith calmly. 

"I couldn't find the Way--and I wanted to forget. "

"People in hell don't forget, " was the matter-of-fact comment. "And, Zora, what way do you seek? The way where?"

Zora sat up in bed, and lifted a gray and stricken face. 

"It's a lie, " she cried, with hoarse earnedstness, "the way nowhere. There is no Way! You know--I want _him_--I want nothing on earth buthim--and him I can't ever have. "

The older woman drew her down tenderly. 

"No, Zora, " she said, "there's something you want more than him andsomething you can have!"

"What?" asked the wondering girl. 

"His respect, " said Sarah Smith, "and I know the Way. "

_Twenty-one_

THE MARRIAGE MORNING

Mrs. Vanderpool watched Zora as she came up the path beneath the oaks. "She walks well, " she observed. And laying aside her book, she waitedwith a marked curiosity. 

The girl's greeting was brief, almost curt, but unintentionally so, asone could easily see, for back in her eyes lurked an impatient hunger;she was not thinking of greetings. She murmured a quick word, and stoodstraight and tall with her eyes squarely on the lady. 

In the depths of Mrs. Vanderpool's heart something strange--not new, butvery old--stirred. Before her stood this tall black girl, quietlyreturning her look. Mrs. Vanderpool had a most uncomfortable sense ofbeing judged, of being weighed, --and there arose within her an impulseto self-justification. 

She smiled and said sweetly, "Won't you sit?" But despite all this, hermind seemed leaping backward a thousand years; back to a simpler, primal day when she herself, white, frail, and fettered, stood beforethe dusky magnificence of some bejewelled barbarian queen and sought tojustify herself. She shook off the phantasy, --and yet how well the girlstood. It was not every one that could stand still and well. 

"Please sit down, " she repeated with her softest charm, not dreamingthat outside the school white persons did not ask this girl to sit intheir presence. But even this did not move Zora. She sat down. There wasin her, walking, standing, sitting, a simple directness which Mrs. Vanderpool sensed and met. 

"Zora, I need some one to help me--to do my hair and serve my coffee, and dress and take care of me. The work will not be hard, and you cantravel and see the world and live well. Would you like it?"

"But I do not know how to do all these things, " returned Zora, slowly. She was thinking rapidly--Was this the Way? It sounded wonderful. TheWorld, the great mysterious World, that stretched beyond the swamp andinto which Bles and the Silver Fleece had gone--did it lead to the Way?But if she went there what would she see and do, and would it bepossible to become such a woman as Miss Smith pictured?

"What is the world like?" asked Zora. 

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled. "Oh, I meant great active cities and buildings, myriads of people and wonderful sights. "

"Yes--but back of it all, what is it really? What does it look like?"

"Heavens, child! Don't ask. Really, it isn't worth while peering back ofthings. One is sure to be disappointed. "

"Then what's the use of seeing the world?"

"Why, one must live; and why not be happy?" answered Mrs. Vanderpool, amused, baffled, spurred for the time being from her chronic _ennui_. 

"Are you happy?" retorted Zora, looking her over carefully, from silkenstockings to garden hat. Mrs. Vanderpool laid aside her little mockeryand met the situation bravely. 

"No, " she replied simply. Her eyes grew old and tired. 

Involuntarily Zora's hand crept out protectingly and lay a moment overthe white jewelled fingers. Then quickly recovering herself, she startedhastily to withdraw it, but the woman's fingers closed around the darkerones, and Mrs. Vanderpool's eyes became dim. 

"I need you, Zora, " she said; and then, seeing the half-formed question, "Yes, and you need me; we need each other. In the world liesopportunity, and I will help you. "

Zora rose abruptly, and Mrs. Vanderpool feared, with a tightening ofheart, that she had lost this strangely alluring girl. 

"I will come to-morrow, " said Zora. 

As Mrs. Vanderpool went in to lunch, reaction and lingering doubts cametrouping back. To replace the daintiest of trained experts with the mostbaffling semi-barbarian, well!

"Have you hired a maid?" asked Helen. 

"I've engaged Zora, " laughed Mrs. Vanderpool, lightly; "and now I'mwondering whether I have a jewel or--a white elephant. "

"Probably neither, " remarked Harry Cresswell, drily; but he avoided thelady's inquiring eyes. 

Next morning Zora came easily into Mrs. Vanderpool's life. There waslittle she knew of her duties, but little, too, that she could not learnwith a deftness and divination almost startling. Her quietness, herquickness, her young strength, were like a soothing balm to the tiredwoman of fashion, and within a week she had sunk back contentedly intoZora's strong arms. 

"It's a jewel, " she decided. 

With this verdict, the house agreed. The servants waited on "Miss Zora"gladly; the men scarcely saw her, and the ladies ran to her for help inall sorts. Harry Cresswell looked upon this transformation with anamused smile, but the Colonel saw in it simply evidence of dangerousobstinacy in a black girl who hitherto had refused to work. 

Zora had been in the house but a week when a large express package wasreceived from John Taylor. Its unwrapping brought a cry of pleasurefrom the ladies. There lay a bolt of silken-like cambric of wondrousfineness and lustre, marked: "For the wedding-dress. " The explanationaccompanied the package, that Mary Taylor had a similar piece in theNorth. 

Helen and Harry said nothing of the cablegram to the Paris tailor, andHelen took no steps toward having the cambric dress made, not even whenthe wedding invitations appeared. 

"A Cresswell married in cotton!" Helen was almost in tears lest theParis gown be delayed, and sure enough a cablegram came at last sayingthat there was little likelihood of the gown being ready by Easter. Itwould be shipped at the earliest convenience, but it could hardly catchthe necessary boat. Helen had a good cry, and then came a wild rush toget John Taylor's cloth ready. Still, Helen was querulous. She decidedthat silk embroidery must embellish the skirt. The dressmaker was indespair. 

"I haven't a single spare worker, " she declared. 

Helen was appealing to Mrs. Vanderpool. 

"I can do it, " said Zora, who was in the room. 

"Do you know how?" asked the dressmaker. 

"No, but I want to know. "

Mrs. Vanderpool gave a satisfied nod. "Show her, " she said. Thedressmaker was on the edge of rebellion. "Zora sews beautifully, " addedMrs. Vanderpool. 

Thus the beautiful cloth came to Zora's room, and was spread in a glossycloud over her bed. She trembled at its beauty and felt a vague inneryearning, as if some subtle magic of the woven web were trying to tellher its story. 

She worked over it faithfully and lovingly in every spare hour and inlong nights of dreaming. Wilfully she departed from the set pattern andsewed into the cloth something of the beauty in her heart. In new andintricate ways, with soft shadowings and coverings, she wove in thatwhite veil her own strange soul, and Mrs. Vanderpool watched hercuriously, but in silence. 

Meantime all things were arranged for a double wedding at CresswellOaks. As John and Mary Taylor had no suitable home, they were to comedown and the two brides to go forth from the Cresswell mansion. Accordingly the Taylors arrived a week before the wedding and the hometook on a festive air. Even Colonel Cresswell expanded under the genialinfluences, and while his head still protested his heart was glad. Hehad to respect John Taylor's undoubted ability; and Mary Taylor wascertainly lovely, in spite of that assumption of cleverness of which theColonel could not approve. 

Mary returned to the old scenes with mingled feelings. Especially wasshe startled at seeing Zora a member of the household and apparentlyhigh in favor. It brought back something of the old uneasiness andsuspicion. 

All this she soon forgot under the cadence of Harry Cresswell's pleasantvoice and the caressing touch of his arm. He seemed handsomer than ever;and he was, for sleep and temperance and the wooing of a woman had put atinge in his marble face, smoothed the puffs beneath his eyes, and givenhim a more distinguished bearing and a firmer hand. And Mary Taylor wasvery happy. So was her brother, only differently; he was making money;he was planning to make more, and he had something to pet which seemedto him extraordinarily precious and valuable. 

Taylor eagerly inquired after the cloth, and followed the ladies toZora's room, adjoining Mrs. Vanderpool's, to see it. It lay uncut andshimmering, covered with dim silken tracery of a delicacy and beautywhich brought an exclamation to all lips. 

"That's what we can do with Alabama cotton, " cried John Taylor intriumph. 

They turned to him incredulously. 

"But--"

"No 'buts' about it; these are the two bales you sent me, woven with asilk woof. " No one particularly noticed that Zora had hastily left theroom. "I had it done in Easterly's New Jersey mills according to an oldplan of mine. I'm going to make cloth like that right in this countysome day, " and he chuckled gayly. 

But Zora was striding up and down the halls, the blood surging in herears. After they were gone she came back and closed the doors. Shedropped on her knees and buried her face in the filmy folds of theSilver Fleece. 

"I knew it! I knew it!" she whispered in mingled tears and joy. "Itcalled and I did not understand. "

It was her talisman new-found; her love come back, her stolen dream cometrue. Now she could face the world; God had turned it straight again. She would go into the world and find--not Love, but the thing greaterthan Love. Outside the door came voices--the dressmaker's tones, Helen'ssoft drawl, and Mrs. Vanderpool's finished accents. Her face wentsuddenly gray. The Silver Fleece was not hers! It belonged--She rosehastily. The door opened and they came in. The cutting must begin atonce, they all agreed. 

"Is it ready, Zora?" inquired Helen. 

"No, " Zora quietly answered, "not quite, but tomorrow morning, early. "As soon as she was alone again, she sat down and considered. By and by, while the family was at lunch, she folded the Silver Fleece carefullyand locked it in her new trunk. She would hide it in the swamp. Duringthe afternoon she sent to town for oil-cloth, and bade the blackcarpenter at Miss Smith's make a cedar box, tight and tarred. In themorning she prepared Mrs. Vanderpool's breakfast with unusual care. Shewas sorry for Mrs. Vanderpool, and sorry for Miss Smith. They would not, they could not, understand. What would happen to her? She did not know;she did not care. The Silver Fleece had returned to her. Soon it wouldbe buried in the swamp whence it came. She had no alternative; she mustkeep it and wait. 

She heard the dressmaker's voice, and then her step upon the stair. Sheheard the sound of Harry Cresswell's buggy, and a scurrying at the frontdoor. On came the dressmaker's footsteps--then her door wasunceremoniously burst open. 

Helen Cresswell stood there radiant; the dressmaker, too, was wreathedin smiles. She carried a big red-sealed bundle. 

"Zora!" cried Helen in ecstasy. "It's come!" Zora regarded her coldly, and stood at bay. The dressmaker was ripping and snipping, and soonthere lay revealed before them--the Paris gown!

Helen was in raptures, but her conscience pricked her. She appealed tothem. "Ought I to tell? You see, Mary's gown will look miserably commonbeside it. "

The dressmaker was voluble. There was really nothing to tell; andbesides, Helen was a Cresswell and it was to be expected, and so forth. Helen pursed her lips and petulantly tapped the floor with her foot. 

"But the other gown?"

"Where is it?" asked the dressmaker, looking about. "It would make apretty morning-dress--"

But Helen had taken a sudden dislike to the thought of it. 

"I don't want it, " she declared. "And besides, I haven't room for it inmy trunks. "

Of a sudden she leaned down and whispered to Zora: "Zora, hide it andkeep it if you want it. Come, " to the dressmaker, "I'm dying to try thison--now. . . . Remember, Zora--not a word. " And all this to Zora seemed nosurprise; it was the Way, and it was opening before her because thetalisman lay in her trunk. 

So at last it came to Easter morning. The world was golden with jasmine, and crimson with azalea; down in the darker places gleamed the mistyglory of the dogwood; new cotton shook, glimmered, and blossomed in theblack fields, and over all the soft Southern sun poured its awakeninglight of life. There was happiness and hope again in the cabins, andhope and--if not happiness, ambition, in the mansions. 

Zora, almost forgetting the wedding, stood before the mirror. Layingaside her dress, she draped her shimmering cloth about her, dragging herhair down in a heavy mass over ears and neck until she seemed herself abride. And as she stood there, awed with the mystical union of a deadlove and a living new born self, there came drifting in at the window, faintly, the soft sound of far-off marriage music. 

"'Tis thy marriage morning, shining in the sun!"

Two white and white-swathed brides were coming slowly down the greatstaircase of Cresswell Oaks, and two white and black-clothed bridegroomsawaited them. Either bridegroom looked gladly at the flow of hissister's garments and almost darkly at his bride's. For Helen was deckedin Parisian splendor, while Mary was gowned in the Fleece. 

"'Tis thy marriage morning, shining in the sun!"

Up floated the song of the little dark-faced children, and Zoralistened. 

_Twenty-two_

MISS CAROLINE WYNN

Bles Alwyn was seated in the anteroom of Senator Smith's office inWashington. The Senator had not come in yet, and there were otherswaiting, too. 

The young man sat in a corner, dreaming. Washington was his first greatcity, and it seemed a never-ending delight--the streets, the buildings, the crowds; the shops, and lights, and noise; the kaleidoscopic panoramaof a world's doing, the myriad forms and faces, the talk and laughter ofmen. It was all wonderful magic to the country boy, and he stretched hisarms and filled his lungs and cried: "Here I shall live!"

Especially was he attracted by his own people. They seemed transformed, revivified, changed. Some might be mistaken for field hands on aholiday--but not many. Others he did not recognize--they seemed strangeand alien--sharper, quicker, and at once more overbearing and moreunscrupulous. 

There were yet others--and at the sight of these Bles stood straighterand breathed like a man. They were well dressed, and well appearing menand women, who walked upright and looked one in the eye, and seemed likepersons of affairs and money. They had arrived--they were men--theyfilled his mind's ideal--he felt like going up to them and graspingtheir hands and saying, "At last, brother!" Ah, it was good to findone's dreams, walking in the light, in flesh and blood. Continually suchthoughts were surging through his brain, and they were rioting throughit again as he sat waiting in Senator Smith's office. 

The Senator was late this morning; when he came in he glanced at themorning paper before looking over his mail and the list of his callers. "Do fools like the American people deserve salvation?" he sneered, holding off the headlines and glancing at them. 

"'League Beats Trust. ' . . . 'Farmers of South Smash Effort to Bear Market. . . Send Cotton to Twelve Cents . . . Common People Triumph. '

"A man is induced to bite off his own nose and then to sing a pæan ofvictory. It's nauseating--senseless. There is no earthly use strivingfor such blockheads; they'd crucify any Saviour. " Thus half consciouslySenator Smith salved his conscience, while he extracted a certificate ofdeposit for fifty thousand dollars from his New York mail. He thrust itaside from his secretary's view and looked at his list as he rang thebell: there was Representative Todd, and somebody named Alwyn--nobody ofimportance. Easterly was due in a half-hour. He would get rid of Toddmeantime. 

"Poor Todd, " he mused; "a lamb for the slaughter. "

But he patiently listened to him plead for party support and influencefor his bill to prohibit gambling in futures. 

"I was warned that it was useless to see you, Senator Smith, but I wouldcome. I believe in you. Frankly, there is a strong group of your oldfriends and followers forming against you; they met only last night, butI did not go. Won't you take a stand on some of these progressivematters--this bill, or the Child Labor movement, or Low Tarifflegislation?"

Mr. Smith listened but shook his head. 

"When the time comes, " he announced deliberately, "I shall havesomething to say on several of these matters. At present I can only saythat I cannot support this bill, " and Mr. Todd was ushered out. He metMr. Easterly coming in and greeted him effusively. He knew him only as arich philanthropist, who had helped the Neighborhood Guild inWashington--one of Todd's hobbies. 

Easterly greeted Smith quietly. 

"Got my letter?"

"Yes. "

"Here are the three bills. You will go on the Finance Committeetomorrow; Sumdrich is chairman by courtesy, but you'll have the realpower. Put the Child Labor Bill first, and we'll work the press. TheTariff will take most of the session, of course. We'll put the cottoninspection bill through in the last days of the session--see? I'mmanoeuvring to get the Southern Congressmen into line. . . . Oh, one thing. Thompson says he's a little worried about the Negroes; says there'ssomething more than froth in the talk of a bolt in the Northern Negrovote. We may have to give them a little extra money and a few more minoroffices than usual. Talk with Thompson; the Negroes are sweet on you andhe's going to be the new chairman of the campaign, you know. Ever methim?"

"Yes. "

"Well--so long. "

"Just a moment, " the statesman stayed the financier. 

"Todd just let fall something of a combination against us inCongress--know anything of it?"

"Not definitely; I heard some rumors. Better see if you can run it down. Well, I must hurry--good day. "

While Bles Alwyn in the outer office was waiting and musing, a ladycame in. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the curve of her gown, and as she seated herself beside him, the suggestion of a faint perfume. A vague resentment rose in him. Colored women would look as well asthat, he argued, with the clothes and wealth and training. He paused, however, in his thought: he did not want them like the whites--so coldand formal and precise, without heart or marrow. He started up, for thesecretary was speaking to him. 

"Are you the--er--the man who had a letter to the Senator?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Let me see it. Oh, yes--he will see you in a moment. "

Bles was returning the letter to his pocket when he heard a voice almostat his ear. 

"I beg your pardon--"

He turned and started. It was the lady next to him, and she was colored!Not extremely colored, but undoubtedly colored, with waving black hair, light brown skin, and the fuller facial curving of the darker world. Andyet Bles was surprised, for everything else about her--her voice, herbearing, the set of her gown, her gloves and shoes, the whole impressionwas--Bles hesitated for a word--well, "white. "

"Yes--yes, ma'am, " he stammered, becoming suddenly conscious that thelady had now a second time asked him if he was acquainted with SenatorSmith. "That is, ma'am, "--why was he saying "ma'am, " like a child or aservant?--"I know his sister and have a letter for him. "

"Do you live in Washington?" she inquired. 

"No--but I want to. I've been trying to get in as a clerk, and I haven'tsucceeded yet. That's what I'm going to see Senator Smith about. "

"Have you had the civil-service examinations?"

"Yes. I made ninety-three in the examination for a treasury clerkship. "

"And no appointment? I see--they are not partial to us there. "

Bles was glad to hear her say "us. "

She continued after a pause:

"May I venture to ask a favor of you?"

"Certainly, " he responded. 

"My name is Wynn, " lowering her voice slightly and leaning toward him. "There are so many ahead of me and I am in a hurry to get to my school;but I must see the Senator--couldn't I go in with you? I think I mightbe of service in this matter of the examination, and then perhaps I'dget a chance to say a word for myself. "

"I'd be very glad to have you come, " said Bles, cordially. 

The secretary hesitated a little when the two started in, but MissWynn's air was so quietly assured that he yielded. 

Senator Smith looked at the tall, straight black man with his smoothskin and frank eyes. And for a second time that morning a vision of hisown youth dimmed his eyes. But he spoke coldly:

"Mr. Alwyn, I believe. "

"Yes, sir. "

"And--"

"My friend, Miss Wynn. "

The Senator glanced at Miss Wynn and she bowed demurely. Then he turnedto Alwyn. 

"Well, Mr. Alwyn, Washington is a bad place to start in the world. "

Bles looked surprised and incredulous. He could conceive of no finerstarting-place, but he said nothing. 

"It is a grave, " continued the Senator, "of ambitions and ideals. Youwould far better go back to Alabama"--pausing and looking at the youngman keenly--"but you won't--you won't--not yet, at any rate. " And Blesshook his head slowly. 

"No--well, what can I do for you?"

"I want work--I'll do anything. "

"No, you'll do one thing--be a clerk, and then if you have the rightstuff in you you will throw up that job in a year and start again. "

"I'd like at least to try it, sir. "

"Well, I can't help you much there; that's in civil-service, and youmust take the examination. "

"I have, sir. "

"So? Where, and what mark?"

"In the Treasury Department; I got a mark of ninety-three. "

"What!--and no appointment?" The Senator was incredulous. 

"No, sir; not yet. "

Here Miss Wynn interposed. 

"You see, Senator, " she said, "civil-service rules are not alwaysimpervious to race prejudice. "

The Senator frowned. 

"Do you mean to intimate that Mr. Alwyn's appointment is held up becausehe is colored?"

"I do. "

"Well--well!" The Senator rang for a clerk. 

"Get me the Treasury on the telephone. "

In a moment the bell rang. 

"I want Mr. Cole. Is that you, Mr. Cole? Good-morning. Have you a youngman named Alwyn on your eligible list? What? Yes?" A pause. "Indeed?Well, why has he no appointment? Of course, I know, he's a Negro. Yes, Idesire it very much--thank you. "

"You'll get an appointment to-morrow morning, " and the Senator rose. "How is my sister?" he asked absently. 

"She was looking worried, but hopeful of the new endowment when I left. "The Senator held out his hand; Bles took it and then remembered. 

"Oh, I beg pardon, but Miss Wynn wanted a word on another matter. "

The Senator turned to Miss Wynn. 

"I am a school-teacher, Senator Smith, and like all the rest of us I amdeeply interested in the appointment of the new school-board. "

"But you know the district committee attends to those things, " said theSenator hastily. "And then, too, I believe there is talk of abolishingthe school-board and concentrating power in the hands of thesuperintendent. "

"Precisely, " said Miss Wynn. "And I came to tell you, Senator Smith, that the interests which are back of this attack upon the schools are nofriends of yours. " Miss Wynn extracted from her reticule a typewrittenpaper. 

He took the paper and read it intently. Then he keenly scrutinized theyoung woman, and she steadily returned his regard. 

"How am I to know this is true?"

"Follow it up and see. "

He mused. 

"Where did you get these facts?" he asked suddenly. 

She smiled. 

"It is hardly necessary to say. "

"And yet, " he persisted, "if I were sure of its source I would know myground better and--my obligation to you would be greater. "

She laughed and glanced toward Alwyn. He had moved out of earshot andwas waiting by the window. 

"I am a teacher in the M Street High School, " she said, "and we havesome intelligent boys there who work their way through. "

"Yes, " said the Senator. 

"Some, " continued Miss Wynn, tapping her boot on the carpet, "some--waiton table. "

The Senator slowly put the paper in his pocket. 

"And now, " he said, "Miss Wynn, what can I do for you?"

She looked at him. 

"If Judge Haynes is reappointed to the school-board I shall probablycontinue to teach in the M Street High School, " she said slowly. 

The Senator made a memorandum and said:

"I shall not forget Miss Wynn--nor her friends. " And he bowed, glancingat Alwyn. 

The woman contemplated Bles in momentary perplexity, then bowing inturn, left. Bles followed, debating just what he ought to say, how farhe might venture to accompany her, what--but she easily settled it all. 

"I thank you--good-bye, " she said briefly at the door, and was gone. Bles did not know whether to feel relieved or provoked, or disappointed, and by way of compromise felt something of all three. 

The next morning he received notice of his appointment to a clerkship inthe Treasury Department, at a salary of nine hundred dollars. The sumseemed fabulous and he was in the seventh heaven. For many days theconsciousness of wealth, the new duties, the street scenes, and the citylife kept him more than busy. He planned to study, and arranged with aprofessor at Howard University to guide him. He bought an armful ofbooks and a desk, and plunged desperately to work. 

Gradually as he became used to the office routine, and in the hours whenhe was weary of study, he began to find time hanging a little heavily onhis hands; indeed--although he would not acknowledge it--he was gettinglonesome, homesick, amid the myriad men of a busy city. He argued tohimself that this was absurd, and yet he knew that he was longing forhuman companionship. When he looked about him for fellowship he foundhimself in a strange dilemma: those black folk in whom he recognized theold sweet-tempered Negro traits, had also looser, uglier manners than hewas accustomed to, from which he shrank. The upper classes of Negroes, on the other hand, he still observed from afar; they were strangers notonly in acquaintance but because of a curious coldness and aloofnessthat made them cease to seem his own kind; they seemed almost at timeslike black white people--strangers in way and thought. 

He tried to shake off this feeling but it clung, and at last in sheerdesperation, he promised to go out of a night with a fellow clerk whorather boasted of the "people" he knew. He was soon tired of thestrange company, and had turned to go home, when he met a newcomer inthe doorway. 

"Why, hello, Sam! Sam Stillings!" he exclaimed delightedly, and was soongrasping the hand of a slim, well-dressed man of perhaps thirty, withyellow face, curling hair, and shifting eyes. 

"Well, of all things, Bles--er--ah--Mr. Alwyn! Thought you were hoeingcotton. "

Bles laughed and continued shaking his head. He was foolishly glad tosee the former Cresswell butler, whom he had known but slightly. Hisface brought back unuttered things that made his heart beat faster and ayearning surge within him. 

"I thought you went to Chicago, " cried Bles. 

"I did, but goin' into politics--having entered the political field, Icame here. And you graduated, I suppose, and all that?"

"No, " Bless admitted a little sadly, as he told of his coming north, andof Senator Smith's influence. "But--but how are--all?"

Abruptly Sam hooked his arm into Alwyn's and pulled him with him downthe street. Stillings was a type. Up from servility and menial servicehe was struggling to climb to money and power. He was shrewd, willing tostoop to anything in order to win. The very slights and humiliations ofprejudice he turned to his advantage. When he learned all theparticulars of Alwyn's visit to Senator Smith and his cordial receptionhe judged it best to keep in touch with this young man, and he forthwithinvited Bles to accompany him the next night to the Fifteenth StreetPresbyterian Church. 

"You'll find the best people there, " he said; "the aristocracy. TheTreble Clef gives a concert, and everybody that's anybody will bethere. "

They met again the following evening and proceeded to the church. It wasa simple but pleasant auditorium, nearly filled with well-dressedpeople. During the programme Bles applauded vociferously every numberthat pleased him, which is to say, every one--and stamped his feet, until he realized that he was attracting considerable attention tohimself. Then the entertainment straightway lost all its charm; he grewpainfully embarrassed, and for the remainder of the evening wasawkwardly self-conscious. When all was over, the audience rose leisurelyand stood in little knots and eddies, laughing and talking; many movedforward to say a word to the singers and players, Stillings steppedaside to a group of men, and Bles was left miserably alone. A man cameto him, a white-faced man, with slightly curling close gray hair, andhigh-bred ascetic countenance. 

"You are a stranger?" he asked pleasantly, and Bles liked him. 

"Yes, sir, " he answered, and they fell to talking. He discovered thatthis was the pastor of the church. 

"Do you know no one in town?"

"One or two of my fellow clerks and Mr. Stillings. Oh, yes, I've metMiss Wynn. "

"Why, here is Miss Wynn now. "

Bles turned. She was right behind him, the centre of a group. Sheturned, slowly, and smiled. 

"Oh!" she uttered twice, but with difference cadence. Then somethinglike amusement lurked a moment in her eye, and she quietly presentedBles to her friends, while Stillings hovered unnoticed in the offing:

"Miss Jones--Mr. Alwyn of--" she paused a second--"Alabama. MissTaylor--Mr. Alwyn--and, " with a backward curving of her neck, "Mr. Teerswell, " and so on. Mr. Teerswell was handsome and indolent, withindecision in his face and a cynical voice. In a moment Bles felt thesubtle antagonism of the group. He was an intruder. Mr. Teerswell noddedeasily and turned away, continuing his conversation with the ladies. 

But Miss Wynn was perverse and interrupted. "I saw you enjoyed theconcert, Mr. Alwyn, " she said, and one of the young ladies rippledaudibly. Bles darkened painfully, realizing that these people must havebeen just behind him. But he answered frankly:

"Yes, I did immensely--I hope I didn't disturb you; you see, I'm notused to hearing such singing. "

Mr. Teerswell, compelled to listen, laughed drily. 

"Plantation melodies, I suppose, are more your specialty, " he said witha slight cadence. 

"Yes, " said Bles simply. A slight pause ensued. 

Then came the surprise of the evening for Bles Alwyn. Even hisinexperienced eye could discern that Miss Wynn was very popular, andthat most of the men were rivals for her attentions. 

"Mr. Alwyn, " she said graciously, rising. "I'm going to trouble you tosee me to my door; it's only a block. Good-night, all!" she called, butshe bowed to Mr. Teerswell. 

Miss Wynn placed her hand lightly on Bles's arm, and for a moment hepaused. A thrill ran through him as he felt again the weight of a littlehand and saw beside him the dark beautiful eyes of a girl. He felt againthe warm quiver of her body. Then he awoke to the lighted church and themoving, well-dressed throng. The hand on his arm was not so small; butit was well-gloved, and somehow the fancy struck him that it was a coldhand and not always sympathetic in its touch. 

_Twenty-three_

THE TRAINING OF ZORA

"I did not know the world was so large, " remarked Zora as she and Mrs. Vanderpool flew east and northward on the New York-New Orleans limited. For a long time the girl had given herself up to the sheer delight ofmotion. Gazing from the window, she compared the lands she passed withthe lands she knew: noting the formation of the cotton; the kind andgrowth of the trees; the state of the roads. Then the comparisons becameinfinite, endless; the world stretched on and on until it seemed meredistance, and she suddenly realized how vast a thing it was and spoke. 

Mrs. Vanderpool was amused. "It's much smaller than one would think, "she responded. 

When they came to Atlanta Zora stared and wrinkled her brows. It was herfirst large city. The other towns were replicas of Toomsville; strangein number, not in kind; but this was different, and she could notunderstand it. It seemed senseless and unreasonable, and yet sostrangely so that she was at a loss to ask questions. She was verysolemn as they rode on and night came down with dreams. 

She awoke in Washington to new fairylands and wonders; the endless goingand coming of men; great piles that challenged heaven, and homes crowdedon homes till one could not believe that they were full of livingthings. They rolled by Baltimore and Philadelphia, and she talked ofevery-day matters: of the sky which alone stood steadfast amid whirlingchange; of bits of empty earth that shook themselves here and thereloose from their burden of men, and lay naked in the cold shiningsunlight. 

All the while the greater questions were beating and curling andbuilding themselves back in her brain, and above all she was wonderingwhy no one had told her before of all this mighty world. Mrs. Vanderpool, to whom it seemed too familiar for comment, had said noword; or, if she had spoken, Zora's ears had not been tuned tounderstand; and as they flew toward the towering ramparts of New York, she sat up big with the terror of a new thought: suppose this world werefull yet of things she did not know nor dream of? How could she findout? She must know. 

When finally they were settled in New York and sat high up on the FifthAvenue front of the hotel, gradually the inarticulate questioning foundwords, albeit strange ones. 

"It reminds me of the swamp, " she said. 

Mrs. Vanderpool, just returned from a shopping tour, burst intolaughter. 

"It is--but I marvel at your penetration. "

"I mean, it is moving--always moving. "

"The swamp seemed to me unearthly still. "

"Yes--yes, " cried Zora, eagerly, brushing back the rumpled hair; "and sodid the city, at first, to me. "

"Still! New York?"

"Yes. You see, I saw the buildings and forgot the men; and thebuildings were so tall and silent against Heaven. And then I came to seethe people, and suddenly I knew the city was like the swamp, alwaysrestless and changing. "

"And more beautiful?" suggested Mrs. Vanderpool, slipping her arms intoher lounging-robe. 

"Oh, no; not nearly so beautiful. And yet--more interesting. " Then witha puzzled look: "I wonder why?"

"Perhaps because it's people and not things. "

"It's people in the swamp, " asserted Zora, dreamily, smoothing out thepillows of the couch, "'little people, ' I call them. The difference is, I think, that there I know how the story will come out; everything ischanging, but I know how and why and from what and to what. Now here, _every_thing seems to be happening; but what is it that is happening?"

"You must know what has happened, to know what may happen, " said Mrs. Vanderpool. 

"But how can I know?"

"I'll get you some books to-morrow. "

"I'd like to know what it means, " wistfully. 

"It is meaningless. " The woman's cynicism was lost upon Zora, of course, but it possessed the salutary effect of stimulating the girl's thoughts, encouraging her to discover for herself. 

"I think not; so much must mean something, " she protested. 

Zora gathered up the clothes and things and shaded the windows, glancingthe while down on the street. 

"Everybody is going, going, " she murmured. "I wonder where. Don't theyever get there?"

"Few arrive, " said Mrs. Vanderpool. Zora softly bent and passed her coolsoft hand over her forehead. 

"Then why do they go?"

"The zest of the search, perhaps. "

"No, " said Zora as she noiselessly left the room and closed the door;"no, they are searching for something they have lost. Perhaps they, too, are searching for the Way, " and the tears blinded her eyes. 

Mrs. Vanderpool lay in the quiet darkened room with a puzzled smile onher lips. A month ago she had not dreamed that human interest in anybodywould take so strong a hold upon her as her liking for Zora had done. She was a woman of unusual personal charm, but her own interest andaffections were seldom stirred. Had she been compelled to earn a livingshe would have made a successful teacher or manipulator of men. As itwas, she viewed the human scene with detached and cynical interest. Shehad no children, few near relations, a husband who went his way andstill was a gentleman. 

Essentially Mrs. Vanderpool was unmoral. She held the code of her socialset with sportsmanlike honor; but even beyond this she stooped to nointrigue, because none interested her. She had all the elements of powersave the motive for doing anything in particular. For the first time, perhaps, Zora gave her life a peculiar human interest. She did not lovethe girl, but she was intensely interested in her; some of the interestwas selfish, for Zora was going to be a perfect maid. The girl'slanguage came to be more and more like Mrs. Vanderpool's; her dress andtaste in adornment had been Mrs. Vanderpool's first care, and it led toa curious training in art and sense of beauty until the lady now andthen found herself learner before the quick suggestiveness of Zora'smind. 

When Mrs. Harry Cresswell called a month or so later the talk naturallyincluded mention of Zora. Mary was happy and vivacious, and noted thegirl's rapid development. 

"I wonder what I shall make out of her?" queried Mrs. Vanderpool. "Doyou know, I believe I could mould her into a lady if she were notblack. "

Mary Cresswell laughed. "With that hair?"

"It has artistic possibilities. You should have seen my hair-dresser'sface when I told her to do it up. Her face and Zora's were a pantomimefor the gods. Yet it was done. It lay in some great twisted cloud and inthat black net gown of mine Zora was simply magnificent. Her form isperfect, her height is regal, her skin is satin, and my jewels found aresting place at last. Jewels, you know, dear, were never meant forwhite folk. I was tempted to take her to the box at the opera and letNew York break its impudent neck. "

Mary was shocked. 

"But, Mrs. Vanderpool, " she protested, "is it right? Is it fair? Whyshould you spoil this black girl and put impossible ideas into her head?You can make her a perfect maid, but she can never be much more inAmerica. "

"She is a perfect maid now; that's the miracle of it--she's that deftand quick and quiet and thoughtful! The hotel employees think herperfect; my friends rave--really, I'm the most blessed of women. But doyou know I like the girl? I--well, I think of her future. "

"It's wrong to treat her as you do. You make her an equal. Her room isone of the best and filled with books and bric-a-brac. She sometimeseats with you--is your companion, in fact. "

"What of it? She loves to read, and I guide her while she keeps me up onthe latest stuff. She can talk much better than many of my friends andthen she piques my curiosity: she's a sort of intellectual sauce thatstirs my rapidly failing mental appetite. I think that as soon as I canmake up my mind to spare her, I'll take her to France and marry her offin the colonies. "

"Well, that's possible; but one doesn't easily give up good servants. Bythe way, I learn from Miss Smith that the boy, Bles Alwyn, in whom Zorawas so interested, is a clerk in the Treasury Department at Washington. "

"Indeed! I'm going to Washington this winter; I'll look him over and seeif he's worth Zora--which I greatly doubt. "

Mrs. Cresswell pursed her lips and changed the subject. 

"Have you seen the Easterlys?"

"The ladies left their cards--they are quite impossible. Mr. Easterlycalls this afternoon. I can't imagine why, but he asked for anappointment. Will you go South with Mr. Cresswell? I'm glad to hear he'sentering politics. "

"No, I shall do some early house hunting in Washington, " said Mrs. Cresswell, rising as Mr. Easterly was announced. 

Mr. Easterly was not at home in Mrs. Vanderpool's presence. She spoke alanguage different from his, and she had shown a disconcerting way, inthe few times when he had spoken with her, of letting the weight of theconversation rest on him. He felt very distinctly that Mrs. Vanderpoolwas not particularly desirous of his company, nor that of his family. Nevertheless, he needed Mrs. Vanderpool's influence just now, and he waswilling to pay considerable for it. Once under obligation to him herservices would be very valuable. He was glad to find Mrs. Cresswellthere. It showed that the Cresswells were still intimate, and theCresswells were bound to him and his interests by strong ties. He bowedas Mrs. Cresswell left, and then did not beat around the bush because, in this case, he did not know how. 

"Mrs. Vanderpool, I need your aid. "

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled politely, and murmured something. 

"We are, you know, in the midst of a rather warm presidential campaign, "continued Mr. Easterly. 

"Yes?" with polite interest. 

"We are going to win easily, but our majority in Congress for certainmatters will depend on the attitude of Southerners and you usually spendthe winters in Washington. If, now, you could drop a word here andthere--"

"But why should I?" asked Mrs. Vanderpool. 

"Mrs. Vanderpool, to be frank, I know some excellent investments thatyour influence in this line would help. I take it you're not so rich butthat--"

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled faintly. 

"Really, Mr. Easterly, I know little about such matters and care less. Ihave food and clothes. Why worry with more?"

Mr. Easterly half expected this and he determined to deliver his lastshot on the run. He arose with a disappointed air. 

"Of course, Mrs. Vanderpool, I see how it is: you have plenty and onecan't expect your services or influence for nothing. It had occurred tome that your husband might like something political; but I presume not. "

"Something political?"

"Yes. You see, it's barely possible, for instance, that there will be achange in the French ambassadorship. The present ambassador is oldand--well, I don't know, but as I say, it's possible. Of course though, that may not appeal to you, and I can only beg your good offices incharity if--if you see your way to help us. Well, I must be going. "

"What is--I thought the President appointed ambassadors. "

"To be sure, but we appoint Presidents, " laughed Mr. Easterly. "Good-day. I shall hope to see you in Washington. "

"Good-day, " Mrs. Vanderpool returned absently. 

After he had gone she walked slowly to Zora's room and opened the door. For a long time she stood quietly looking in. Zora was curled in a chairwith a book. She was in dreamland; in a world of books buildedthoughtfully for her by Mrs. Vanderpool, and before that by Miss Smith. Her work took but little of her time and left hours for reading andthinking. In that thought-life, more and more her real living centred. 

Hour after hour, day after day, she lay buried, deaf and dumb to allelse. Her heart cried, up on the World's four corners of the Way, and toit came the Vision Splendid. She gossiped with old Herodotus across theearth to the black and blameless Ethiopians; she saw the sculpturedglories of Phidias marbled amid the splendor of the swamp; she listenedto Demosthenes and walked the Appian Way with Cornelia--while all NewYork streamed beneath her window. 

She saw the drunken Goths reel upon Rome and heard the careless Negroesyodle as they galloped to Toomsville. Paris, she knew, --wonderful, haunting Paris: the Paris of Clovis, and St. Louis; of Louis the Great, and Napoleon III; of Balzac, and her own Dumas. She tasted the mud andcomfort of thick old London, and the while wept with Jeremiah and sangwith Deborah, Semiramis, and Atala. Mary of Scotland and Joan of Archeld her dark hands in theirs, and Kings lifted up their sceptres. 

She walked on worlds, and worlds of worlds, and heard there in herlittle room the tread of armies, the paeans of victory, the breaking ofhearts, and the music of the spheres. 

Mrs. Vanderpool watched her a while. 

"Zora, " she presently broke into the girl's absorption, "how would youlike to be Ambassador to France?"

_Twenty-four_

THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN

Miss Caroline Wynn of Washington had little faith in the world and itspeople. Nor was this wholly her fault. The world had dealt cruelly withthe young dreams and youthful ambitions of the girl; partly with itsusual heartlessness, partly with that cynical and deadening reserve fundwhich it has today for its darker peoples. The girl had bitterlyresented her experiences at first: she was brilliant and well-trained;she had a real talent for sculpture, and had studied considerably; shewas sprung from at least three generations of respectable mulattoes, whohad left a little competence which yielded her three or four hundreddollars a year. Furthermore, while not precisely pretty, she wasgood-looking and interesting, and she had acquired the marks andinsignia of good breeding. Perhaps she wore her manners just a trifleconsciously; perhaps she was a little morbid that she would fail ofrecognition as a lady. Nor was this unnatural: her brown skin invited adifferent assumption. Despite this almost unconscious mentalaggressiveness, she was unusually presentable and always well-groomedand pleasant of speech. Yet she found nearly all careers closed to her. At first it seemed accidental, the luck of life. Then she attributed itto her sex; but at last she was sure that, beyond chance and womanhood, it was the colorline that was hemming her in. Once convinced of this, she let her imagination play and saw the line even where it did notexist. 

With her bit of property and brilliant parts she had had many suitorsbut they had been refused one after another for reasons she could hardlyhave explained. For years now Tom Teerswell had been her escort. Whetheror not Caroline Wynn would every marry him was a perennial subject ofspeculation among their friends and it usually ended in the verdict thatshe could not afford it--that it was financially impossible. 

Nevertheless, the two were usually seen in public together, and althoughshe often showed her quiet mastery of the situation, seldom had shesnubbed him so openly as at the Treble Clef concert. 

Teerswell was furious and began to plot vengeance; but Miss Wynn wasattracted by the personality of Bles Alwyn. Southern country Negroeswere rare in her set, but here was a man of intelligence and keennesscoupled with an amazing frankness and modesty, and perceptibly shadowedby sorrow. The combination was, so far as she had observed, both rareand temporary and she was disposed to watch it in this case purely as amatter of intellectual curiosity. At the door of her home, therefore, after a walk of unusual interest, she said:

"I'm going to have a few friends in next Tuesday night; won't you come, Mr. Alwyn?" And Mr. Alwyn said that he would. 

Next morning Miss Wynn rather repented her hasty invitation, but ofcourse nothing could be done now. Nothing? Well, there was one thing;and she went to the telephone. A suggestion to Bles that he mightprofitably extend his acquaintance sent him to a certain tailor shopkept by a friend of hers; a word to the tailor guarded against the leastsuspicion of intrigue entering Bles's head. 

It turned out quite as Miss Wynn had designed; Mr. Grey, the tailor, gave Bles some points on dressing, and made him, Southern fashion, afrock-coat for dress wear that set off his fine figure. On the night ofthe gathering at Miss Wynn's Bles dressed with care, hesitating longover a necktie, but at last choosing one which he had recently purchasedand which pleased him particularly. He was prompt to the minute and wasconsequently the first guest; but Miss Wynn's greeting was so quietlycordial that his embarrassment soon fled. She looked him over at leisureand sighed at his tie; otherwise he was thoroughly presentable accordingto the strictest Washington standard. 

They sat down and talked of generalities. Then an idea occurring to her, she conducted the conversation by devious paths to ties and asked Alwynif he had heard of the fad of collecting ties. He had not, and sheshowed him a sofa pillow. 

"Your tie quite attracted me, " she said; "it would make just the dash ofcolor I need in my new pillow. "

"You may have it and welcome. I'll send--"

"Oh, no! A bird in the hand, you know. I'll trade with you now foranother I have. "

"Done!"

The exchange was soon made, Miss Wynn tying the new one herself andsticking a small carved pin in it. Bles slowly sat down again, and aftera pause said, "Thank you. "

She looked up quickly, but he seemed quite serious and good-natured. 

"You see, " he explained, "in the country we don't know much about ties. "

The well-balanced Miss Wynn for a moment lost her aplomb, but only for amoment. 

"We must all learn, " she replied with penetration, and so theirfriendship was established. 

The company now began to gather, and soon the double parlor held anassemblage of twenty-five or thirty persons. They formed a picturesquegroup: conventional but graceful in dress; animated in movement; full ofgood-natured laughter, but quite un-American in the beautiful modulationof their speaking tones; chiefly noticeable, however, to a stranger, inthe vast variety of color in skin, which imparted to the throng apiquant and unusual interest. Every color was here; from the dark brownof Alwyn, who was customarily accounted black, to the pale pink-white ofMiss Jones, who could "pass for white" when she would, and found hergreatest difficulties when she was trying to "pass" for black. Midwaybetween these two extremes lay the sallow pastor of the church, thecreamy Miss Williams, the golden yellow of Mr. Teerswell, the goldenbrown of Miss Johnson, and the velvet brown of Mr. Grey. The guestthemselves did not notice this; they were used to asking one's color asone asks of height and weight; it was simply an extra dimension in theirworld whereby to classify men. 

Beyond this and their hair, there was little to distinguish them from amodern group of men and women. The speech was a softened English, purelyand, on the whole, correctly spoken--so much so that it seemed at firstalmost unfamiliar to Bles, and he experienced again the uncomfortablefeeling of being among strangers. Then, too, he missed the loud buthearty good-nature of what he had always called "his people. " To besure, a more experienced observer might have noted a lively, excitabletropical temperament set and cast in a cold Northern mould, and yetflashing fire now and then in a sudden anomalous out-bursting. But Blesmissed this; he seemed to have slipped and lost his bearings, and thecharacteristics of his simple world were rolling curiously about. Herestood a black man with a white man's voice, and yonder a white womanwith a Negro's musical cadences; and yet again, a brown girl withexactly Miss Cresswell's air, and yonder, Miss Williams, with Zora'swistful willfulness. 

Bles was bewildered and silent, and his great undying sorrow sank on hisheart with sickening hopeless weight. His hands got in the way and hefound no natural nook in all those wide and tastefully furnished rooms. Once he discovered himself standing by a marble statue of a nude woman, and he edged away; then he stumbled over a rug and saved himself only tostep on Miss Jones's silken train. Miss Jones's smile of pardon waswintry. When he did approach a group and listen, they seemed speaking ofthings foreign to him--usually of people he did not know, their homes, their doings, their daughters and their fathers. They seemed to knowpeople intimately who lived far away. 

"You mean the Smiths of Boston?" asked Miss Jones. 

"No, of Cleveland. They're not related. "

"I heard that McGhee of St. Paul will be in the city next week with hisdaughter. "

"Yes, and the Bentleys of Chicago. "

Bles passed on. He was disappointed. He was full of things to say, ofmighty matters to discuss; he felt like stopping these people andcrying: "Ho! What of the morning? How goes the great battle for blackmen's rights? I have came with messages from the host, to you who guardthe mountain tops. "

Apparently they were not discussing or caring about "the Problem. " Hegrew disgusted and was edging toward the door when he encountered hishostess. 

"Is all well with you, Mr. Alwyn?" she asked lightly. 

"No, I'm not enjoying myself, " said Bles, truthfully. 

"Delicious! And why not?"

He regarded her earnestly. 

"There are so many things to talk about, " he said; "earnest things;things of importance. I--I think when our people--" he hesitated. Our?--was _our_ right? But he went on: "When our people meet we oughtto talk of our situation, and what to do and--"

Miss Wynn continued to smile. 

"We're all talking of it all the time, " she said. 

He looked incredulous. 

"Yes, we are, " she insisted. "We veil it a little, and laugh as lightlyas we can; but there is only one thought in this room, and that's graveand serious enough to suit even you, and quite your daily topic. "

"But I don't understand. "

"Ah, there's the rub. You haven't learned our language yet. We don'tjust blurt into the Negro Problem; that's voted bad form. We leave thatto our white friends. We saunter to it sideways, touch it delicatelybecause"--her face became a little graver--"because, you see, it hurts. "

Bles stood thoughtful and abashed. 

"I--I think I understand, " he gravely said at last. 

"Come here, " she said with a sudden turn, and they joined an absorbedgroup in the midst of a conversation. 

"--Thinking of sending Jessie to Bryn Mawr, " Bles heard Miss Jonessaying. 

"Could she pass?"

"Oh, they might think her Spanish. "

"But it's a snobbish place and she would have to give up all herfriends. "

"Yes, Freddie could scarcely visit--" the rest was lost. 

"Which, being interpreted, " whispered Miss Wynn, "means that Bryn Mawrdraws the color line while we at times surmount it. "

They moved on to another group. 

"--Splendid draughtsman, " a man was saying, "and passed at the head ofthe crowd; but, of course, he has no chance. "

"Why, it's civil-service, isn't it?"

"It is. But what of that? There was Watson--"

Miss Wynn did not pause. She whispered: "This is the tale of CivilService Reform, and how this mighty government gets rid of black menwho know too much. "

"But--" Bles tried to protest. 

"Hush, " Miss Wynn commanded and they joined the group about the piano. Teerswell, who was speaking, affected not to notice them, and continued:

"--I tell you, it's got to come. We must act independently and not bebought by a few offices. "

"That's all well enough for you to talk, Teerswell; you have no wife andbabies dependant on you. Why should we who have sacrifice the substancefor the shadow?"

"You see, the Judge has got the substance, " laughed Teerswell. "Still Iinsist: divide and conquer. "

"Nonsense! Unite, and keep. "

Bles was puzzled. 

"They're talking of the coming campaign, " said Miss Wynn. 

"What!" exclaimed Bles aloud. "You don't mean that any one can advise ablack man to vote the Democratic ticket?"

An elderly man turned to them. 

"Thank you, sir, " he said; "that is just my attitude; I fought for myfreedom. I know what slavery is; may I forget God when I vote fortraitors and slave-holders. "

The discussion waxed warm and Miss Wynn turned away and sought MissJones. 

"Come, my dear, " she said, "it's 'The Problem' again. " They saunteredaway toward a ring of laughter. 

The discussion thus begun at Miss Wynn's did not end there. It was onthe eve of the great party conventions, and the next night Sam Stillingscame around to get some crumbs from this assembly of the inner circle, into which Alwyn had been so unaccountably snatched, and outside ofwhich, despite his endeavors, Stillings lingered and seemed destined tolinger. But Stillings was a patient, resolute man beneath hisdeferential exterior, and he saw in Bles a stepping stone. So he beganto drop in at his lodgings and tonight invited him to the BethelLiterary. 

"What's that?" asked Bles. 

"A debating club--oldest in the city; the best people all attend. "

Bles hesitated. He had half made up his mind that this was the propertime to call on Miss Wynn. He told Stillings so, and told him also ofthe evening and the discussion. 

"Why, that's the subject up tonight, " Stillings declared, "and Miss Wynnwill be sure to be there. You can make your call later. Perhaps youwouldn't mind taking me when you call. " Alwyn reached for his hat. 

When they arrived, the basement of the great church was filling with athrong of men and women. Soon the officers and the speaker of theevening appeared. The president was a brown woman who spoke easily andwell, and introduced the main speaker. He was a tall, thin, hatchet-faced black man, clean shaven and well dressed, a lawyer byprofession. His theme was "The Democratic Party and the Negro. " Hisargument was cool, carefully reasoned, and plausible. He was evidentlyfeeling for the sympathy of his audience, and while they were notenthusiastic, they warmed to him gradually and he certainly was stronglyimpressing them. 

Bles was thinking. He sat in the back of the hall, tense, alert, nervous. As the speaker progressed a white man came in and sat downbeside him. He was spectacled, with bushy eyebrows and a sleepy look. But he did not sleep. He was very observant. 

"Who's speaking?" he asked Bles, and Bles told him. Then he inquiredabout one or two other persons. Bles could not inform him, but Stillingscould and did. Stillings seemed willing to devote considerable time tohim. 

Bles forgot the man. He was almost crouching for a spring, and no soonerhad the speaker, with a really fine apostrophe to independence andreason in voting, sat down, than Bles was on his feet, walking forward. His form was commanding, his voice deep and musical, and hisearnestness terribly evident. He hardly waited for recognition from theslightly astonished president, but fairly burst into speech. 

"I am from Alabama, " he began earnestly, "and I know the DemocraticParty. " Then he told of government and conditions in the Black Belt, ofthe lying, oppression, and helplessness of the sodden black masses;then, turning, he reminded them of the history of slavery. Finally, hepointed to Lincoln's picture and to Sumner's and mentioned other whitefriends. 

"And, my brothers, they are not all dead yet. The gentleman spoke ofSenator Smith and blamed and ridiculed him. I know Senator Smith butslightly, but I do know his sister well. "

Dropping to simple narrative, he told of Miss Smith and of his coming toschool; and if his audience felt that great depth of emotion that welledbeneath his quiet, almost hesitating, address, it was not simply becauseof what he did say, but because, too, of the unspoken story that lay toodeep for words. He spoke for nearly an hour, and when he stopped, for amoment his hearers sighed and then sprang into a whirlwind of applause. They shouted, clapped, and waved while he sat in blank amazement, andwas with difficulty forced to the rostrum to bow again and again. Thespectacled white man leaned over to Stillings. 

"Who is he?" he asked. Stillings told him. The man noted the name andwent quietly out. 

Miss Wynn sat lost in thought, and Teerswell beside her fumed. She wasnot easily moved, but that speech had moved her. If he could thus stirmen and not be himself swayed, she mused, he would be--invincible. Buttonight he was moved as greatly as his hearers had been, and that wasdangerous. If his intense belief happened to be popular, all right; butif not? She frowned. He was worth watching, she concluded; quite worthwatching, and perhaps worth guiding. 

When Alwyn accompanied her home that night, Miss Wynn set herself toknow him better for she suspected that he might be a coming man. Thebest preliminary to her purpose was, she knew, to speak frankly ofherself, and that she did. She told him of her youth and training, herambitions, her disappointments. Quite unconsciously her cynicism creptto the fore, until in word and tone she had almost scoffed at manythings that Alwyn held true and dear. The touch was too light, themeaning too elusive, for Alwyn to grasp always the point of attack; butsomehow he got the distant impression that Miss Wynn had little faith inTruth and Goodness and Love. Vaguely shocked he grew so silent that shenoticed it and concluded she had said too much. But he pursued thesubject. 

"Surely there must be many friends of our race willing to stand for theright and sacrifice for it?"

She laughed unpleasantly, almost mockingly. 

"Where?"

"Well--there's Miss Smith. "

"She gets a salary, doesn't she?"

"A very small one. "

"About as large as she could earn. North, I don't doubt. "

"But the unselfish work she does--the utter sacrifice?"

"Oh, well, we'll omit Alabama, and admit the exception. "

"Well, here, in Washington--there's your friend, the Judge, who hasbefriended you so, as you admit. "

She laughed again. 

"You remember our visit to Senator Smith?"

"Yes. "

"Well, it got the Judge his reappointment to the school board. "

"He deserved it, didn't he?"

"I deserved it, " she said luxuriously, hugging her knee and smiling;"you see, his appointment meant mine. "

"Well, what of it--didn't--"

"Listen, " she cut in a little sharply. "Once a young brown girl, withboundless faith in white folks, went to a Judge's office to ask for anappointment which she deserved. There was no one there. The benign oldJudge with his saintly face and white hair suggested that she lay asideher wraps and spend the afternoon. "

Bles arose to his feet. 

"What--what did you do?" he asked. 

"Sit down--there's a good boy. " I said: "'Judge, a friend is expectingme at two, ' it was then half-past one, 'would I not best telephone?'"

"'Step right into the booth, ' said the Judge, quite indulgently. " MissWynn leaned back, and Bles felt his heart sinking; but he said nothing. "And then, " she continued, "I telephoned the Judge's wife that he wasanxious to see her on a matter of urgent business; namely, myappointment. " She gazed reflectively out of the window. "You should haveseen his face when I told him, " she concluded. "I was appointed. "

But Bles asked coldly:

"Why didn't you have him arrested?"

"For what? And suppose I had?"

Bles threw out his arms helplessly. 

"Oh! it isn't as bad as that all over the world, is it?"

"It's worse, " affirmed Miss Wynn, quietly positive. 

"And you are still friendly with him?"

"What would you have? I use the world; I did not make it; I did notchoose it. He is the world. Through him I earn my bread and butter. Ihave shown him his place. Shall I try in addition to reform? Shall Imake him an enemy? I have neither time nor inclination. Shall I resignand beg, or go tilting at windmills? If he were the only one it would bedifferent; but they're all alike. " Her face grew hard. "Have I shockedyou?" she said as they went toward the door. 

"No, " he answered slowly. "But I still--believe in the world. "

"You are young yet, my friend, " she lightly replied. "And besides, thatgood Miss Smith has gone and grafted a New England conscience on atropical heart, and--dear me!--but it's a gorgeous misfit. Good-bye--come again. " She bowed him graciously out, and paused to takethe mail from the box. There was, among many others, a letter fromSenator Smith. 

_Twenty-five_

THE CAMPAIGN

Mr. Easterly sat in Mrs. Vanderpool's apartments in the New Willard, Washington, drinking tea. His hostess was saying rather carelessly:

"Do you know, Mr. Vanderpool has developed a quite unaccountable likingfor the idea of being Ambassador to France?"

"Dear me!" mildly exclaimed Mr. Easterly, helping himself liberally tocakes. "I do hope the thing can be managed, but--"

"What are the difficulties?" Mrs. Vanderpool interrupted. 

"Well, first and foremost, the difficulty of electing our man. "

"I thought that a foregone conclusion. "

"It was. But do you know that we're encountering opposition from themost unexpected source?"

The lady was receptive, and the speaker concluded:

"The Negroes. "

"The Negroes!"

"Yes. There are five hundred thousand or more black voters in pivotalNorthern States, you know, and they're in revolt. In a close electionthe Negroes of New York, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois choose thePresident. "

"What's the matter?"

"Well, business interests have driven our party to make friends with theSouth. The South has disfranchised Negroes and lynched a few. Thedarkies say we've deserted them. "

Mrs. Vanderpool laughed. 

"What extraordinary penetration, " she cried. 

"At any rate, " said Mr. Easterly, drily, "Mr. Vanderpool's first steptoward Paris lies in getting the Northern Negroes to vote the Republicanticket. After that the way is clear. "

Mrs. Vanderpool mused. 

"I don't suppose you know any one who is acquainted with any number ofthese Northern darkies?" continued Mr. Easterly. 

"Not on my calling-list, " said Mrs. Vanderpool, and then she added morethoughtfully:

"There's a young clerk in the Treasury Department named Alwyn who hasbrains. He's just from the South, and I happened to read of him thismorning--see here. "

Mr. Easterly read an account of the speech at the Bethel Literary. 

"We'll look this young man up, " he decided; "he may help. Of course, Mrs. Vanderpool, we'll probably win; we can buy these Negroes off with alittle money and a few small offices; then if you will use yourinfluence for the part with the Southerners, I can confidently predictfrom four to eight years' sojourn in Paris. "

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled and called her maid as Mr. Easterly went. 

"Zora!" She had to call twice, for Zora, with widened eyes, was readingthe Washington Post. 

Meantime in the office of Senator Smith, toward which Mr. Easterly wasmaking his way, several members of the National Republican campaigncommittee had been closeted the day before. 

"Now, about the niggers, " the chairman had asked; "how much more boodledo they want?"

"That's what's bothering us, " announced a member; "it isn't the boodlecrowd that's hollering, but a new set, and I don't understand them; Idon't know what they represent, nor just how influential they are. "

"What can I do to help you?" asked Senator Smith. 

"This. You are here at Washington with these Negro office-holders atyour back. Find out for us just what this revolt is, how far it goes, and what good men we can get to swing the darkies into line--see?"

"Very good, " the Senator acquiesced. He called in a spectacled man withbushy eyebrows and a sleepy look. 

"I want you to work the Negro political situation, " directed theSenator, "and bring me all the data you can get. Personally, I'm at sea. I don't understand the Negro of today at all; he puzzles me; he doesn'tfit any of my categories, and I suspect that I don't fit his. See whatyou can find out. "

The man went out, and the Senator turned to his desk, then paused andsmiled. One day, not long since, he had met a colored person whopersonified his perplexity concerning Negroes; she was a lady, yet shewas black--that is, brown; she was educated, even cultured, yet shetaught Negroes; she was quiet, astute, quick and diplomatic--everything, in fact, that "Negroes" were not supposed to be; and yet she was a"Negro. " She had given him valuable information which he had sought invain elsewhere, and the event proved it correct. Suppose he askedCaroline Wynn to help him in this case? It would certainly do no harmand it might elect a Republican president. He wrote a short letter withhis own hand and sent it to post. 

Miss Wynn read the letter after Alwyn's departure with a distinct thrillwhich was something of a luxury for her. Evidently she was coming toher kingdom. The Republican boss was turning to her for confidentialinformation. 

"What do the colored people want, and who can best influence them inthis campaign?"

She curled up on the ottoman and considered. The first part of the querydid not bother her. 

"Whatever they want they won't get, " she said decisively. 

But as to the man or men who could influence them to believe that theywere getting, or about to get, what they wanted--there was a question. One by one she considered the men she knew, and, by a process ofelimination, finally arrived at Bles Alwyn. 

Why not take this young man in hand and make a Negro leader of him--aprotagonist of ten millions? It would not be unpleasant. But could shedo it? Would he be amenable to her training and become worldly wise? Sheflattered herself that he would, and yet--there was a certain steadfastlook in the depths of his eyes that might prove to be sheerstubbornness. At any rate, who was better? There was a fellow, Stillings, whom Alwyn had introduced and whom she had heard of. Now hewas a politician--but nothing else. She dismissed him. Of course, there was the older set of office-holders and rounders. But she wasdetermined to pick a new man. He was worth trying, at any rate; she knewnone other with the same build, the brains, the gifts, the adorableyouth. Very good. She wrote two letters, and then curled up to her noveland candy. 

Next day Senator Smith held Miss Wynn's letter unopened in his hand whenMr. Easterly entered. They talked of the campaign and various matters, until at last Easterly said:

"Say, there's a Negro clerk in the Treasury named Alwyn. "

"I know him--I had him appointed. "

"Good. He may help us. Have you seen this?"

The Senator read the clipping. 

"I hadn't noticed it--but here's my agent. "

The spectacled man entered with a mass of documents. He had papers, posters, programmes, and letters. 

"The situation is this, " he said. "A small group of educated Negroes aretrying to induce the rest to punish the Republican Party for notprotecting them. These men are not politicians, nor popular leaders, butthey have influence and are using it. The old-style Negro politiciansare no match for them, and the crowd of office-holders are ratherbewildered. Strong measures are needed. Educated men of earnestness andability might stem the tide. And I believe I know one such man. He spokeat a big meeting last night at the Metropolitan church. His name isAlwyn. "

Senator Smith listened as he opened the letter from Caroline Wynn. Thenhe started. 

"Well!" he ejaculated, looking quickly up at Easterly. "This ispositively uncanny. From three separate sources the name of Alwyn popsup. Looks like a mascot. Call up the Treasury. Let's have him up whenthe sub-committee meets to-morrow. "

Bles Alwyn hurried up to Senator Smith's office, hoping to hearsomething about the school; perhaps even about--but he stopped with asigh, and sat down in the ante-room. He was kept waiting a few momentswhile Senator Smith, the chairman, and one other member of thesub-committee had a word. 

"Now, I don't know the young man, mind you, " said the Senator; "but he'sstrongly recommended. "

"What shall we offer him?" asked the chairman. 

"Try him at twenty-five dollars a speech. If he balks, raise to fiftydollars, but no more. "

They summoned the young man. The chairman produced cigars. 

"I don't smoke, " said Bles apologetically. 

"Well, we haven't anything to drink, " said the chairman. But SenatorSmith broke in, taking up at once the paramount interest. 

"Mr. Alwyn, as you know, the Democrats are making an effort to get theNegro vote in this campaign. Now, I know the disadvantages and wrongswhich black men in this land are suffering. I believe the Republicansought to do more to defend them, and I'm satisfied they will; but Idoubt if the way to get Negro rights is to vote for those who took themaway. "

"I agree with you perfectly, " said Bles. 

"I understand you do, and that you made an unusually fine speech on thesubject the other night. "

"Thank you, sir. " This was a good deal more than Bles had expected, andhe was embarrassed. 

"Well, now, we think you're just the man to take the stump duringSeptember and October and convince the colored people of their realinterests. "

"I doubt if I could, sir; I'm not a speaker. In fact, that was my firstpublic speech. "

"So much the better. Are you willing to try?"

"Why, yes, sir; but I could hardly afford to give up my position. "

"We'll arrange for a leave of absence. "

"Then I'll try, sir. "

"What would you expect as pay?"

"I suppose my salary would stop?"

"I mean in addition to that. "

"Oh, nothing, sir; I'd be glad to do the work. "

The chairman nearly choked; sitting back, he eyed the young man. Eitherthey were dealing with a fool, or else a very astute politician. If theformer, how far could they trust him; if the latter, what was his game?

"Of course, there'll be considerable travelling, " the chairman ventured, looking reflectively out of the window. 

"Yes, sir, I suppose so. "

"We might pay the railroad fare. "

"Thank you, sir. When shall I begin?"

The chairman consulted his calendar. 

"Suppose you hold yourself in readiness for one week from today. "

"All right, " and Bles rose. "Good-day, gentlemen. "

But the chairman was still puzzled. 

"Now, what's his game?" he asked helplessly. 

"He may be honest, " offered Senator Smith, contemplating the door almostwistfully. 

The campaign progressed. The National Republican Committee said littleabout the Negro revolt and affected to ignore it. The papers weresilent. Underneath this calm, however, the activity was redoubled. Theprominent Negroes were carefully catalogued, written to, and put underpersonal influence. The Negro papers were quietly subsidized, and theybegan to ridicule and reproach the new leaders. 

As the Fall progressed, mass-meetings were held in Washington and thesmall towns. Larger and larger ones were projected, and more and moreAlwyn was pushed to the front. He was developing into a most effectivespeaker. He had the voice, the presence, the ideas, and above all he wasintensely in earnest. There were other colored orators with voice, presence, and eloquence; but their people knew their record anddiscounted them. Alwyn was new, clear, and sincere, and the black folkhung on his words. Large and larger crowds greeted him until he was thecentral figure in a half dozen great negro mass-meetings in the chiefcities of the country, culminating in New York the night beforeelection. Perhaps the secret newspaper work, the personal advice ofemployers and friends, and the liberal distribution of cash, would havedelivered a large part of the Negro vote to the Republican candidate. Perhaps--but there was a doubt. With the work of Alwyn, however, alldoubt disappeared, and there was little reason for denying that the newPresident walked into the White House through the instrumentality of anunknown Georgia Negro, little past his majority. This is what SenatorSmith said to Mr. Easterly; what Miss Wynn said to herself; and it waswhat Mrs. Vanderpool remarked to Zora as Zora was combing her hair onthe Wednesday after election. 

Zora murmured an indistinct response. As already something of the beautyof the world had found question and answer in her soul, and as she beganto realize how the world had waxed old in thought and stature, so now intheir last days a sense of the power of men, as set over against theimmensity and force of their surroundings, became real to her. She hadbegun to read of the lives and doing of those called great, and in hermind a plan was forming. She saw herself standing dim within theshadows, directing the growing power of a man: a man who would be greatas the world counted greatness, rich, high in position, powerful--wonderful because his face was black. He would never see her;never know how she worked and planned, save perhaps at last, in thatsupreme moment as she passed, her soul would cry to his, "Redeemed!" Andhe would understand. 

All this she was thinking and weaving; not clearly and definitely, butin great blurred clouds of thought of things as she said slowly:

"He should have a great position for this. "

"Why, certainly, " Mrs. Vanderpool agreed, and then curiously: "What?"

Zora considered. "Negroes, " she said, "have been Registers of theTreasury, and Recorders of Deeds here in Washington, and Douglas wasMarshal; but I want Bles--" she paused and started again. "Those are notgreat enough for Mr. Alwyn; he should have an office so important thatNegroes would not think of leaving their party again. "

Mrs. Vanderpool took pains to repeat Zora's words to Mr. Easterly. Heconsidered the matter. 

"In one sense, it's good advice, " he admitted; "but there's the South toreckon with. I'll think it over and speak to the President. Oh, yes; I'mgoing to mention France at the same time. "

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled and leaned back in her carriage. She noted withconsiderable interest the young colored woman who was watching her fromthe sidewalk: a brown, well-appearing young woman of notableself-possession. Caroline Wynn scrutinized Mrs. Vanderpool because shehad been speaking with Mr. Easterly, and Mr. Easterly was a figure ofpolitical importance. That very morning Miss Wynn had telegraphed BlesAlwyn. Alwyn arrived at Washington just as the morning papers heraldedthe sweeping Republican victory. All about he met new deference and newfriends; strangers greeted him familiarly on the street; Sam Stillingsbecame his shadow; and when he reported for work his chief and fellowclerks took unusual interest in him. 

"Have you seen Senator Smith yet?" Miss Wynn asked after a few words ofcongratulation. 

"No. What for?"

"What for?" she answered. "Go to him today; don't fail. I shall be athome at eight tonight. "

It seemed to Bles an exceedingly silly thing to do--calling on a busyman with no errand; but he went. He decided that he would just thank theSenator for his interest, and get out; or, if the Senator was busy, hewould merely send in his card. Evidently the Senator was busy, for hiswaiting-room was full. Bles handed the card to the secretary with a wordof apology, but the secretary detained him. 

"Ah, Mr. Alwyn, " he said affably; "glad to see you. The Senator willwant to see you, I know. Wait just a minute. " And soon Bles was shakingSenator Smith's hand. 

"Well, Mr. Alwyn, " said the Senator heartily, "you delivered the goods. "

"Thank you, sir. I tried to. "

Senator Smith thoughtfully looked him over and drew out the letters. 

"Your friends, Mr. Alwyn, " he said, adjusting his glasses, "have arather high opinion of you. Here now is Stillings, who helped on thecampaign. He suggests an eighteen-hundred-dollar clerkship for you. " TheSenator glanced up keenly and omitted to state what Stillings suggestedfor himself. Alwyn was visibly grateful as well as surprised. 

"I--I hoped, " he began hesitatingly, "that perhaps I might get apromotion, but I had not thought of a first-class clerkship. "

"H'm. " Senator Smith leaned back and twiddled his thumbs, staring atAlwyn until the hot blood darkened his cheeks. Then Bles sat up andstared politely but steadily back. The Senator's eyes dropped and he putout his hand for the second note. 

"Now, your friend, Miss Wynn"--Alwyn started--"is even more ambitious. "He handed her letter to the young man, and pointed out the words. 

"Of course, Senator, " Bles read, "we expect Mr. Alwyn to be the nextRegister of the Treasury. "

Bles looked up in amazement, but the Senator reached for a third letter. The room was very still. At last he found it. "This, " he announcedquietly, "is from a man of great power and influence, who has the ear ofthe new President. " He smoothed out the letter, paused briefly, thenread aloud:

"'It has been suggested to me by'"--the Senator did not read the name;if he had "Mrs. Vanderpool" would have meant little to Alwyn--"'It hasbeen suggested to me by blank that the future allegiance of the Negrovote to the Republican Party might be insured by giving to someprominent Negro a high political position--for instance, Treasurer ofthe United States'--salary, six thousand dollars, " interpolated SenatorSmith--"'and that Alwyn would be a popular and safe appointment for thatposition. '"

The Senator did not read the concluding sentence, which ran: "Think thisover; we can't touch political conditions in the South; perhaps this sopwill do. "

For a long time Alwyn sat motionless, while the Senator said nothing. Then the young man rose unsteadily. 

"I don't think I quite grasp all this, " he said as he shook hands. "I'll think it over, " and he went out. 

When Caroline Wynn heard of that extraordinary conversation heramazement knew no bounds. Yet Alwyn ventured to voice doubts:

"I'm not fitted for either of those high offices; there are many otherswho deserve more, and I don't somehow like the idea of seeming to haveworked hard in the campaign simply for money or fortune. You see, Italked against that very thing. "

Miss Wynn's eyes widened. 

"Well, what else--" she began and then changed. "Mr. Alwyn, the linebetween virtue and foolishness is dim and wavering, and I should hate tosee you lost in that marshy borderland. By a streak of extraordinaryluck you have gained the political leadership of Negroes in America. Here's your chance to lead your people, and here you stand blinking andhesitating. Be a man!"

Alwyn straightened up and felt his doubts going. The evening passed verypleasantly. 

"I'm going to have a little dinner for you, " said Miss Wynn finally, andAlwyn grew hot with pleasure. He turned to her suddenly and said:

"Why, I'm rather--black. " She expressed no surprise but saidreflectively:

"You _are_ dark. "

"And I've been given to understand that Miss Wynn and her setrather--well, preferred the lighter shades of colored folk. "

Miss Wynn laughed lightly. 

"My parents did, " she said simply. "No dark man ever entered theirhouse; they were simply copying the white world. Now I, as a matter ofaesthetic beauty, prefer your brown-velvet color to a jaundiced yellow, or even an uncertain cream; but the world doesn't. "

"The world?"

"Yes, the world; and especially America. One may be Chinese, Spaniard, even Indian--anything white or dirty white in this land, and demanddecent treatment; but to be Negro or darkening toward it unmistakablymeans perpetual handicap and crucifixion. "

"Why not, then, admit that you draw the color-line?"

"Because I don't; but the world does. I am not prejudiced as my parentswere, but I am foresighted. Indeed, it is a deep ethical query, is itnot, how far one has the right to bear black children to the world inthe Land of the Free and the home of the brave. Is it fair--to thechildren?"

"Yes, it is!" he cried vehemently. "The more to take up the fight, thesurer the victory. "

She laughed at his earnestness. 

"You are refreshing, " she said. "Well, we'll dine next Tuesday, andwe'll have the cream of our world to meet you. "

He knew that this was a great triumph. It flattered his vanity. Afterall, he was entering this higher dark world whose existence had piquedand puzzled him so long. He glanced at Miss Wynn beside him there in thedimly lighted parlor: she looked so aloof and unapproachable, sohandsome and so elegant. He thought how she would complete a house--sucha home as his prospective four or six thousand dollars a year couldeasily purchase. She saw him surveying her, and she smiled at him. 

"I find but one fault with you, " she said. 

He stammered for a pretty speech, but did not find it before shecontinued:

"Yes--you are so delightfully primitive; you will not use the world asit is but insist on acting as if it were something else. "

"I am not sure I understand. "

"Well, there is the wife of my Judge: she is a fact in my world; inyours she is a problem to be stated, straightened, and solved. If shehad come to you, as she did to me yesterday, with her theory that allthat Southern Negroes needed was to learn how to make good servants andlay brick--"

"I should have shown her--" Bles tried to interject. 

"Nothing of the sort. You would have tried to show her and would havefailed miserably. She hasn't learned anything in twenty years. "

"But surely you didn't join her in advocating that ten million people bemenials?"

"Oh, no; I simply listened. "

"Well, there was no harm in that; I believe in silence at times. "

"Ah! but I did not listen like a log, but positively and eloquently;with a nod, a half-formed word, a comment begun, which she finished. "

Bles frowned. 

"As a result, " continued Miss Wynn, "I have a check for five hundreddollars to finish our cooking-school and buy a cast of Minerva for theassembly-room. More than that, I have now a wealthy friend. She thinksme an unusually clever person who, by a process of thought not unlikeher own, has arrived at very similar conclusions. "

"But--but, " objected Bles, "if the time spent cajoling fools were usedin convincing the honest and upright, think how much we would gain. "

"Very little. The honest and upright are a sad minority. Most of thesewhite folk--believe me, boy, " she said caressingly, --"are fools andknaves: they don't want truth or progress; they want to keep niggersdown. "

"I don't believe it; there are scores, thousands, perhaps millions such, I admit; but the average American loves justice and right, and he is theone to whom I appeal with frankness and truth. Great heavens! don't youlove to be frank and open?"

She narrowed her eyelids. 

"Yes, sometimes I do; once I was; but it's a luxury few of us Negroescan afford. Then, too, I insist that it's jolly to fool them. "

"Don't you hate the deception?"

She chuckled and put her head to one side. 

"At first I did; but, do you know, now I believe I prefer it. "

He looked so horrified that she burst out laughing. He laughed too. Shewas a puzzle to him. He kept thinking what a mistress of a mansion shewould make. 

"Why do you say these things?" he asked suddenly. 

"Because I want you to do well here in Washington. "

"General philanthropy?"

"No, special. " Her eyes were bright with meaning. 

"Then you care--for me?"

"Yes. "

He bent forward and cast the die. 

"Enough to marry me?"

She answered very calmly and certainly:

"Yes. "

He leaned toward her. And then between him and her lips a dark andshadowy face; two great storm-swept eyes looked into his out of a worldof infinite pain, and he dropped his head in hesitation and shame, andkissed her hand. Miss Wynn thought him delightfully bashful. 

_Twenty-six_

CONGRESSMAN CRESSWELL

The election of Harry Cresswell to Congress was a very simple matter. The Colonel and his son drove to town and consulted the Judge; togetherthey summoned the sheriff and the local member of the State legislature. 

"I think it's about time that we Cresswells asked for a little of thepolitical pie, " the Colonel smilingly opened. 

"Well, what do you want?" asked the Judge. 

"Harry wants to go to Congress. "

The Judge hesitated. "We'd half promised that to Caldwell, " he objected. 

"It will be a little costly this year, too, " suggested the sheriff, tentatively. 

"About how much?" asked the Colonel. 

"At least five thousand, " said the Legislator. 

The Colonel said nothing. He simply wrote a check and the matter wassettled. In the Fall Harry Cresswell was declared elected. There werefour hundred and seventy-two votes cast but the sheriff added a cipher. He said it would look better. 

Early December found the Cresswells domiciled in a small house in DuPont Circle, Washington. They had an automobile and four servants, andthe house was furnished luxuriously. Mary Taylor Cresswell, standing inher morning room and looking out on the flowers of the square, toldherself that few people in the world had cause to be as happy as she. She was tastefully gowned, in a way to set off her blonde beauty and herdelicate rounded figure. She was surrounded with wealth, and above all, she was in that atmosphere of aristocracy for which she had alwaysyearned; and already she was acquiring that poise of the head, and amanner of directing the servants, which showed her born to the purple. 

She had cause to be extremely happy, she told herself this morning, andyet she was puzzled to understand why she was not. Why was she restlessand vaguely ill at ease so often these days?

One matter, indeed, did worry her; but that would right itself in time, she was sure. She had always pictured herself as directing her husband'swork. She did not plan to step in and demand a share; she knew fromexperience with her brother that a woman must prove her usefulness to aman before he will admit it, and even then he may be silent. Sheintended gradually and tactfully to relieve her husband of careconnected with his public life so that, before he realized it, she wouldbe his guiding spirit and his inspiration. She had dreamed the detailsof doing this so long that it seemed already done, and she could imagineno obstacle to its realization. And yet she found herself today nonearer her goal than when first she married. Not because Mr. Cresswelldid not share his work, but because, apparently, he had no work, noduties, no cares. At first, in the dim glories of the honeymoon, thisseemed but part of his delicate courtesy toward her, and it pleased herdespite her thrifty New England nature; but now that they were settledin Washington, the election over and Congress in session, it reallyseemed time for Work and Life to begin in dead earnest, and New EnglandMary was dreaming mighty dreams and golden futures. 

But Harry apparently was as content as ever with doing nothing. He aroseat ten, dined at seven, and went to bed between midnight and sunrise. There was some committee meetings and much mail, but Mary was admittedto knowledge of none of these. The obvious step, of course, would be toset him at work; but from this undertaking Mary unconsciously recoiled. She had already recognized that while her tastes and her husband's weremostly alike, they were also strikingly different in many respects. Theyagreed in the daintiness of things, the elegance of detail; but they didnot agree always as to the things themselves. Given the picture, theywould choose the same frame--but they would not choose the same picture. They liked the same voice, but not the same song; the same company, butnot the same conversation. Of course, Mary reflected, frowning at theflowers--of course, this must always be so when two human beings arethrown into new and intimate association. In time they would grow tosweet communion; only, she hoped the communion would be on tastes nearerhers than those he sometimes manifested. 

She turned impatiently from the window with a feeling of loneliness. Butwhy lonely? She idly fingered a new book on the table and then put itdown sharply. There had been several attempts at reading aloud betweenthem some evenings ago, and this book reminded her of them. She hadbought Jane Addams' "Newer Ideals of Peace, " and he had yawned over itundisguisedly. Then he had brought this novel, and--well, she had balkedat the second chapter, and he had kissed her and called her his "littleprude. " She did not want to be a prude; she hated to seem so, and hadfor some time prided herself on emancipation from narrow New Englandprejudices. For example, she had not objected to wine at dinner; it hadseemed indeed rather fine, imparting, as it did, an old-fashionedflavor; but she did not like the whiskey, and Harry at times appeared tobecome just a bit too lively--nothing excessive, of course, but his eyesand the smell and the color were a little too suggestive. And yet he wasso kind and good, and when he came in at evening he bent so gallantlyfor his kiss, and laid fresh flowers before her: could anything havebeen more thoughtful and knightly?

Just here again she was puzzled; with her folk, hard work and inflexibleduty were of prime importance; they were the rock foundation; and shesomehow had always counted on the courtesies of life as added to them, making them sweet and beautiful. But in this world, not perhaps so muchwith Harry as with others of his set, the depths beneath the gravelyinclined head, the deferential smile and ceremonious action, the lightclever converse, had sounded strangely hollow once or twice when she hadessayed to sound them, and a certain fear to look and see possessed her. 

The bell rang, and she was a little startled at the fright that struckher heart. She did not analyze it. In reality--pride forbade her toadmit it--she feared it was a call of some of Harry's friends: somelanguid, assured Southern ladies, perilously gowned, with veiled disdainfor this interloping Northerner and her strong mind. Especially wasthere one from New Orleans, tall and dark--

But it was no caller. It was simply some one named Stillings to see Mr. Cresswell. She went down to see him--he might be a constituent--andfound a smirky brown man, very apologetic. 

"You don't know me--does you, Mrs. Cresswell?" said Stillings. He knewwhen it was diplomatic to forget his grammar and assume his dialect. 

"Why--no. "

"You remember I worked for Mr. Harry and served you-all lunch one day. "

"Oh, yes--why, yes! I remember now very well. "

"Well, I wants to see Mr. Harry very much; could I wait in the backhall?"

Mary started to have him wait in the front hall, but she thought betterof it and had him shown back. Less than an hour later her husbandentered and she went quickly to him. He looked worn and white and tired, but he laughed her concern lightly off. 

"I'll be in earlier tonight, " he declared. 

"Is the Congressional business very heavy?"

He laughed so hilariously that she felt uncomfortable, which heobserved. 

"Oh, no, " he answered deftly; "not very. " And as they moved toward thedining-room Mary changed the subject. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "There is a man--a coloredman--waiting to see you in the back hall, but I guess he can wait untilafter lunch. "

They ate leisurely. 

"There's going to be racing out at the park this evening, " said Harry. "Want to go?"

"I was going to hear an art lecture at the Club, " Mary returned, andgrew thoughtful; for here walked her ghost again. Of course, the Clubwas an affair with more of gossip than of intellectual effort, buttoday, largely through her own suggestion, an art teacher of Europeanreputation was going to lecture, and Mary preferred it to the company ofthe race track. And--just as certainly--her husband didn't. 

"Don't forget the man, dear, " she reminded him; but he was buried in hispaper, frowning. 

"Look at that, " he said finally. She glanced at thehead-lines--"Prominent Negro Politician Candidate for High Office atHands of New Administration. B. Alwyn of Alabama. "

"Why, it's Bles!" she said, her face lighting as his darkened. 

"An impudent Negro, " he voiced his disgust. "If they must appointdarkies why can't they get tractable ones like my nigger Stillings. "

"Stillings?" she repeated. "Why, he's the man that's waiting. "

"Sam, is it? Used to be one of our servants--you remember? Wants toborrow more money, I presume. " He went down-stairs, after first helpinghimself to a glass of whiskey, and then gallantly kissing his wife. Mrs. Cresswell was more unsatisfied than usual. She could not help feelingthat Mr. Cresswell was treating her about as he treated his wine--as anindulgence; a loved one, a regular one, but somehow not as the realityand prose of life, unless--she started at the thought--his life was allindulgence. Having nothing else to do, she went out and paraded thestreets, watching the people who were happy enough to be busy. 

Cresswell and Stillings had a long conference, and when Stillingshastened away he could not forbear cutting a discreet pigeon-wing as herounded the corner. He had been promised the backing of the wholeSouthern delegation in his schemes. 

That night Teerswell called on him in his modest lodgings, where overhot whiskey and water they talked. 

"The damned Southern upstart, " growled Teerswell, forgetting Stillings'birth-place. "Do you mean to say he's actually slated for the place?"

"He's sure of it, unless something turns up. "

"Well, who'd have dreamed it?" Teerswell mixed another stiff dram. 

"And that isn't all, " came Sam Stillings' unctuous voice. 

Teerswell glanced at him. "What else?" he asked, pausing with thesteaming drink poised aloft. 

"If I'm not mistaken, Alwyn intends to marry Miss Wynn. "

"You lie!" the other suddenly yelled with an oath, overturning histumbler and striding across the floor. "Do you suppose she'd look atthat black--"

"Well, see here, " said the astute Stillings, checking the details uponhis fingers. "They visit Senator Smith's together; he takes her homefrom the Treble Clef; they say he talked to nobody else at her party;she recommends him for the campaign--"

"What!" Teerswell again exploded. But Stillings continued smoothly:

"Oh, I have ways of finding things out. She corresponds with him duringthe campaign; she asks Smith to make him Register; and he calls on herevery night. "

Teerswell sat down limply. 

"I see, " he groaned. "It's all up. She's jilted me--and I--and I--"

"I don't see as it's all up yet, " Stillings tried to reassure him. 

"But didn't you say they were engaged?"

"I think they are; but--well, you know Carrie Wynn better than I do:suppose, now--suppose he should lose the appointment?"

"But you say that's sure. "

"Unless something turns up. "

"But what _can_ turn up?"

"We might turn something. "

"What--what--I tell you man, I'd--I'd do anything to down that nigger. Ihate him. If you'll help me I'll do anything for you. "

Stillings arose and carefully opening the hall door peered out. Then hecame back and, seating himself close to Teerswell, pushed aside thewhiskey. 

"Teerswell, " he whispered, "you know I was working to be Register of theTreasury. Well, now, when the scheme of making Alwyn Treasurer came upthey determined to appoint a Southern white Republican and give me aplace under Alwyn. Now, if Alwyn fails to land I've got no chance forthe bigger place, but I've got a good chance to be Register according tothe first plan. I helped in the campaign; I've got the Negro secretsocieties backing me and--I don't mind telling you--the solid SouthernCongressional delegation. I'm trying now ostensibly for achief-clerkship under Bles, and I'm pretty sure of it: it paystwenty-five hundred. See here: if we can make Bles do some fool talkingand get it into the papers, he'll be ditched, and I'll be Register. "

"Great!" shouted Teerswell. 

"Wait--wait. Now, if I get the job, how would you like to be myassistant?"

"Like it? Why, great Jehoshaphat! I'd marry Carrie--but how can I helpyou?"

"This way. I want to be better known among influential Negroes. Youintroduce me and let me make myself solid. Especially I must get in MissWynn's set so that both of us can watch her and Alwyn, and make herfriends ours. "

"I'll do it--shake!" And Stillings put his oily hand into Teerswell'snervous grip. 

"Now, here, " Stillings went on, "you stow all that jealousy and heavytragedy. Treat Alwyn well and call on Miss Wynn as usual--see?"

"It's a hard pill--but all right. "

"Leave the rest to me; I'm hand in glove with Alwyn. I'll put stuff intohim that'll make him wave the bloody shirt at the next meeting of theBethel Literary--see? Then I'll go to Cresswell and say, 'Dangerousnigger--, just as I told you. ' He'll begin to move things. You see?Cresswell is in with Smith--both directors in the big CottonCombine--and Smith will call Alwyn down. Then we'll think further. "

"Stillings, you look like a fool, but you're a genius. " And Teerswellfairly hugged him. A few more details settled, and some more whiskeyconsumed, and Teerswell went home at midnight in high spirits. Stillingslooked into the glass and scowled. 

"Look like a fool, do I?" he mused. "Well, I ain't!"

Congressman Cresswell was stirred to his first political activity by thehint given him through Stillings. He not only had a strong personaldislike for Alwyn, but he regarded the promise to him of a high officeas a menace to the South. 

The second speech which Alwyn made at the Bethel Literary was, asStillings foresaw, a reply to the stinging criticisms of certain coloredpapers engineered by Teerswell, who said that Alwyn had been bribed toremain loyal to the Republicans by a six thousand dollar office. Alwynhad been cut to the quick, and his reply was a straight out defence ofNegro rights and a call to the Republican Party to redeem its pledges. 

Caroline Wynn, seeing the rocks for which her political craft washeaded, adroitly steered several newspaper reports into the wastebasket, but Stillings saw to it that a circumstantial account was in the_Colored American_, and that a copy of this paper was in CongressmanCresswell's hands. Cresswell lost no time in calling on Senator Smithand pointing out to him that Bles Alwyn was a dangerous Negro: seekingsocial equality, hating white people, and scheming to make trouble. Hewas too young and heady. It would be fatal to give such a man office andinfluence; fatal for the development of the South, and bad for theCotton Combine. 

Senator Smith was unconvinced. Alwyn struck him as a well-balancedfellow, and he thought he deserved the office. He would, however, warnhim to make no further speeches like that of last night. Cresswellmentioned Stillings as a good, inoffensive Negro who knew his place andcould be kept track of. 

"Stillings is a good man, " admitted Smith; "but Alwyn is better. However, I'll bear what you say in mind. "

Cresswell found Mr. Easterly in Mrs. Vanderpool's parlor, and thatgentleman was annoyed at the news. 

"I especially picked out this Alwyn because he was Southern andtractable, and seemed to have sense enough to know how to say well whatwe wanted to say. "

"When, as a matter of fact, " drawled Mrs. Vanderpool, "he was simplyhonest. "

"The South won't stand it, " Cresswell decisively affirmed. 

"Well--" began Mr. Easterly. 

"See here, " interrupted Mrs. Vanderpool. "I'm interested in Alwyn; infact, an honest man in politics, even if he is black, piques mycuriosity. Give him a chance and I'll warrant he'll develop all thedesirable traits of a first class office-holder. "

Easterly hesitated. "We must not offend the South, and we must placatethe Negroes, " he said. 

"The right sort of Negro--one like Stillings--appointed to a reasonableposition, would do both, " opined Cresswell. 

"It evidently didn't, " Mrs. Vanderpool interjected. 

Cresswell arose. "I tell you, Mr. Easterly, I object--it mustn't gothrough. " He took his leave. 

Mrs. Vanderpool did not readily give up her plea for Alwyn, and badeZora get Mr. Smith on the telephone for discussion. 

"Well, " reported Easterly, hanging up the receiver, "we may land him. Itseems that he is engaged to a Washington school-teacher, and Smith saysshe has him well in hand. She's a pretty shrewd proposition, andunderstands that Alwyn's only chance now lies in keeping his mouth shut. We may land him, " he repeated. 

"Engaged!" gasped Mrs. Vanderpool. 

Zora quietly closed the door. 

_Twenty-seven_

THE VISION OF ZORA

How Zora found the little church she never knew; but somehow, in thelong dark wanderings which she had fallen into the habit of taking atnightfall, she stood one evening before it. It looked warm, and she wascold. It was full of her people, and she was very, very lonely. She satin a back seat, and saw with unseeing eyes. She said again, as she hadsaid to herself a hundred times, that it was all right and just what shehad expected. What else could she have dreamed? That he should evermarry her was beyond possibility; that had been settled longsince--there where the tall, dark pines, wan with the shades of evening, cast their haunting shadows across the Silver Fleece and half hid theblood-washed west. After _that_ he would marry some one else, of course;some good and pure woman who would help and uplift and serve him. 

She had dreamed that she would help--unknown, unseen--and perhaps shehad helped a little through Mrs. Vanderpool. It was all right, and yetwhy so suddenly had the threads of life let go? Why was she drifting invast waters; in uncharted wastes of sea? Why was the puzzle of lifesuddenly so intricate when but a little week ago she was reading it, andits beauty and wisdom and power were thrilling her delighted hands?Could it be possible that all unconsciously she had dared dream aforbidden dream? No, she had always rejected it. When no one else hadthe right; when no one thought; when no one cared, she had hovered overhis soul as some dark guardian angel; but now, now somebody else wasreceiving his gratitude. It was all right, she supposed; but she, theoutcast child of the swamp, what was there for her to do in the greatworld--her, the burden of whose sin--

But then came the voice of the preacher: _"Behold the Lamb of God, thattaketh away the sin of the world_. "

She found herself all at once intently listening. She had been to churchmany times before, but under the sermons and ceremonies she had alwayssat coldly inert. In the South the cries, contortions, and religiousfrenzy left her mind untouched; she did not laugh or mock, she simplysat and watched and wondered. At the North, in the white churches, sheenjoyed the beauty of wall, windows, and hymn, liked the voice andsurplice of the preacher; but his words had no reference to anything inwhich she was interested. Here suddenly came an earnest voice addressed, by singular chance, to her of all the world. 

She listened, bending forward, her eyes glued to the speaker's lips andletting no word drop. He had the build and look of the fanatic: thin toemancipation; brown; brilliant-eyed; his words snapped in nervous energyand rang in awful earnestness. 

"Life is sin, and sin is sorrow. Sorrow is born of selfishness andself-seeking--our own good, our own happiness, our own glory. As if anyone of us were worth a life! No, never. A single self as an end is, andought to be, disappointment; it is too low; it is nothing. Only in awhole world of selves, infinite, endless, eternal world on worlds ofselves--only in their vast good is true salvation. The good of othersis our true good; work for others; not for your salvation, but thesalvation of the world. " The audience gave a low uneasy groan and theminister in whose pulpit the stranger preached stirred uneasily. But hewent on tensely, with flying words:

"Unselfishness is sacrifice--Jesus was supreme sacrifice. " ("Amen, "screamed a voice. ) "In your dark lives, " he cried, "_who_ is the King ofGlory? Sacrifice. Lift up your heads, then, ye gates of prejudice andhate, and let the King of Glory come in. Forget yourselves and yourpetty wants, and behold your starving people. The wail of black millionssweeps the air--east and west they cry, Help! Help! Are you dumb? Areyou blind? Do you dance and laugh, and hear and see not? The cry ofdeath is in the air; they murder, burn, and maim us!" ("Oh--oh--" moanedthe people swaying in their seats. ) "When we cry they mock us; they ruinour women and debauch our children--what shall we do?

"Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away sin. Behold the SupremeSacrifice that makes us clean. Give up your pleasures; give up yourwants; give up all to the weak and wretched of our people. Go down toPharaoh and smite him in God's name. Go down to the South where wewrithe. Strive--work--build--hew--lead--inspire! God calls. Will youhear? Come to Jesus. The harvest is waiting. Who will cry: 'Here am I, send me!'"

Zora rose and walked up the aisle; she knelt before the altar andanswered the call: "Here am I--send me. "

And then she walked out. Above her sailed the same great stars; aroundher hummed the same hoarse city; but within her soul sang some new songof peace. 

"What is the matter, Zora?" Mrs. Vanderpool inquired, for she seemed tosee in the girl's face and carriage some subtle change; something thatseemed to tell how out of the dream had stepped the dreamer into therealness of things; how suddenly the seeker saw; how to the wanderer, the Way was opened. 

Just how she sensed this Mrs. Vanderpool could not have explained, norcould Zora. Was there a change, sudden, cataclysmic? No. There were tocome in future days all the old doubts and shiverings, the old restlesscry: "It is all right--all right!" But more and more, above the doubtand beyond the unrest, rose the great end, the mighty ideal, thatflickered and wavered, but ever grew and waxed strong, until it becamepossible, and through it all things else were possible. Thus from thegrave of youth and love, amid the soft, low singing of dark and bowedworshippers, the Angel of the Resurrection rolled away the stone. 

"What is the matter, Zora?" Mrs. Vanderpool repeated. 

Zora looked up, almost happily--standing poised on her feet as if totell of strength and purpose. 

"I have found the Way, " she cried joyously. 

Mrs. Vanderpool gave her a long searching look. 

"Where have you been?" she asked. "I've been waiting. "

"I'm sorry--but I've been--converted. " And she told her story. 

"Pshaw, Zora!" Mrs. Vanderpool uttered impatiently. "He's a fakir. "

"Maybe, " said Zora serenely and quietly; "but he brought the Word. "

"Zora, don't talk cant; it isn't worthy of your intelligence. "

"It was more than intelligent--it was true. "

"Zora--listen, child! You were wrought up tonight, nervous--wild. Youwere happy to meet your people, and where he said one word you suppliedtwo. What you attribute to him is the voice of your own soul. "

But Zora merely smiled. "All you say may be true. But what does itmatter? I know one thing, like the man in the Bible: 'Whereas I wasblind now I see. '"

Mrs. Vanderpool gave a little helpless gesture. "And what shall you do?"she asked. 

"I'm going back South to work for my people. "

"When?" The old careworn look stole across Mrs. Vanderpool's features. 

Zora came gently forward and slipped her arms lovingly about the otherwoman's neck. 

"Not right off, " she said gently; "not until I learn more. I hate toleave you, but--it calls!"

Mrs. Vanderpool held the dark girl close and began craftily:

"You see, Zora, the more you know the more you can do. "

"Yes. "

"And if you are determined I will see that you are taught. You must knowsettlement-work and reform movements; not simply here but--" shehesitated--"in England--in France. "

"Will it take long?" Zora asked, smoothing the lady's hair. 

Mrs. Vanderpool considered. "No--five years is not long; it is all tooshort. "

"Five years: it is very long; but there is a great deal to learn. Must Istudy five years?"

Mrs. Vanderpool threw back her head. 

"Zora, I am selfish I know, but five years truly is none too long. Then, too, Zora, we have work to do in that time. "

"What?"

"There is Alwyn's career, " and Mrs. Vanderpool looked into Zora's eyes. 

The girl did not shrink, but she paused. 

"Yes, " she said slowly, "we must help him. "

"And after he rises--"

"He will marry. "

"Whom?"

"The woman he loves, " returned Zora, quietly. 

"Yes--that is best, " sighed Mrs. Vanderpool. "But how shall we helphim?"

"Make him Treasurer of the United States without sacrificing hismanhood or betraying his people. "

"I can do that, " said Mrs. Vanderpool slowly. 

"It will cost something, " said Zora. 

"I will do it, " was the lady's firm assurance. Zora kissed her. 

The next afternoon Mrs. Cresswell went down to a white social settlementof which Congressman Todd had spoken, where a meeting of the Civic Clubwas to be held. She had come painfully to realize that if she was tohave a career she must make it for herself. The plain, unwelcome truthwas that her husband had no great interests in life in which she couldfind permanent pleasure. Companionship and love there was and, she toldherself, always would be; but in some respects their lives must flow intwo streams. Last night, for the second time, she had irritated him; hehad spoken almost harshly to her, and she knew she must brood or worktoday. And so she hunted work, eagerly. 

She felt the atmosphere the moment she entered. There were carelesslygowned women and men smart and shabby, but none of them were thinking ofclothes nor even of one another. They had great deeds in mind; they werescanning the earth; they were toiling for men. The same grim excitementthat sends smaller souls hunting for birds and rabbits and lions, hadsent them hunting the enemies of mankind: they were bent to the chase, scenting the game, knowing the infinite meaning of their hunt and theglory of victory. Mary Cresswell had listened but a half hour before herworld seemed so small and sordid and narrow, so trivial, that a sense ofshame spread over her. These people were not only earnest, but expert. They acknowledged the need of Mr. Todd's educational bill. 

"But the Republicans are going to side-track it; I have that on the bestauthority, " said one. 

"True; but can't we force them to it?"

"Only by political power, and they've just won a campaign. "

"They won it by Negro votes, and the Negro who secured the votes iseager for this bill; he's a fine, honest fellow. "

"Very well; work with him; and when we can be of real service let usknow. Meantime, this Child Labor bill is different. It's bound to pass. Both parties are back of it, and public opinion is aroused. Now our workis to force amendments enough to make the bill effective. "

Discussion followed; not flamboyant and declamatory, but tense, staccato, pointed. Mrs. Cresswell found herself taking part. Someonementioned her name, and one or two glances of interest and evencuriosity were thrown her way. Congressmen's wives were rare at theCivic Club. 

Congressmen Todd urged Mrs. Cresswell to stay after the discussion andattend a meeting of the managers and workers of the Washington socialsettlements. 

"Have you many settlements?" she inquired. 

"Three in all--two white and one colored. "

"And will they all be represented?"

"Yes, of course, Mrs. Cresswell. If you object to meeting the coloredpeople--"

Mrs. Cresswell blushed. 

"No, indeed, " she answered; "I used to teach colored people. "

She watched this new group gather: a business man, two fashionableladies, three college girls, a gray-haired colored woman, and a youngspectacled brown man, and then, to her surprise, Mrs. Vanderpool andZora. 

Zora was scarcely seated when that strange sixth sense of hers told herthat something had happened, and it needed but a side-glance from Mrs. Vanderpool to indicate what it was. She sat with folded hands and theold dreamy look in her eyes. In one moment she lived it all again--thered cabin, the moving oak, the sowing of the Fleece, and its fearfulreaping. And now, when she turned her head, she would see the woman whowas to marry Bles Alwyn. She had often dreamed of her, and had set ahigh ideal. She wanted her to be handsome, well dressed, earnest andgood. She felt a sort of person proprietorship in her, and when at lastthe quickened pulse died to its regular healthy beat, she turned andlooked and knew. 

Caroline Wynn deemed it a part of the white world's education toparticipate in meetings like this; doing so was not pleasant, but itappealed to her cynicism and mocking sense of pleasure. She alwaysroused hostility as she entered: her gown was too handsome, her glovestoo spotless, her air had hauteur enough to be almost impudent in theopinion of most white people. Then gradually her intelligence, her coolwit and self-possession, would conquer and she would go gracefully outleaving a rather bewildered audience behind. She sat today with her darkgold profile toward Zora, and the girl looked and was glad. She was sucha woman she would have Bles marry. She was glad, and she choked back thesob that struggled and fought in her throat. 

The meeting never got beyond a certain constraint. The Congressman madean excellent speech; there were various sets of figures read by theworkers; and Miss Wynn added a touch of spice by several pertinentquestions and comments. Then, as the meeting broke up and Mrs. Cresswellcame forward to speak to Zora, Mrs. Vanderpool managed to find herselfnear Miss Wynn and to be introduced. They exchanged a few politephrases, fencing delicately to test the other's wrist and interest. Theytouched on the weather, and settlement work; but Miss Wynn did notpropose to be stranded on the Negro problem. 

"I suppose the next bit of excitement will be in the inauguration, " shesaid to Mrs. Vanderpool. 

"I understand it will be unusually elaborate, " returned Mrs. Vanderpool, a little surprised at the turn. Then she added pleasantly: "I think Ishall see it through, from speech to ball. "

"Yes, I do usually, " Miss Wynn asserted, adjusting her furs. 

Mrs. Vanderpool was further surprised. Did colored people attend theball?

"We sorely need a national ball-room, " she said. "Isn't the censusbuilding wretched?"

"I do not know, " smiled Miss Wynn. 

"Oh, I thought you said--"

"I meant _our_ ball. "

"Oh!" said Mrs. Vanderpool in turn. "Oh!" Here a thought came. Ofcourse, the colored people had their own ball; she remembered havingheard about it. Why not send Zora? She plunged in:

"Miss Wynn, I have a maid--such an intelligent girl; I do wish she couldattend your ball--" seeing her blunder, she paused. Miss Wynn was coollybuttoning her glove. 

"Yes, " she acknowledged politely, "few of us can afford maids, andtherefore we do not usually arrange for them; but I think we can haveyour _protégée_ look on from the gallery. Good-afternoon. "

As Mrs. Vanderpool drove home she related the talk to Zora. Zora wassilent at first. Then she said deliberately:

"Miss Wynn was right. "

"Why, Zora!"

"Did Helene attend the ball four years ago?"

"But, Zora, must you folk ape our nonsense as well as our sense?"

"You force us to, " said Zora. 

_Twenty-eight_

THE ANNUNCIATION

The new President had been inaugurated. Beneath the creamy pile of theold Capitol, and facing the new library, he had stood aloft and lookeddown on a waving sea of faces--black-coated, jostling, eager-eyed fellowcreatures. They had watched his lips move, had scanned eagerly his dressand the gowned and decorated dignitaries beside him; and then, withblare of band and prancing of horses, he had been whirled down the dipand curve of that long avenue, with its medley of meanness and thriftand hurry and wealth, until, swinging sharply, the dim walls of theWhite House rose before him. He entered with a sigh. 

Then the vast welter of humanity dissolved and streamed hither andthither, gaping and laughing until night, when thousands poured into thered barn of the census shack and entered the artificial fairylandwithin. The President walked through, smiling; the senators protectedtheir friends in the crush; and Harry Cresswell led his wife to alittle oasis of Southern ladies and gentlemen. 

"This is democracy for you, " said he, wiping his brow. 

From a whirling eddy Mrs. Vanderpool waved at them, and they rescuedher. 

"I think I am ready to go, " she gasped. "Did you ever!"

"Come, " Cresswell invited. But just then the crowd pushed them apart andshot them along, and Mrs. Cresswell found herself clinging to herhusband amid two great whirling variegated throngs of driving, white-faced people. The band crashed and blared; the people laughed andpushed; and with rhythmic sound and swing the mighty throng was dancing. 

It took much effort, but at last the Cresswell party escaped and rolledoff in their carriages. They swept into the avenue and out again, thenup 14th Street, where, turning for some street obstruction, they passeda throng of carriages on a cross street. 

"It's the other ball, " cried Mrs. Vanderpool, and amid laughter sheadded, "Let's go!"

It was--the other ball. For Washington is itself, and something elsebesides. Along beside it ever runs that dark and haunting echo; thatshadowy world-in-world with its accusing silence, its emphaticself-sufficiency. Mrs. Cresswell at first demurred. She thought ofElspeth's cabin: the dirt, the smell, the squalor: of course, this wouldbe different; but--well, Mrs. Cresswell had little inclination forslumming. She was interested in the under-world, but intellectually, notby personal contact. She did not know that this was a side-world, not anunder-world. Yet the imposing building did not look sordid. 

"Hired?" asked some one. 

"No, owned. "

"Indeed!"

Then there was a hitch. 

"Tickets?"

"Where can we buy them?"

"Not on sale, " was the curt reply. 

"Actually exclusive!" sneered Cresswell, for he could not imagine anyone unwelcome at a Negro ball. Then he bethought himself of SamStillings and sent for him. In a few minutes he had a dozencomplimentary tickets in his hand. 

They entered the balcony and sat down. Mary Cresswell leaned forward. Itwas interesting. Beneath her was an ordinary pretty ball--flowered, silked, and ribboned; with swaying whirling figures, music, andlaughter, and all the human fun of gayety and converse. 

And then she was impressed with the fact that this was no ordinaryscene; it was, on the contrary, most extraordinary. 

There was a black man waltzing with a white woman--no, she was notwhite, for Mary caught the cream and curl of the girl as she swept past:but there was a white man (was he white?) and a black woman. The colorof the scene was wonderful. The hard human white seemed to glow and liveand run a mad gamut of the spectrum, from morn till night, from white toblack; through red and sombre browns, pale and brilliant yellows, deadand living blacks. Through her opera-glasses Mary scanned their hair;she noted everything from the infinitely twisted, crackled, dead, andgrayish-black to the piled mass of red golden sunlight. Her eyes wentdreaming; there below was the gathering of the worlds. She saw types ofall nations and all lands swirling beneath her in human brotherhood, anda great wonder shook her. They seemed so happy. Surely, this was nonether world; it was upper earth, and--her husband beckoned; he had beenlaughing incontinently. He saw nothing but a crowd of queer lookingpeople doing things they were not made to do and appearing absurdlyhappy over it. It irritated him unreasonably. 

"See the washer-woman in red, " he whispered. "Look at the monkey. Come, let's go. "

They trooped noisily down-stairs, and Cresswell walked unceremoniouslybetween a black man and his partner. Mrs. Vanderpool recognized andgreeted the girl as Miss Wynn. Mrs. Cresswell did not notice her, butshe paused with a start of recognition at the sight of the man. 

"Why, Bles!" she exclaimed impetuously, starting to hold out her hand. She was sincerely pleased at seeing him. Then she remembered. She bowedand smiled, looking at him with interest and surprise. He was correctlydressed, and the white shirt set off the comeliness of his black face incompelling contrast. He carried himself like a man, and bowed withgravity and dignity. She passed on and heard her husband's petulantvoice in her ear. 

"Mary--Mary! for Heaven's sake, come on; don't shake hands withniggers. "

It was recurring flashes of temper like this, together with evidences ofdubious company and a growing fondness for liquor, that drove MaryCresswell more and more to find solace in the work of Congressman Todd'sCivic Club. She collected statistics for several of the Committee, wroteletters, interviewed a few persons, and felt herself growing inusefulness and importance. She did not mention these things to herhusband; she knew he would not object, but she shrank from his ridicule. 

The various causes advocated by the Civic Club felt the impetus of theaggressive work of the organization. This was especially the case withthe National Education Bill and the amendment to the Child Labor Bill. The movement became strong enough to call Mr. Easterly down from NewYork. He and the inner circle went over matters carefully. 

"We need the political strength of the South, " said Easterly; "not onlyin framing national legislation in our own interests, but always inState laws. Particularly, we must get them into line to offset Todd'sfoolishness. The Child Labor Bill must either go through unamended or bekilled. The Cotton Inspection Bill--our chief measure--must be slippedthrough quietly by Southern votes, while in the Tariff mix-up we musttake good care of cotton. 

"Now, on the other hand, we are offending the Southerners in three ways:Todd's revived Blair Bill is too good a thing for niggers; the South isclamoring for a first classy embassy appointment; and the President'snomination of Alwyn as Treasurer will raise a howl from Virginia toTexas. "

"There is some strong influence back of Alwyn, " said Senator Smith; "notonly are the Negroes enthused, but the President has daily letters fromprominent whites. "

"The strong influence is named Vanderpool, " Easterly drily remarked. "She's playing a bigger political game than I laid out for her. That'sthe devil with women: they can't concentrate: they get too damned manyside issues. Now, I offered her husband the French ambassadorshipprovided she'd keep the Southerners feeling good toward us. She's handin glove with the Southerners, all right; but she wants not only herhusband's appointment but this darkey's too. "

"But that's been decided, hasn't it?" put in Smith. 

"Yes, " grumbled Easterly; "but it makes it hard already. At any rate, the Educational Bill must be killed right off. No more talk; no moreconsideration--kill it, and kill it now. Now about this Child LaborBill: Todd's Civic Club is raising the mischief. Who's responsible?"

The silent Jackson spoke up. "Congressman Cresswell's wife has been veryactive, and Todd thinks they've got the South with them. "

"Congressman Cresswell's wife!" Easterly's face was one greatexclamation point. "Now what the devil does this mean?"

"I'm afraid, " said Senator Smith, "that it may mean an attempt on thepart of Cresswell's friends to boost him for the French ambassadorship. He's the only Southerner with money enough to support the position, andthere's been a good deal of quiet talk, I understand, in Southerncircles. "

"But it's treason!" Easterly shouted. "It will ruin the plans of theCombine to put this amended Child Labor Bill through. John Taylor hasjust written me that he's starting mills at Toomsville, and that hedepends on unrestricted labor conditions, as we must throughout theSouth. Doesn't Cresswell know this?"

"Of course. I think it's just a bluff. If he gets the appointment he'lllet the bill drop. "

"I see--everybody is raising his price, is he? Pretty soon the darkywill be holding us up. Well, see Cresswell, and put it to him strong. Imust go. Wire me. "

Senator Smith presented the matter bluntly to Cresswell as soon as hesaw him. "Which would the South prefer--Todd's Education Bill, orAlwyn's appointment?"

It was characteristic of Cresswell that the smaller matter of Stillings'intrigue should interest him more than Todd's measure, of which he knewnothing. 

"What is Todd's bill?" asked Harry Cresswell, darkening. 

Smith, surprised, got out a copy and explained. Cresswell interruptedbefore he was half through. 

"Don't you see, " he said angrily, "that that will ruin our plans for theCotton Combine?"

"Yes, I do, " replied Smith; "but it will not do the immediate harm thatthe amended Child Labor Bill will do. "

"What's that?" demanded Cresswell, frowning again. 

Senator Smith regarded him again: was Cresswell playing a shrewd game?

"Why, " he said at length, "aren't you promoting it?"

"No, " was the reply. "Never heard of it. "

"But, " Senator Smith began, and paused. He turned and took up a circularissued by the Civic Club, giving a careful account of their endeavors toamend and pass the Child Labor Bill. Cresswell read it, then threw itaside. 

"Nonsense!" he indignantly repudiated the measure. "That will never do;it's as bad as the Education Bill. "

"But your wife is encouraging it and we thought you were back of it. "

Cresswell stared in blank amazement. 

"My wife!" he gasped. Then he bethought himself. "It's a mistake, " hesupplemented; "Mrs. Cresswell gave them no authority to sign her name. "

"She's been very active, " Smith persisted, "and naturally we were allanxious. "

Cresswell bit his lip. "I shall speak to her; she does not realize whatuse they are making of her passing interest. "

He hurried away, and Senator Smith felt a bit sorry for Mrs. Cresswellwhen he recalled the expression on her husband's face. 

Mary Cresswell did not get home until nearly dinner time; then she camein glowing with enthusiasm. Her work had received special commendationthat afternoon, and she had been asked to take the chairmanship of thecommittee on publicity. Finding that her husband was at home, shedetermined to tell him--it was so good to be doing something worthwhile. Perhaps, too, he might be made to show some interest. She thoughtof Mr. And Mrs. Todd and the old dream glowed faintly again. 

Cresswell looked at her as she entered the library where he was waitingand smoking. She was rumpled and muddy, with flying hair and thickwalking shoes and the air of bustle and vigor which had crept into herblood this last month. Truly, her cheeks were glowing and her eyesbright, but he disapproved. Softness and daintiness, silk and lace andglimmering flesh, belonged to women in his mind, and he despised Amazonsand "business" women. He received her kiss coldly, and Mary's heartsank. She essayed some gay greeting, but he interrupted her. 

"What's this stuff about the Civic Club?" he began sharply. 

"Stuff?" she queried, blankly. 

"That's what I said. "

"I'm sure I don't know, " she answered stiffly. "I belong to the CivicClub, and have been working with it. "

"Why didn't you tell me?" His resentment grew as he proceeded. 

"I did not think you were interested. "

"Didn't you know that this Child Labor business was opposed to myinterests?"

"Dear, I did not dream it. It's a Republican bill, to be sure; but youseemed very friendly with Senator Smith, who introduced it. We weresimply trying to improve it. "

"Suppose we didn't want it improved. "

"That's what some said; but I did not believe such--deception. "

The blood rushed to Cresswell's face. 

"Well, you will drop this bill and the Civic Club from now on. "

"Why?"

"Because I say so, " he retorted explosively, too angry to explainfurther. 

She looked at him--a long, fixed, penetrating look which revealed morethan she had ever seen before, then turned away and went slowlyup-stairs. She did not come down to dinner, and in the evening thedoctor was called. 

Cresswell drooped a bit after eating, hesitated, and reflected. He hadacted too cavalierly in this Civic Club mess, he concluded, and yet hewould not back down. He'd go see her and pet her a bit, but be firm. 

He opened her boudoir door gently, and she stood before him radiant, clothed in silk and lace, her hair loosened. He paused, astonished. Butshe threw herself upon his neck, with a joyful, half hysterical cry. 

"I will give it all up--everything! Willingly, willingly!" Her voicedropped abruptly to a tremulous whisper. "Oh, Harry! I--I am to be themother of a child!"

_Twenty-nine_

A MASTER OF FATE

"There is not the slightest doubt, Miss Wynn, " Senator Smith was saying, "but that the schools of the District will be reorganized. "

"And the Board of Education abolished?" she added. 

"Yes. The power will be delegated to a single white superintendent. "

The vertical line in Caroline Wynn's forehead became pronounced. 

"Whose work is this, Senator?" she asked. 

"Well, there are, of course, various parties back of the change: the'outs, ' the reformers, the whole tendency to concentrate responsibility, and so on. But, frankly, the deciding factor was the demand of theSouth. "

"Is there anything in Washington that the South does not already own?"

Senator Smith smiled thinly. 

"Not much, " drily; "but we own the South. "

"And part of the price is putting the colored schools of the District inthe hands of a Southern man and depriving us of all voice in theircontrol?"

"Precisely, Miss Wynn. But you'd be surprised to know that it was theNegroes themselves who stirred the South to this demand. "

"Not at all; you mean the colored newspapers, I presume. "

"The same, with Teerswell's clever articles; then his partner Stillingsworked the 'impudent Negro teacher' argument on Cresswell untilCresswell was wild to get the South in control of the schools. "

"But what do Teerswell and Stillings want?"

"They want Bles Alwyn to make a fool of himself. "

"That is a trifle cryptic, " Miss Wynn mused. The Senator amplified. 

"We are giving the South the Washington schools and killing theEducation Bill in return for this support of some of our measures andtheir assent to Alwyn's appointment. You see I speak frankly. "

"I can stand it, Senator. "

"I believe you can. Well, now, if Alwyn should act unwisely and offendthe South, somebody else stands in line for the appointment. "

"As Treasurer?" she asked in surprise. 

"Oh, no, they are too shrewd to ask that; it would offend their backers, or shall I say their tools, the Southerners. No, they ask only to beRegister and Assistant Register of the Treasury. This is an officecolored men have held for years, and it is quite ambitious enough forthem; so Stillings assures Cresswell and his friends. "

"I see, " Miss Wynn slowly acknowledged. "But how do they hope to makeMr. Alwyn blunder?"

"Too easily, I fear--unless _you_ are very careful. Alwyn has beenworking like a beaver for the National Education Bill. He's been in tosee me several times, as you probably know. His heart is set on it. Heregards its passage as a sort of vindication of his defence of theparty. "

"Yes. "

"Now, the party has dropped the bill for good, and Alwyn doesn't likeit. If he should attack the party--"

"But he wouldn't, " cried Miss Wynn with a start that belied herconviction. 

"Did you know that he is to be invited to make the principal address tothe graduates of the colored high-school?"

"But, " she objected. "They have selected Bishop Johnson; I--"

"I know you did, " laughed the Senator, "but the Judge got orders fromhigher up. "

"Shrewd Mr. Teerswell, " remarked Miss Wynn, sagely. 

"Shrewd Mr. Stillings, " the Senator corrected; "but perhaps too shrewd. Suppose Mr. Alwyn should take this occasion to make a thorough defenceof the party?"

"But--will he?"

"That's where you come in, " Senator Smith pointed out, rising, "and thereal reason of this interview. We're depending on you to pull the partyout of an awkward hole, " and he shook hands with his caller. 

Miss Wynn walked slowly up Pennsylvania Avenue with a smile on her face. 

"I did not give him the credit, " she declared, repeating it; "I did notgive him the credit. Here I was, playing an alluring game on the side, and my dear Tom transforms it into a struggle for bread and butter; forof course, if the Board of Education goes, I lose my place. " She liftedher head and stared along the avenue. 

A bitterness dawned in her eyes. The whole street was a living insult toher. Here she was, an American girl by birth and breeding, a daughter ofcitizens who had fought and bled and worked for a dozen generations onthis soil; yet if she stepped into this hotel to rest, even with fullpurse, she would be politely refused accommodation. Should she attemptto go into this picture show she would be denied entrance. She wasthirsty with the walk; but at yonder fountain the clerk would roughlyrefuse to serve her. It was lunch time; there was no place within a milewhere she was allowed to eat. The revolt deepened within her. Beyondthese known and definite discriminations lay the unknown and hovering. In yonder store nothing hindered the clerk from being exceptionallypert; on yonder street-car the conductor might reserve his politenessfor white folk; this policeman's business was to keep black and brownpeople in their places. All this Caroline Wynn thought of, and thensmiled. 

This was the thing poor blind Bles was trying to attack by "appeals" for"justice. " Nonsense! Does one "appeal" to the red-eyed beast thatthrottles him? No. He composes himself, looks death in the eye, andspeaks softly, on the chance. Whereupon Miss Wynn composed herself, waved gayly at a passing acquaintance, and matched some ribbons in adepartment store. The clerk was new and anxious to sell. 

Meantime her brain was busy. She had a hard task before her. Alwyn'sabsurd conscience and Quixotic ideas were difficult to cope with. Afterhis last indiscreet talk she had ventured deftly to remonstrate, and shewell remembered the conversation. 

"Wasn't what I said true?" he had asked. 

"Perfectly. Is that an excuse for saying it?"

"The facts ought to be known. "

"Yes, but ought you to tell them?"

"If not I, who?"

"Some one who is less useful elsewhere, and whom I like less. "

"Carrie, " he had been intensely earnest. "I want to do the best thing, but I'm puzzled. I wonder if I'm selling my birthright for six thousanddollars?"

"In case of doubt, do it. "

"But there's the doubt: I may convert; I may open the eyes of the blind;I may start a crusade for Negro rights. "

"Don't believe it; it's useless; we'll never get our rights in thisland. "

"You don't believe that!" he had ejaculated, shocked. 

Well, she must begin again. As she had hoped, he was waiting for herwhen she reached home. She welcomed him cordially, made a little musicfor him, and served tea. 

"Bles, " she said, "the Opposition has been laying a pretty shrewd trapfor you. "

"What?" he asked absently. 

"They are going to have you chosen as High School commencement orator. "

"Me? Stuff!"

"You--and not stuff, but 'Education' will be your natural theme. Indeed, they have so engineered it that the party chiefs expect from you adefence of their dropping of the Educational Bill. "

"What!"

"Yes, and probably your nomination will come before the speech andconfirmation after. "

Bles walked the floor excitedly for a while and then sat down andsmiled. 

"It was a shrewd move, " he said; "but I think I thank them for it. "

"I don't. But still, _"''T is the sport to see the engineer hoist by his own petar. '"_

Bles mused and she watched him covertly. Suddenly she leaned over. 

"Moreover, " she said, "about that same date I'm liable to lose myposition as teacher. "

He looked at her quickly, and she explained the coming revolution inschool management. 

He did not discuss the matter, and she was equally reticent; but when heentered the doors of his lodging-place and, gathering his mail, slowlymounted the stairs, there came the battle of his life. 

He knew it and he tried to wage it coolly and with method. He arrayedthe arguments side by side: on this side lay success; the greatestoffice ever held by a Negro in America--greater than Douglass or Bruceor Lynch had held--a landmark, a living example and inspiration. A manowed the world success; there were plenty who could fail and stumble andgive multiple excuses. Should he be one? He viewed the other side. Whatmust he pay for success? Aye, face it boldly--what? Mechanically hesearched for his mail and undid the latest number of the _ColoredAmerican_. He was sure the answer stood there in Teerswell's bitingvulgar English. And there it was, with a cartoon:

 HIS MASTER'S VOICE

 Alwyn is Ordered to Eat His Words or Get Out Watch Him Do It Gracefully The Republican Leaders, etc. 

He threw down his paper, and the hot blood sang in his ears. Thesickening thought was that it was true. If he did make the speechdemanded it would be like a dog obedient to his master's voice. 

The cold sweat oozed on his face; throwing up the window, he drank inthe Spring breeze, and stared at the city he once had thought soalluring. Somehow it looked like the swamp, only less beautiful; hestretched his arms and his lips breathed--"Zora!"

He turned hastily to his desk and looked at the other piece of mail--asingle sealed note carefully written on heavy paper. He did notrecognize the handwriting. Then his mind flew off again. What would theysay if he failed to get the office? How they would silently hoot andjeer at the upstart who suddenly climbed so high and fell. And CarrieWynn--poor Carrie, with her pride and position dragged down in his ruin:how would she take it? He writhed in soul. And yet, to be a man; to saycalmly, "No"; to stand in that great audience and say, "My people firstand last"; to take Carrie's hand and together face the world andstruggle again to newer finer triumphs--all this would be very close toattainment of the ideal. He found himself staring at the little letter. Would she go? Would she, could she, lay aside her pride and cynicism, her dainty ways and little extravagances? An odd fancy came to him:perhaps the answer to the riddle lay sealed within the envelope hefingered. 

He opened it. Within lay four lines of writing--no more--no address, nosignature; simply the words:

 _"It matters now how strait the gate, How charged with punishment the scroll; I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. "_

He stared at the lines. Eleven o'clock--twelve--one--chimed thedeep-voiced clock without, before Alwyn went to bed. 

Miss Wynn had kept a vigil almost as long. She knew that Bles hadinfluential friends who had urged his preferment; it might be wise toenlist them. Before she fell asleep she had determined to have a talkwith Mrs. Vanderpool. She had learned from Senator Smith that the ladytook special interest in Alwyn. 

Mrs. Vanderpool heard Miss Wynn's story next day with some inwarddismay. Really the breadth and depth of intrigue in this city almostfrightened her as she walked deeper into the mire. She had promised Zorathat Bles should receive his reward on terms which would not wound hismanhood. It seemed an easy, almost an obvious thing, to promise at thetime. Yet here was this rather unusual young woman asking Mrs. Vanderpool to use her influence in making Alwyn bow to the yoke. Shefenced for time. 

"But I do not know Mr. Alwyn. "

"I thought you did; you recommended him highly. "

"I knew of him slightly in the South and I have watched his careerhere. "

"It would be too bad to have that career spoiled now. "

"But is it necessary? Suppose he should defend the Education Bill. "

"And criticise the party?" asked Miss Wynn. "It would take stronginfluence to pull him through. "

"And if that strong influence were found?" said Mrs. Vanderpoolthoughtfully. 

"It would surely involve some other important concession to the South. "

Mrs. Vanderpool looked up, and an interjection hovered on her lips. Wasit possible that the price of Alwyn's manhood would be her husband'sappointment to Paris? And if it were?

"I'll do what I can, " she said graciously; "but I am afraid that willnot be much. "

Miss Wynn hesitated. She had not succeeded even in guessing the sourceof Mrs. Vanderpool's interest in Alwyn, and without that her appeal wasbut blind groping. She stopped on her way to the door to admire a bronzestatuette and find time to think. 

"You are interested in bronzes?" asked Mrs. Vanderpool. 

"Oh, no; I'm far too poor. But I've dabbled a bit in sculpture. "

"Indeed?" Mrs. Vanderpool revealed a mild interest, and Miss Wynn wascompelled to depart with little enlightenment. 

On the way up town she concluded that there was but one chance ofsuccess: she must write Alwyn's speech. With characteristic decision shebegan her plans at once. 

"What will you say in your speech?" she asked him that night as he roseto go. 

He looked at her and she wavered slightly under his black eyes. Thefight was becoming a little too desperate even for her steady nerves. 

"You would not like me to act dishonestly, would you?" he asked. 

"No, " she involuntarily replied, regretting the word the moment she haduttered it. He gave her one of his rare sweet smiles, and, rising, before she realized his intent, he had kissed her hands and was gone. 

She asked herself why she had been so foolish; and yet, somehow, sittingthere alone in the firelight, she felt glad for once that she had risenabove intrigue. Then she sighed and smiled, and began to plot anew. Teerswell dropped in later and brought his friend, Stillings. They foundtheir hostess gay and entertaining. 

Miss Wynn gathered books about her, and in the days of April and May sheand Alwyn read up on education. He marvelled at the subtlety of hermind, and she at the relentlessness of his. They were very near eachother during these days, and yet there was ever something between them:a vision to him of dark and pleading eyes that he constantly saw besideher cool, keen glance. And he to her was always two men: one man abovemen, whom she could respect but would not marry, and one man like allmen, whom she would marry but could not respect. His devotion to anideal which she thought so utterly unpractical, aroused keen curiosityand admiration. She was sure he would fail in the end, and she wantedhim to fail; and somehow, somewhere back beyond herself, her better selflonged to find herself defeated; to see this mind stand firm onprinciple, under circumstances where she believed men never stood. Deepwithin her she discovered at times a passionate longing to believe insomebody; yet she found herself bending every energy to pull this mandown to the level of time-servers, and even as she failed, feelingsomething like contempt for his stubbornness. 

The great day came. He had her notes, her suggestions, her hints, butshe had no intimation of what he would finally say. 

"Will you come to hear me?" he asked. 

"No, " she murmured. 

"That is best, " he said, and then he added slowly, "I would not like youever to despise me. "

She answered sharply: "I want to despise you!"

Did he understand? She was not sure. She was sorry she had said it; butshe meant it fiercely. Then he left her, for it was already four in theafternoon and he spoke at eight. 

In the morning she came down early, despite some dawdling over hertoilet. She brought the morning paper into the dining-room and sat downwith it, sipping her coffee. She leaned back and looked leisurely at theheadings. There was nothing on the front page but a divorce, arevolution, and a new Trust. She took another sip of her coffee, andturned the page. There it was, "Colored High Schools Close--ViciousAttack on Republican Party by Negro Orator. "

She laid the paper aside and slowly finished her coffee. A few minuteslater she went to her desk and sat there so long that she started athearing the clock strike nine. 

The day passed. When she came home from school she bought an eveningpaper. She was not surprised to learn that the Senate had rejectedAlwyn's nomination; that Samuel Stillings had been nominated andconfirmed as Register of the Treasury, and that Mr. Tom Teerswell was tobe his assistant. Also the bill reorganizing the school board hadpassed. She wrote two notes and posted them as she went out to walk. 

When she reached home Stillings was there, and they talked earnestly. The bell rang violently. Teerswell rushed in. 

"Well, Carrie!" he cried eagerly. 

"Well, Tom, " she responded, giving him a languid hand. Stillings roseand departed. Teerswell nodded and said:

"Well, what do you think of last night?"

"A great speech, I hear. "

"A fool speech--that speech cost him, I calculate, between twenty-fourand forty-eight thousand dollars. "

"Possibly he's satisfied with his bargain. "

"Possibly. Are you?"

"With his bargain?" quickly. "Yes. "

"No, " he pressed her, "with your bargain?"

"What bargain?" she parried. 

"To marry him. "

"Oh, no; that's off. "

"Is it off?" cried Teerswell delightedly. "Good! It was foolish from thefirst--that black country--"

"Gently, " Miss Wynn checked him. "I'm not yet over the habit. "

"Come. See what I've bought. You know I have a salary now. " He produceda ring with a small diamond cluster. 

"How pretty!" she said, taking it and looking at it. Then she handed itback. 

He laughed gayly. "It's yours, Carrie. You're going to marry me. "

She looked at him queerly. 

"Am I? But I've got another ring already, " she said. 

"Oh, send Alwyn's back. "

"I have. This is still another. " And uncovering her hand she showed aring with a large and beautiful diamond. 

He rose. "Whose is that?" he demanded apprehensively. 

"Mine--" her eyes met his. 

"But who gave it to you?"

"Mr. Stillings, " was the soft reply. 

He stared at her helplessly. "I--I--don't understand!" he stammered. 

"Well, to be brief, I'm engaged to Mr. Stillings. "

"What! To that flat-headed--"

"No, " she coolly interrupted, "to the Register of the Treasury. "

The man was too dumbfounded, too overwhelmed for coherent speech. 

"But--but--come; why in God's name--will you throw yourself away on--onsuch a--you're joking--you--"

She motioned him to a chair. He obeyed like one in a trance. 

"Now, Tom, be calm. When I was a baby I loved you, but that is longago. Today, Tom, you're an insufferable cad and I--well, I'm too muchlike you to have two of us in the same family. "

"But, Stillings!" he burst forth, almost in tears. "The snake--what ishe?"

"Nearly as bad as you, I'll admit; but he has four thousand a year andsense enough to keep it. In truth, I need it; for, thanks to yourpolitical activity, my own position is gone. "

"But he's a--a damned rascal!" Wounded self-conceit was now getting theupper hand. 

She laughed. 

"I think he is. But he's such an exceptional rascal; he appeals to me. You know, Tom, we're all more or less rascally--except one. "

"Except who?" he asked quickly. 

"Bles Alwyn. "

"The fool!"

"Yes, " she slowly agreed. "Bles Alwyn, the Fool--and the Man. But bygrace of the Negro Problem, I cannot afford to marry a man--Hark! Someone is on the steps. I'm sure it's Bles. You'd better go now. Don'tattempt to fight with him; he's very strong. Good-night. "

Alwyn entered. He didn't notice Teerswell as he passed out. He wentstraight to Miss Wynn holding a crumpled note, and his voice faltered alittle. 

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes, Bles. "

"Why?"

"Because I am selfish and--small. "

"No, you are not. You want to be; but give it up, Carrie; it isn't worththe cost. Come, let's be honest and poor--and free. "

She regarded him a moment, searchingly, then a look half quizzical, halfsorrowful came into her eyes. She put both her hands on his shouldersand said as she kissed his lips:

"Bles, almost thou persuadest me--to be a fool. Now go. "

_Thirty_

THE RETURN OF ZORA

"I never realized before just what a lie meant, " said Zora. 

The paper in Mrs. Vanderpool's hands fell quickly to her lap, and shegazed across the toilet-table. 

As she gazed that odd mirage of other days haunted her again. She didnot seem to see her maid, nor the white and satin morning-room. She saw, with some long inner sight, a vast hall with mighty pillars; a smooth, marbled floor and a great throng whose silent eyes looked curiously uponher. Strange carven beasts gazed on from a setting of rich, barbaricsplendor and she herself--the Liar--lay in rags before the gold andivory of that lofty throne whereon sat Zora. 

The foolish phantasy passed with the second of time that brought it, andMrs. Vanderpool's eyes dropped again to her paper, to those lines, --

"The President has sent the following nominations to the Senate . . . Tobe ambassador to France, John Vanderpool, Esq. "

The first feeling of triumph thrilled faintly again until the low voiceof Zora startled her. It was so low and calm, it came as thoughjourneying from great distances and weary with travel. 

"I used to think a lie a little thing, a convenience; but now I see. Itis a great No and it kills things. You remember that day when Mr. Easterly called?"

"Yes, " replied Mrs. Vanderpool, faintly. 

"I heard all he said. I could not help it; my transom was open. Andthen, too, after he mentioned--Mr. Alwyn's name, I wanted to hear. Iknew that his appointment would cost you the embassy--unless Bles wastempted and should fall. So I came to you to say--to say you mustn't paythe price. "

"And I lied, " said Mrs. Vanderpool. "I told you that he should beappointed and remain a man. I meant to make him see that he could yieldwithout great cost. But I let you think I was giving up the embassy whenI never intended to. "

She spoke coldly, yet Zora knew. She reached out and took the white, still hands in hers, and over the lady's face again flitted thatstricken look of age. 

"I do not blame you, " said Zora gently. "I blame the world. "

"I am the world, " Mrs. Vanderpool uttered harshly, then suddenlylaughed. But Zora went on:

"It bewildered me when I first read the news early this morning; theworld--everything--seemed wrong. You see, my plan was all so splendid. Just as I turned away from him, back to my people, I was to help him tothe highest. I was so afraid he would miss it and think that Rightdidn't win in Life, that I wrote him--"

"You wrote him? So did I. "

Zora glanced at her quickly. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Vanderpool. "I thought I knew him. He seemed anordinary, rather priggish, opinionated country boy, and I wrote andsaid--Oh, I said that the world is the world; take it as it is. Youwrote differently, and he obeyed you. "

"No; he did not know it was I. I was just a Voice from nowhere callingto him. I thought I was right. I wrote each day, sometimes twice, sending bits of verse, quotations, references, all saying the samething: Right always triumphs. But it doesn't, does it?"

"No. It never does save by accident. "

"I do not think that is quite so, " Zora pondered aloud, "and I am alittle puzzled. I do not belong in this world where Right and Wrong getso mixed. With us yonder there is wrong, but we call it wrong--mostly. Oh, I don't know; even there things are mixed. " She looked sadly at Mrs. Vanderpool, and the fear that had been hovering behind her mistress'seyes became visible. 

"It was so beautiful, " said Zora. "I expected a great thing of you--asacrifice. I do not blame you because you could not do it; and yet--yet, after this, --don't you see?--I cannot stay here. "

Mrs. Vanderpool arose and walked over to her. She stood above her, inher silken morning-gown, her brown and gray sprinkled hair rising abovethe pale, strong-lined face. 

"Zora, " she faltered, "will you leave me?"

Zora answered, "Yes. " It was a soft "yes, " a "yes" full of pity andregret, but a "yes" that Mrs. Vanderpool knew in her soul to be final. 

She sat down again on the lounge and her fingers crept along thecushions. 

"Ambassadorships come--high, " she said with a catch in her voice. Thenafter a pause: "When will you go, Zora?"

"When you leave for the summer. "

Mrs. Vanderpool looked out upon the beautiful city. She was a littlesurprised at herself. She had found herself willing to sacrifice almostanything for Zora. No living soul had ever raised in her so deep anaffection, and yet she knew now that, although the cost was great, shewas willing to sacrifice Zora for Paris. After all, it was not toolate; a rapid ride even now might secure high office for Alwyn and makeCresswell ambassador. It would be difficult but possible. But she hadnot the slightest inclination to attempt it, and she said aloud, halfmockingly:

"You are right, Zora. I promised--and--I lied. Liars have no place inheaven and heaven is doubtless a beautiful place--but oh, Zora! youhaven't seen Paris!"

Two months later they parted simply, knowing well it was forever. Mrs. Vanderpool wrote a check. 

"Use this in your work, " she said. "Miss Smith asked for it long ago. Itis--my campaign contribution. "

Zora smiled and thanked her. As she put the sealed envelope in her trunkher hand came in contact with a long untouched package. Zora took it outsilently and opened it and the beauty of it lightened the room. 

"It is the Silver Fleece, " said Zora, and Mrs. Vanderpool kissed her andwent. 

Zora walked alone to the vaulted station. She did not try to buy aPullman ticket, although the journey was thirty-six hours. She knew itwould be difficult if not impossible and she preferred to share the lotof her people. Once on the foremost car, she leaned back and looked. Thecar seemed clean and comfortable but strangely short. Then she realizedthat half of it was cut off for the white smokers and as the door swungwhiffs of the smoke came in. But she was content for she was almostalone. 

It was eighteen little months ago that she had ridden up to the worldwith widening eyes. In that time what had happened? Everything. How wellshe remembered her coming, the first reflection of yonder gilded domeand the soaring of the capitol; the swelling of her heart, withinarticulate wonder; the pain of the thirst to know and understand. Shedid not know much now but she had learned how to find things out. Shedid not understand all, but some things she--

"Ticket"--the tone was harsh and abrupt. Zora started. She had alwaysnoted how polite conductors were to her and Mrs. Vanderpool--was itsimply because Mrs. Vanderpool was evidently a great and rich lady? Sheheld up her ticket and he snatched it from her muttering some direction. 

"I beg your pardon?" she said. 

"Change at Charlotte, " he snapped as he went on. 

It seemed to Zora that his discourtesy was almost forced: that he wasafraid he might be betrayed into some show of consideration for a blackwoman. She felt no anger, she simply wondered what he feared. Theincreasing smell of tobacco smoke started her coughing. She turned. Tobe sure. Not only was the door to the smoker standing open, but a whitepassenger was in her car, sitting by the conductor and puffing heartily. As the black porter passed her she said gently:

"Is smoking allowed in here?"

"It ain't non o' my business, " he flung back at her and moved away. Allday white men passed back and forward through the car as through athoroughfare. They talked loudly and laughed and joked, and if they didnot smoke they carried their lighted cigars. At her they stared and madecomments, and one of them came and lounged almost over her seat, inquiring where she was going. 

She did not reply; she neither looked nor stirred, but kept whisperingto herself with something like awe: "This is what they must endure--mypoor people!"

At Lynchburg a newsboy boarded the train with his wares. The conductorhad already appropriated two seats for himself, and the newsboy routedout two colored passengers, and usurped two other seats. Then he beganto be especially annoying. He joked and wrestled with the porter, and onevery occasion pushed his wares at Zora, insisting on her buying. 

"Ain't you got no money?" he asked. "Where you going?"

"Say, " he whispered another time, "don't you want to buy these goldspectacles? I found 'em and I dassen't sell 'em open, see? They'reworth ten dollars--take 'em for a dollar. "

Zora sat still, keeping her eyes on the window; but her hands workednervously, and when he threw a book with a picture of a man andhalf-dressed woman directly under her eyes, she took it and dropped itout the window. 

The boy started to storm and demanded pay, while the conductor glared ather; but a white man in the conductor's seat whispered something, andthe row suddenly stopped. 

A gang of colored section hands got on, dirty and loud. They sprawledabout and smoked, drank, and bought candy and cheap gewgaws. They eyedher respectfully, and with one of them she talked a little as heawkwardly fingered his cap. 

As the day wore on Zora found herself strangely weary. It was not simplythe unpleasant things that kept happening, but the continuedapprehension of unknown possibilities. Then, too, she began to realizethat she had had nothing to eat. Travelling with Mrs. Vanderpool therewas always a dainty lunch to be had at call. She did not expect this, but she asked the porter:

"Do you know where I can get a lunch?"

"Search me, " he answered, lounging into a seat. "Ain't no chance betwixthere and Danville as I knows on. "

Zora viewed her plight with a certain dismay--twelve hours without food!How foolish of her not to have thought of this. The hours passed. Sheturned desperately to the gruff conductor. 

"Could I buy a lunch from the dining-car?" she inquired. 

"No, " was the curt reply. 

She made herself as comfortable as she could, and tried to put thematter from her mind. She remembered how, forgotten years ago, she hadoften gone a day without eating and thought little of it. Night cameslowly, and she fell to dreaming until the cry came, "Charlotte! Changecars!" She scrambled out. There was no step to the platform, her bagwas heavy, and the porter was busy helping the white folks to alight. She saw a dingy lunchroom marked "Colored, " but she had no time to go toit for her train was ready. 

There was another colored porter on this, and he was very polite andaffable. 

"Yes, Miss; certainly I'll fetch you a lunch--plenty of time. " And hedid. It did not look clean but Zora was ravenous. 

The white smoker now had few occupants, but the white train crewproceeded to use the colored coach as a lounging-room and sleeping-car. There was no passenger except Zora. They took off their coats, stretchedthemselves on the seats, and exchanged jokes; but Zora was too tired tonotice much, and she was dozing wearily when she felt a touch on the armand found the porter in the seat beside her with his arm thrownfamiliarly behind her along the top of the back. She rose abruptly toher feet and he started up. 

"I beg pardon, " he said, grinning. 

Zora sat slowly down as he got up and left. She determined to sleep nomore. Yet a vast vision sank on her weary spirit--the vision of a darkcloud that dropped and dropped upon her, and lay as lead along herstraining shoulders. She must lift it, she knew, though it were big as aworld, and she put her strength to it and groaned as the porter cried inthe ghostly morning light:

"Atlanta! All change!"

Away yonder at the school near Toomsville, Miss Smith sat waiting forthe coming of Zora, absently attending the duties of the office. Darklittle heads and hands bobbed by and soft voices called:

"Miss Smith, I wants a penny pencil. "

"Miss Smith, is yo' got a speller fo' ten cents?"

"Miss Smith, mammy say please lemme come to school this week and she'llsho' pay Sata'day. "

Yet the little voices that summoned her back to earth were lessclamorous than in other years, for the school was far from full, andMiss Smith observed the falling off with grave eyes. This condition waspatently the result of the cotton corner and the subsequentmanipulation. When cotton rose, the tenants had already sold theircotton; when cotton fell the landlords squeezed the rations and loweredthe wages. When cotton rose again, up went the new Spring rentcontracts. So it was that the bewildered black serf dawdled in listlessinability to understand. The Cresswells in their new wealth, theMaxwells and Tollivers in the new pinch of poverty, stretched long armsto gather in the tenants and their children. Excuse after excuse came tothe school. 

"I can't send the chilluns dis term, Miss Smith; dey has to work. "

"Mr. Cresswell won't allow Will to go to school this term. "

"Mr. Tolliver done put Sam in the field. "

And so Miss Smith contemplated many empty desks. 

Slowly a sort of fatal inaction seized her. The school went on; dailythe dark little cloud of scholars rose up from hill and vale and settledin the white buildings; the hum of voices and the busy movements ofindustrious teachers filled the day; the office work went onmethodically; but back of it all Miss Smith sat half hopeless. It costfive thousand a year to run the school, and this sum she raised withincreasingly greater difficulty. Extra and heart-straining effort hadbeen needed to raise the eight hundred dollars additional for interestmoney on the mortgage last year. Next year it might have to come out ofthe regular income and thus cut off two teachers. Beyond all this theraising of ten thousand dollars to satisfy the mortgage seemed simplyimpossible, and Miss Smith sat in fatal resignation, awaiting the comingday. 

"It's the Lord's work. I've done what I could. I guess if He wants it togo on, He'll find a way. And if He doesn't--" She looked off across theswamp and was silent. 

Then came Zora's letter, simple and brief, but breathing youth andstrength of purpose. Miss Smith seized upon it as an omen of salvation. In vain her shrewd New England reason asked: "What can a half-taughtblack girl do in this wilderness?" Her heart answered back: "What isimpossible to youth and resolution?" Let the shabbiness increase; letthe debts pile up; let the boarders complain and the teachersgossip--Zora was coming. And somehow she and Zora would find a way. 

And Zora came just as the sun threw its last crimson through the blackswamp; came and gathered the frail and white-haired woman in her arms;and they wept together. Long and low they talked, far into the softSouthern night; sitting shaded beneath the stars, while nearby blinkedthe drowsy lights of the girls' dormitory. At last Miss Smith said, rising stiffly:

"I forgot to ask about Mrs. Vanderpool. How is she, and where?"

Zora murmured some answer; but as she went to bed in her little whiteroom she sat wondering sadly. Where was the poor spoiled woman? Who wasputting her to bed and smoothing the pillow? Who was caring for her, andwhat was she doing? And Zora strained her eyes Northward through thenight. 

At this moment, Mrs. Vanderpool, rising from a gala dinner in thebrilliant drawing-room of her Lake George mansion, was reading theevening paper which her husband had put into her hands. With startledeyes she caught the impudent headlines:

 VANDERPOOL DROPPED

 Senate Refuses to Confirm

 Todd Insurgents Muster Enough Votes to Defeat

 Confirmation of President's Nominee

Rumored Revenge for Machine's Defeat of Child Labor

 Bill Amendment. 

The paper trembled in her jewelled hands. She glanced down the column. 

"Todd asks: Who is Vanderpool, anyhow? What did he ever do? He is knownonly as a selfish millionaire who thinks more of horses than of men. "

Carelessly Mrs. Vanderpool threw the paper to the floor and bit her lipsas the angry blood dyed her face. 

"They _shall_ confirm him, " she whispered, "if I have to mortgage myimmortal soul!" And she rang up long distance on the telephone. 

_Thirty-one_

A PARTING OF WAYS

"Was the child born dead?"

"Worse than dead!"

Somehow, somewhere, Mary Cresswell had heard these words; long, long, ago, down there in the great pain-swept shadows of utter agony, whereEarth seemed slipping its moorings; and now, today, she lay repeatingthem mechanically, grasping vaguely at their meaning. Long she hadwrestled with them as they twisted and turned and knotted themselves, and she worked and toiled so hard as she lay there to make the thingclear--to understand. 

"Was the child born dead?"

"Worse than dead!"

Then faint and fainter whisperings: what could be worse than death? Shehad tried to ask the grey old doctor, but he soothed her like a childeach day and left her lying there. Today she was stronger, and for thefirst time sitting up, looking listlessly out across the world--a queerworld. Why had they not let her see the child--just one look at itslittle dead face? That would have been something. And again, as thedoctor cheerily turned to go, she sought to repeat the old question. Helooked at her sharply, then interrupted, saying kindly:

"There, now; you've been dreaming. You must rest quietly now. " And witha nod he passed into the other room to talk with her husband. 

She was not satisfied. She had not been dreaming. She would tell Harryto ask him--she did not often see her husband, but she must ask him nowand she arose unsteadily and swayed noiselessly across the floor. Amoment she leaned against the door, then opened it slightly. From theother side the words came distinctly and clearly:

"--other children, doctor?"

"You must have no other children, Mr. Cresswell. "

"Why?"

"Because the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children unto thethird and fourth generation. "

Slowly, softly, she crept away. Her mind seemed very clear. And shebegan a long journey to reach her window and chair--a long, longjourney; but at last she sank into the chair again and sat dry-eyed, wondering who had conceived this world and made it, and why. 

A long time afterward she found herself lying in bed, awake, conscious, clear-minded. Yet she thought as little as possible, for that was pain;but she listened gladly, for without she heard the solemn beating of thesea, the mighty rhythmic beating of the sea. Long days she lay, and satand walked beside those vast and speaking waters, till at last she knewtheir voice and they spoke to her and the sea-calm soothed her soul. 

For one brief moment of her life she saw herself clearly: a well-meaningwoman, ambitious, but curiously narrow; not willing to work long forthe Vision, but leaping at it rashly, blindly, with a deep-seated senseof duty which she made a source of offence by preening and parading it, and forcing it to ill-timed notice. She saw that she had looked on herhusband as a means not an end. She had wished to absorb him and his workfor her own glory. She had idealized for her own uses a very human manwhose life had been full of sin and fault. She must atone. 

No sooner, in this brief moment, did she see herself honestly than herold habits swept her on tumultuously. No ordinary atonement would do. The sacrifice must be vast; the world must stand in wonder before thisclever woman sinking her soul in another and raising him by sheer willto the highest. 

So after six endless months Mary Cresswell walked into her Washingtonhome again. She knew she had changed in appearance, but she hadforgotten to note how much until she saw the stare--almost therecoil--of her husband, the muttered exclamation, the studied, almostoverdone welcome. Then she went up to her mirror and looked long, andknew. 

She was strong; she felt well; but she was slight, almost scrawny, andher beauty was gone forever. It had been of that blonde white-and-pinktype that fades in a flash, and its going left her body flattened andangular, her skin drawn and dead white, her eyes sunken. From theradiant girl whom Cresswell had met three years earlier the change wasstartling, and yet the contrast seemed even greater than it was, for herglory then had been her abundant and almost golden hair. Now that hairwas faded, and falling so fast that at last the doctor advised her tocut it short. This left her ill-shaped head exposed and emphasized thesunken hollows of her face. She knew that she was changed but she didnot quite realize how changed, until now as she stood and gazed. 

Yet she did not hesitate but from that moment set herself to her newlife task. Characteristically, she started dramatically and largely. Shewas to make her life an endless sacrifice; she was to revivify themanhood in Harry Cresswell, and all this for no return, no partnershipof soul--all was to be complete sacrifice and sinking soul in soul. 

If Mary Cresswell had attempted less she would have accomplished more. As it was, she began well; she went to work tactfully, seeming to noteno change in his manner toward her; but his manner had changed. He wasstudiously, scrupulously polite in private, and in public devoted; butthere was no feeling, no passion, no love. The polished shell of hisclan reflected conventional light even more carefully than formerlybecause the shell was cold and empty. There were no little flashes ofanger now, no poutings nor sweet reconciliations. Life ran very smoothlyand courteously; and while she did not try to regain the affection, shestrove to enthrall his intellect. She supplied a sub-committee uponwhich he was serving--not directly, but through him--with figures, withreports, books, and papers, so that he received special commendations; apraise that piqued as well as pleased him, because it implied a certainsurprise that he was able to do it. 

"The damned Yankees!" he sneered. "They think they've got the brains ofthe nation. "

"Why not make a speech on the subject?" she suggested. 

He laughed. The matter under discussion was the cotton-goods schedule ofthe new tariff bill, about which really he knew a little; his wifeplaced every temptation to knowledge before him, even inspiring SenatorSmith to ask him to defend that schedule against the low-tariffadvocate. Mary Cresswell worked with redoubled energy, and for nearly aweek Harry staid at home nights and studied. Thanks to his wife thespeech was unusually informing and well put, and the fact that aprominent free-trader spoke the same afternoon gave it publicity, whileMr. Easterly saw to the press despatches. 

Cresswell subscribed to a clipping-bureau and tasted the sweets ofdawning notoriety, and Mrs. Cresswell arranged a select dinner-partywhich included a cabinet officer, a foreign ambassador, twomillionaires, and the leading Southern Congressmen. The talk camearound to the failure of the Senate to confirm Mr. Vanderpool, and itwas generally assumed that the President would not force the issue. 

Who, then, should be nominated? There were several suggestions, but theknot of Southern Congressmen about Mrs. Cresswell declared emphaticallythat it must be a Southerner. Not since the war had a prominentSoutherner represented America at a first-class foreign court; it wasshameful; the time was ripe for change. But who? Here opinions differedwidely. Nearly every one mentioned a candidate, and those who did notseemed to refrain from motives of personal modesty. 

Mary Cresswell sped her departing guests with a distinct purpose inmind. She must make herself leader of the Southern set in Washington andconcentrate its whole force on the appointment of Harry Cresswell asambassador to France. Quick reward and promotion were essential toHarry's success. He was not one to keep up the strain of effort a longtime. Unless, then, tangible results came and came quickly, he wasliable to relapse into old habits. Therefore he must succeed and succeedat once. She would have preferred a less ornamental position than theambassadorship, but there were no other openings. The Alabama senatorswere firmly seated for at least four years and the Governorship had beencarefully arranged for. A term of four years abroad, however, mightbring Harry Cresswell back in time for greater advancement. At any rate, it was the only tangible offering, and Mary Cresswell silentlydetermined to work for it. 

Here it was that she made her mistake. It was one thing for her to be atactful hostess, pleasing her husband and his guests; it was another forher to aim openly at social leadership and political influence. She hadat first all the insignia of success. Her dinners became of realpolitical significance and her husband figured more and more as aleading Southerner. The result was two-fold. Cresswell, on the one hand, with his usual selfishness, took his rising popularity as a matter ofcourse and as the fruits of his own work; he was rising, he was makingvaluable speeches, he was becoming a social power, and his only handicapwas his plain and over-ambitious wife. But on the other hand Mrs. Cresswell forgot two pitfalls: the cleft between the old Southernaristocracy and the pushing new Southerners; and above all, her ownNorthern birth and presumably pro-Negro sympathies. 

What Mrs. Cresswell forgot Mrs. Vanderpool sensed unerringly. She hadheard with uneasiness of Cresswell's renewed candidacy for the Parisambassadorship, and she set herself to block it. She had worked hard. The President stood ready to send her husband's appointment again to theSenate whenever Easterly could assure him of favorable action. Easterlyhad long and satisfactory interviews with several senators, while theTodd insurgents were losing heart at the prospect of choosing betweenVanderpool and Cresswell. At present four Southern votes were needed toconfirm Vanderpool; but if they could not be had, Easterly declared itwould be good politics to nominate Cresswell and give him Republicansupport. Manifestly, then, Mrs. Vanderpool's task was to discredit theCresswells with the Southerners. It was not a work to her liking, butthe die was cast and she refused to contemplate defeat. 

The result was that while Mrs. Cresswell was giving large and brilliantparties to the whole Southern contingent, Mrs. Vanderpool wasengineering exclusive dinners where old New York met stately Charlestonand gossiped interestingly. On such occasions it was hinted not once, but many times, that the Cresswells were well enough, but who was thatupstart wife who presumed to take social precedence?

It was not, however, until Mrs. Cresswell's plan for an all-Southern artexhibit in Washington that Mrs. Vanderpool, in a flash of inspiration, saw her chance. In the annual exhibit of the Corcoran Art Gallery, aSouthern girl had nearly won first prize over a Western man. Theconcensus of Southern opinion was that the judgment had been unfair, andMrs. Cresswell was convinced of this. With quick intuition shesuggested a Southern exhibit with such social prestige back of it as toimpress the country. 

The proposal caught the imagination of the Southern set. None suspecteda possible intrusion of the eternal race issue for no Negroes wereallowed in the Corcoran exhibit or school. This Mrs. Vanderpool easilyascertained and a certain sense of justice combined in a curious waywith her political intrigue to bring about the undoing of MaryCresswell. 

Mrs. Vanderpool's very first cautious inquiries by way of the backstairs brought gratifying response--for did not all black Washingtonknow well of the work in sculpture done by Mrs. Samuel Stillings, _nee_Wynn? Mrs. Vanderpool remembered Mrs. Stillings perfectly, and shewalked, that evening, through unobtrusive thoroughfares and called onMrs. Stillings. Had Mrs. Stillings heard of the new art movement? Didshe intend to exhibit? Mrs. Stillings did not intend to exhibit as shewas sure she would not be welcome. She had had a bust accepted by theCorcoran Art Gallery once, and when they found she was colored theyreturned it. But if she were especially invited? That would make adifference, although even then the line would be drawn somehow. 

"Would it not be worth a fight?" suggested Mrs. Vanderpool with a littleheightening of color in her pale cheek. 

"Perhaps, " said Mrs. Stillings, as she brought out some specimens of herwork. 

Mrs. Vanderpool was both ashamed and grateful. With money and leisureMrs. Stillings had been able to get in New York and Boston the trainingshe had been denied in Washington on account of her color. The thingsshe exhibited really had merit and one curiously original group appealedto Mrs. Vanderpool tremendously. 

"Send it, " she counseled with strangely contradictory feelings ofenthusiasm, and added: "Enter it under the name of Wynn. "

In addition to the general invitations to the art exhibit numbers ofspecial ones were issued to promising Southern amateurs who had neverexhibited. For these a prize of a long-term scholarship and othersmaller prizes were offered. When Mrs. Vanderpool suggested the name of"Miss Wynn" to Mrs. Cresswell among a dozen others, for specialinvitation, there was nothing in its sound to distinguish it from therest of the names, and the invitation went duly. As a result there cameto the exhibit a little group called "The Outcasts, " which was really amasterly thing and sent the director, Signor Alberni, into hystericalcommendation. 

In the private view and award of prizes which preceded the larger socialfunction the jury hesitated long between "The Outcasts" and a paintingfrom Georgia. Mrs. Cresswell was enthusiastic and voluble for the bit ofsculpture, and it finally won the vote for the first prize. 

All was ready for the great day. The President was coming and most ofthe diplomatic corps, high officers of the army, and all the socialleaders. Congress would be well represented, and the boom for Cresswellas ambassador to France was almost visible in the air. 

Mary Cresswell paused a moment in triumph looking back at the darkenedhall, when a little woman fluttered up to her and whispered:

"Mrs. Cresswell, have you heard the gossip?"

"No--what?"

"That Wynn woman they say is a nigger. Some are whispering that youbrought her in purposely to force social equality. They say you used toteach darkies. Of course, I don't believe all their talk, but I thoughtyou ought to know. " She talked a while longer, then fluttered furtivelyaway. 

Mrs. Cresswell sat down limply. She saw ruin ahead--to think of a blackgirl taking a prize at an all-Southern art exhibit! But there was stilla chance, and she leaped to action. This colored woman was doubtlesssome poor deserving creature. She would call on her immediately, and byan offer of abundant help induce her to withdraw quietly. 

Entering her motor, she drove near the address and then proceeded onfoot. The street was a prominent one, the block one of the best, thehouse almost pretentious. She glanced at her memorandum again to see ifshe was mistaken. Perhaps the woman was a domestic; probably she was, for the name on the door was Stillings. It occurred to her that she hadheard that name before--but where? She looked again at her memorandumand at the house. 

She rang the bell, asking the trim black maid: "Is there a person namedCaroline Wynn living in this house?"

The girl smiled and hesitated. 

"Yes, ma'am, " she finally replied. "Won't you come in?" She was showninto the parlor, where she sat down. The room was most interesting, furnished in unimpeachable taste. A few good pictures were on the walls, and Mrs. Cresswell was examining one when she heard the swish of silkenskirts. A lady with gold brown face and straight hair stood before herwith pleasant smile. Where had Mrs. Cresswell seen her before? She triedto remember, but could not. 

"You wished to see--Caroline Wynn?"

"Yes. "

"What can I do for you?"

Mrs. Cresswell groped for her proper cue, but the brown lady merelyoffered a chair and sat down silently. Mrs. Cresswell's perplexityincreased. She had been planning to descend graciously butauthoritatively upon some shrinking girl, but this woman not only seemedto assume equality but actually looked it. From a rapid survey, Mrs. Cresswell saw a black silk stocking, a bit of lace, a tailor-made gown, and a head with two full black eyes that waited in calmly politeexpectancy. 

Something had to be said. 

"I--er--came; that is, I believe you sent a group to the art exhibit?"

"Yes. "

"It was good--very good. "

Miss Wynn said nothing, but sat calmly looking at her visitor. Mrs. Cresswell felt irritated. 

"Of course, " she managed to continue, "we are very sorry that we cannotreceive it. "

"Indeed? I understood it had taken the first prize. "

Mrs. Cresswell was aghast. Who had rushed the news to this woman? Sherealized that there were depths to this matter that she did notunderstand and her irritation increased. 

"You know that we could not give the prize to a--Negro. "

"Why not?"

"That is quite immaterial. Social equality cannot be forced. At the sametime I recognize the injustice, and I have come to say that if you willwithdraw your exhibit you will be given a scholarship in a Bostonschool. "

"I do not wish it. "

"Well, what do you want?"

"I was not aware that I had asked for anything. "

Mrs. Cresswell felt herself getting angry. 

"Why did you send your exhibit when you knew it was not wanted?"

"Because you asked me to. "

"We did not ask for colored people. "

"You asked all Southern-born persons. I am a person and I am Southernborn. Moreover, you sent me a personal letter. "

Mrs. Cresswell was sure that this was a lie and was thoroughly incensed. 

"You cannot have the prize, " she almost snapped. "If you will withdraw Iwill pay you any reasonable sum. "

"Thank you. I do not want money; I want justice. "

Mrs. Cresswell arose and her face was white. 

"That is the trouble with you Negroes: you wish to get above your placesand force yourselves where you are not wanted. It does no good, it onlymakes trouble and enemies. " Mrs. Cresswell stopped, for the coloredwoman had gone quietly out of the room and in a moment the maid enteredand stood ready. Mrs. Cresswell walked slowly to the door and steppedout. Then she turned. 

"What does Miss Wynn do for a living?"

The girl tittered. 

"She used to teach school but she don't do nothing now. She's justmarried; her husband is Mr. Stillings, Register of the Treasury. "

Mrs. Cresswell saw light as she turned to go down the steps. There wasbut one resource--she must keep the matter out of the newspapers, andsee Stillings, whom she now remembered well. 

"I beg pardon, does the Miss Wynn live here who got the prize in the artexhibition?"

Mrs. Cresswell turned in amazement. It was evidently a reporter, and themaid was admitting him. The news would reach the papers and be blazonedto-morrow. Slowly she caught her motor and fell wearily back on itscushions. 

"Where to, Madame?" asked the chauffeur. 

"I don't care, " returned Madame; so the chauffeur took her home. 

She walked slowly up the stairs. All her carefully laid plans seemedabout to be thwarted and her castles were leaning toward ruin. 

Yet all was not lost, if her husband continued to believe in her. If, asshe feared, he should suspect her on account of this Negro woman, andquarrel with her--

But he must not. This very night, before the morning papers came out, she must explain. He must see; he must appreciate her efforts. 

She rushed into her dressing-room and called her maid. Contrary to herPuritan notions, she frankly sought to beautify herself. She rememberedthat it was the anniversary of her coming to this house. She got out herwedding-dress, and although it hung loosely, the maid draped the SilverFleece beautifully about her. 

She heard her husband enter and come up-stairs. Quickly finishing hertoilet, she hurried down to arrange the flowers, for they were alonethat night. The telephone rang. She knew it would ring up-stairs in hisroom, but she usually answered it for he disliked to. She raised thereceiver and started to speak when she realized that she had broken intothe midst of a conversation. 

"--committee won't meet tonight, Harry. "

"So? All right. Anything on?"

"Yes--big spree at Nell's. Will you go?"

"Sure thing; you know me! What time?"

"Meet us at the Willard by nine. S'long. "

"Good-bye. "

She slowly, half guiltily, replaced the receiver. She had not meant tolisten, but now to her desperate longing to keep him home was added anew motive. Where was "Nell's"? What was "Nell's"? What was--and therewas fear in her heart. At dinner she tried all her powers on him. Shehad his favorite dishes; she mixed his salad and selected his wine; shetalked interestingly, and listened sympathetically, to him. He looked ather with more attention. Her cheeks were more brilliant, for she hadtouched them with rouge. Her eyes flashed; but he glanced furtively ather short hair. She saw the act; but still she strove until he wascontent and laughing; then coming round back of his chair, she placedher arms about his neck. 

"Harry, will you do me a favor?"

"Why, yes--if--"

"It is something I want very, very much. "

"Well, all right, if--"

"Harry, I feel a little--hysterical, tonight, and--you will not refuseme, will you, Harry?"

Standing there, she saw the tableau in her own mind, and it lookedstrange. She was afraid of herself. She knew that she would do somethingfoolish if she did not win this battle. She felt that overpoweringfanaticism back within her raging restlessly. If she was not careful--

"But what is it you want?" asked her husband. 

"I don't want you to go out tonight. "

He laughed awkwardly. 

"Nonsense, girl! The sub-committee on the cotton schedule meetstonight--very important; otherwise--"

She shuddered at the smooth lie and clasped him closer, putting hercheek to his. 

"Harry, " she pleaded, "just this once--for me. "

He disengaged himself, half impatiently, and rose, glancing at theclock. It was nearly nine. A feeling of desperation came over her. 

"Harry, " she asked again as he slipped on his coat. 

"Don't be foolish, " he growled. 

"Just this once--Harry--I--" But the door banged to, and he was gone. 

She stood looking at the closed door a moment. Something in her head wasready to snap. She went to the rack and taking his long heavy overcoatslipped it on. It nearly touched the floor. She seized a softbroad-brimmed hat and umbrella and walked out. Just what she meant to doshe did not know, but somehow she must save her husband and herself fromevil. She hurried to the Willard Hotel and watched, walking up and downthe opposite sidewalk. A woman brushed by her and looked her in theface. 

"Hell! I thought you was a man, " she said. "Is this a new gag?"

Mrs. Cresswell looked down at herself involuntarily and smiled wanly. She did look like a man, with her hat and coat and short hair. The womanpeered at her doubtingly. She was, as Mrs. Cresswell noticed, a youngwoman, once pretty, perhaps, and a little over-dressed. 

"Are you walking?" she asked. 

"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Cresswell, and then in a moment itflashed upon her. She took the woman's arm and walked with her. Suddenlyshe stopped. 

"Where's--Nell's?"

The woman frowned. "Oh, that's a swell place, " she said. "Senators andmillionaires. Too high for us to fly. "

Mrs. Cresswell winced. "But where is it?" she asked. 

"We'll walk by it if you want to. "

And Mary Cresswell walked in another world. Up from the ground of thedrowsy city rose pale gray forms; pale, flushed, and brilliant, insilken rags. Up and down they passed, to and fro, looking and glidinglike sheeted ghosts; now dodging policemen, now accosting themfamiliarly. 

"Hello, Elise, " growled one big blue-coat. 

"Hello, Jack. "

"What's this?" and he peered at Mrs. Cresswell, who shrank back. 

"Friend of mine. All right. "

A horror crept over Mary Cresswell: where had she lived that she hadseen so little before? What was Washington, and what was this fine, tall, quiet residence? Was this--"Nell's"?

"Yes, this is it--good-bye--I must--"

"Wait--what is your name?"

"I haven't any name, " answered the woman suspiciously. 

"Well--pardon me! Here!" and she thrust a bill into the woman's hand. 

The girl stared. "Well, you're a queer one! Thanks. Guess I'll turn in. "

Mary Cresswell turned to see her husband and his companions ascendingthe steps of the quiet mansion. She stood uncertainly and looked at theopening and closing door. Then a policeman came by and looked at her. 

"Come, move on, " he brusquely ordered. Her vacillation promptlyvanished, and she resolutely mounted the steps. She put out her hand toring, but the door flew silently open and a man-servant stood looking ather. 

"I have some friends here, " she said, speaking coarsely. 

"You will have to be introduced, " said the man. She hesitated andstarted to turn away. Thrusting her hand in her pocket it closed uponher husband's card-case. She presented a card. It worked a rapidtransformation in the servant's manner, which did not escape her. 

"Come in, " he invited her. 

She did not stop at the outstretched arm of the cloakman, but glidedquickly up the stairs toward a vision of handsome women and strains ofmusic. Harry Cresswell was sitting opposite and bending over an impudentblue-and-blonde beauty. Mary slipped straight across to him and leanedacross the table. The hat fell off, but she let it go. 

"Harry!" she tried to say as he looked up. 

Then the table swayed gently to and fro; the room bowed and whirledabout; the voices grew fainter and fainter--all the world recededsuddenly far away. She extended her hands languidly, then, feeling soutterly tired, let her eyelids drop and fell asleep. 

She awoke with a start, in her own bed. She was physically exhausted buther mind was clear. She must go down and meet him at breakfast and talkfrankly with him. She would let bygones be bygones. She would explainthat she had followed him to save him, not to betray him. She wouldpoint out the greater career before him if only he would be a man; shewould show him that they had not failed. For herself she asked nothing, only his word, his confidence, his promise to try. 

After his first start of surprise at seeing her at the table, Cresswelluttered nothing immediately save the commonplaces of greeting. Hementioned one or two bits of news from the paper, upon which shecommented while dawdling over her egg. When the servant went out andclosed the door, she paused a moment considering whether to open byappeal or explanation. His smooth tones startled her:

"Of course, after your art exhibit and the scene of last night, Mary, itwill be impossible for us to live longer together. "

She stared at him, utterly aghast--voiceless and numb. 

"I have seen the crisis approaching for some time, and the Negrobusiness settles it, " he continued. "I have now decided to send you tomy home in Alabama, to my father or your brother. I am sure you will behappier there. "

He rose. Bowing courteously, he waited, coldly and calmly, for her togo. 

All at once she hated him and hated his aristocratic repression; thiscold calm that hid hell and its fires. She looked at him, wide-eyed, andsaid in a voice hoarse with horror and loathing:

"You brute! You nasty brute!"

_Thirty-two_

ZORA'S WAY

Zora was looking on her world with the keener vision of one who, blindfrom very seeing, closes the eyes a space and looks again with widerclearer vision. Out of a nebulous cloudland she seemed to step; a landwhere all things floated in strange confusion, but where one thing stoodsteadfast, and that was love. When love was shaken all things moved, butnow, at last, for the first time she seemed to know the real and mightyworld that stood behind that old and shaken dream. 

So she looked on the world about her with new eyes. These men and womenof her childhood had hitherto walked by her like shadows; today theylived for her in flesh and blood. She saw hundreds and thousands ofblack men and women: crushed, half-spirited, and blind. She saw how highand clear a light Sarah Smith, for thirty years and more, had carriedbefore them. She saw, too, how that the light had not simply shone indarkness, but had lighted answering beacons here and there in these dullsouls. 

There were thoughts and vague stirrings of unrest in this mass of blackfolk. They talked long about their firesides, and here Zora began to sitand listen, often speaking a word herself. All through the countrysideshe flitted, till gradually the black folk came to know her and, insilent deference to some subtle difference, they gave her the title ofwhite folk, calling her "Miss" Zora. 

Today, more than ever before, Zora sensed the vast unorganized power inthis mass, and her mind was leaping here and there, scheming andtesting, when voices arrested her. 

It was a desolate bit of the Cresswell manor, a tiny cabin, new-boardedand bare, in front of it a blazing bonfire. A white man was tossing intothe flames different household articles--a feather bed, a bedstead, tworickety chairs. A young, boyish fellow, golden-faced and curly, stoodwith clenched fists, while a woman with tear-stained eyes clung to him. The white man raised a cradle to dash it into the flames; the womancried, and the yellow man raised his arm threateningly. But Zora's handwas on his shoulder. 

"What's the matter, Rob?" she asked. 

"They're selling us out, " he muttered savagely. "Millie's been sicksince the last baby died, and I had to neglect my crop to tend her andthe other little ones--I didn't make much. They've took my mule, nowthey're burning my things to make me sign a contract and be a slave. Butby--"

"There, Rob, let Millie come with me--we'll see Miss Smith. We must getland to rent and arrange somehow. "

The mother sobbed, "The cradle--was baby's!"

With an oath the white man dashed the cradle into the fire, and the redflame spurted aloft. 

The crimson fire flashed in Zora's eyes as she passed the overseer. 

"Well, nigger, what are you going to do about it?" he growledinsolently. 

Zora's eyelids drooped, her upper lip quivered. 

"Nothing, " she answered softly. "But I hope your soul will burn in hellforever and forever. "

They proceeded down the plantation road, but Zora could not speak. Shepushed them slowly on, and turned aside to let the anger, the impotent, futile anger, rage itself out. Alone in the great broad spaces, she knewshe could fight it down, and come back again, cool and in calm anddeadly earnest, to lead these children to the light. 

The sorrow in her heart was new and strange; not sorrow for herself, forof that she had tasted the uttermost; but the vast vicarious sufferingfor the evil of the world. The tumult and war within her fled, and asense of helplessness sent the hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Shelonged for rest; but the last plantation was yet to be passed. Far offshe heard the yodle of the gangs of peons. She hesitated, looking forsome way of escape: if she passed them she would see something--shealways saw something--that would send the red blood whirling madly. 

"Here, you!--loafing again, damn you!" She saw the black whip writhe andcurl across the shoulders of the plough-boy. The boy crouched andsnarled, and again the whip hissed and cracked. 

Zora stood rigid and gray. 

"My God!" her silent soul was shrieking within, "why doesn't thecoward--"

And then the "coward" did. The whip was whirring in the air again; butit never fell. A jagged stone in the boy's hand struck true, and theoverseer plunged with a grunt into the black furrow. In blank dismay, Zora came back to her senses. 

"Poor child!" she gasped, as she saw the boy flying in wild terror overthe fields, with hue and cry behind him. 

"Poor child!--running to the penitentiary--to shame and hunger anddamnation!"

She remembered the rector in Mrs. Vanderpool's library, and hisquestion that revealed unfathomable depths of ignorance: "Really, now, how do you account for the distressing increase in crime among yourpeople?"

She swung into the great road trembling with the woe of the world in hereyes. Cruelty, poverty, and crime she had looked in the face thatmorning, and the hurt of it held her heart pinched and quivering. Amoment the mists in her eyes shut out the shadows of the swamp, and theroaring in her ears made a silence of the world. 

Before she found herself again she dimly saw a couple sauntering alongthe road, but she hardly noticed their white faces until the littlevoice of the girl, raised timidly, greeted her. 

"Howdy, Zora. "

Zora looked. The girl was Emma, and beside her, smiling, stood ahalf-grown white man. It was Emma, Bertie's child; and yet it was not, for in the child of other days Zora saw for the first time the dawningwoman. 

And she saw, too, the white man. Suddenly the horror of the swamp wasupon her. She swept between the couple like a gust, gripping the child'sarm till she paled and almost whimpered. 

"I--I was just going on an errand for Miss Smith!" she cried. 

Looking down into her soul, Zora discerned its innocence and the frightshining in the child's eyes. Her own eyes softened, her grip became acaress, but her heart was hard. 

The young man laughed awkwardly and strolled away. Zora looked back athim and the paramount mission of her life formed itself in her mind. Shewould protect this girl; she would protect all black girls. She wouldmake it possible for these poor beasts of burden to be decent in theirtoil. Out of protection of womanhood as the central thought, she mustbuild ramparts against cruelty, poverty, and crime. All this inturn--but now and first, the innocent girlhood of this daughter of shamemust be rescued from the devil. It was her duty, her heritage. She mustoffer this unsullied soul up unto God in mighty atonement--but how? Herenow was no protection. Already lustful eyes were in wait, and the childwas too ignorant to protect herself. She must be sent toboarding-school, somewhere far away; but the money? God! it was money, money, always money. Then she stopped suddenly, thrilled with therecollection of Mrs. Vanderpool's check. 

She dismissed the girl with a kiss, and stood still a momentconsidering. Money to send Emma off to school; money to buy a schoolfarm; money to "buy" tenants to live on it; money to furnish themrations; money--

She went straight to Miss Smith. 

"Miss Smith, how much money have you?" Miss Smith's hand trembled a bit. Ah, that splendid strength of young womanhood--if only she herself hadit! But perhaps Zora was the chosen one. She reached up and took down awell-worn book. 

"Zora, " she said slowly, "I've been going to tell you ever since youcame, but I hadn't the courage. Zora, " Miss Smith hesitated and grippedthe book with thin white fingers, "I'm afraid--I almost know that thisschool is doomed. "

There lay a silence in the room while the two women stared into eachother's souls with startled eyes. Swallowing hard, Miss Smith spoke. 

"When I thought the endowment sure, I mortgaged the school in order tobuy Tolliver's land. The endowment failed, as you know, because--perhapsI was too stubborn. "

But Zora's eyes snapped "No!" and Miss Smith continued:

"I borrowed ten thousand dollars. Then I tried to get the land, butTolliver kept putting me off, and finally I learned that ColonelCresswell had bought it. It seems that Tolliver got caught tight in thecotton corner, and that Cresswell, through John Taylor, offered himtwice what he had agreed to sell to me for, and he took it. I don'tsuppose Taylor knew what he was doing; I hope he didn't. 

"Well, there I was with ten thousand dollars idle on my hands, payingten per cent on it and getting less than three per cent. I tried to getthe bank to take the money back, but they refused. Then I wastempted--and fell. " She paused, and Zora took both her hands in her own. 

"You see, " continued Miss Smith, "just as soon as the announcement ofthe prospective endowment was sent broadcast by the press, the donationsfrom the North fell off. Letter after letter came from old friends ofthe school full of congratulations, but no money. I ought to have cutdown the teaching force to the barest minimum, and gone Northbegging--but I couldn't. I guess my courage was gone. I knew how I'dhave to explain and plead, and I just could not. So I used the tenthousand dollars to pay its own interest and help run the school. Already it's half gone, and when the rest goes then will come the end. "

Without, the great red sun paused a moment over the edge of the swamp, and the long, low cry of night birds broke sadly on the twilightsilence. Zora sat stroking the lined hands. 

"Not the end, " she spoke confidently. "It cannot end like this. I've gota little money that Mrs. Vanderpool gave me, and somehow we must getmore. Perhaps I might go North and--beg. " She shivered. Then she sat upresolutely and turned to the book. 

"Let's go over matters carefully, " she proposed. 

Together they counted and calculated. 

"The balance is four thousand seven hundred and ninety-eight dollars, "said Miss Smith. 

"Yes, and then there's Mrs. Vanderpool's check. "

"How much is that?"

Zora paused; she did not know. In her world there was little calculationof money. Credit and not cash is the currency of the Black Belt. She hadbeen pleased to receive the check, but she had not examined it. 

"I really don't know, " she presently confessed. "I think it was onethousand dollars; but I was so hurried in leaving that I didn't lookcarefully, " and the wild thought surged in her, suppose it was more!

She ran into the other room and plunged into her trunk; beneath theclothes, beneath the beauty of the Silver Fleece, till her fingersclutched and tore the envelope. A little choking cry burst from herthroat, her knees trembled so that she was obliged to sit down. 

In her fingers fluttered a check for--_ten thousand dollars!_

It was not until the next day that the two women were sufficientlycomposed to talk matters over sanely. 

"What is your plan?" asked Zora. 

"To put the money in a Northern savings bank at three per cent interest;to supply the rest of the interest, and the deficit in the runningexpenses, from our balance, and to send you North to beg. "

Zora shook her head. "It won't do, " she objected. "I'd make a poorbeggar; I don't know human nature well enough, and I can't talk to richwhite folks the way they expect us to talk. "

"It wouldn't be hypocrisy, Zora; you would be serving in a great cause. If you don't go, I--"

"Wait! You sha'n't go. If any one goes it must be me. But let's think itout: we pay off the mortgage, we get enough to run the school as it hasbeen run. Then what? There will still be slavery and oppression allaround us. The children will be kept in the cotton fields; the men willbe cheated, and the women--" Zora paused and her eyes grew hard. 

She began again rapidly: "We must have land--our own farm with our owntenants--to be the beginning of a free community. "

Miss Smith threw up her hands impatiently. 

"But sakes alive! Where, Zora? Where can we get land, with Cresswellowning every inch and bound to destroy us?"

Zora sat hugging her knees and staring out the window toward the sombreramparts of the swamp. In her eyes lay slumbering the madness of longago; in her brain danced all the dreams and visions of childhood. 

"I'm thinking, " she murmured, "of buying the swamp. "

_Thirty-three_

THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP

"It's a shame, " asserted John Taylor with something like real feeling. He was spending Sunday with his father-in-law, and both, over theirafter-dinner cigars, were gazing thoughtfully at the swamp. 

"What's a shame?" asked Colonel Cresswell. 

"To see all that timber and prime cotton-land going to waste. Don't youremember those fine bales of cotton that came out of there severalseasons ago?"

The Colonel smoked placidly. "You can't get it cleared, " he said. 

"But couldn't you hire some good workers?"

"Niggers won't work. Now if we had Italians we might do it. "

"Yes, and in a few years they'd own the country. "

"That's right; so there we are. There's only one way to get that swampcleared. "

"How?"

"Sell it to some fool darkey. "

"Sell it? It's too valuable to sell. "

"That's just it. You don't understand. The only way to get decent workout of some niggers is to let them believe they're buying land. In ninecases out of ten he works hard a while and then throws up the job. Weget back our land and he makes good wages for his work. "

"But in the tenth case--suppose he should stick to it?"

"Oh, "--easily, "we could get rid of him when we want to. White peoplerule here. "

John Taylor frowned and looked a little puzzled. He was no moralist, buthe had his code and he did not understand Colonel Cresswell. As a matterof fact, Colonel Cresswell was an honest man. In most matters ofcommerce between men he was punctilious to a degree almost annoying toTaylor. But there was one part of the world which his code of honor didnot cover, and he saw no incongruity in the omission. The uninitiatedcannot easily picture to himself the mental attitude of a formerslaveholder toward property in the hands of a Negro. Such propertybelonged of right to the master, if the master needed it; and sinceridiculous laws safeguarded the property, it was perfectly permissibleto circumvent such laws. No Negro starved on the Cresswell place, neither did any accumulate property. Colonel Cresswell saw to bothmatters. 

As the Colonel and John Taylor were thus conferring, Zora appeared, coming up the walk. 

"Who's that?" asked the Colonel shading his eyes. 

"It's Zora--the girl who went North with Mrs. Vanderpool, " Taylorenlightened him. 

"Back, is she? Too trifling to stick to a job, and full of Northernnonsense, " growled the Colonel. "Even got a Northern walk--I thought fora moment she was a lady. "

Neither of the gentlemen ever dreamed how long, how hard, howheart-wringing was that walk from the gate up the winding way beneaththeir careless gaze. It was not the coming of the thoughtless, carelessgirl of five years ago who had marched a dozen times unthinking beforethe faces of white men. It was the approach of a woman who knew how theworld treated women whom it respected; who knew that no such treatmentwould be thought of in her case: neither the bow, the lifted hat, noreven the conventional title of decency. Yet she must go on naturally andeasily, boldly but circumspectly, and play a daring game with twopowerful men. 

"Can I speak with you a moment, Colonel?" she asked. 

The Colonel did not stir or remove his cigar; he even injected a littlegruffness into his tone. 

"Well, what is it?"

Of course, she was not asked to sit, but she stood with her handsclasped loosely before her and her eyes half veiled. 

"Colonel, I've got a thousand dollars. " She did not mention the othernine. 

The Colonel sat up. 

"Where did you get it?" he asked. 

"Mrs. Vanderpool gave it to me to use in helping the colored people. "

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Well, that's just what I came to see you about. You see, I might giveit to the school, but I've been thinking that I'd like to buy some landfor some of the tenants. "

"I've got no land to sell, " said the Colonel. 

"I was thinking you might sell a bit of the swamp. "

Cresswell and Taylor glanced at each other and the Colonel re-lit hiscigar. 

"How much of it?" he asked finally. 

"I don't know; I thought perhaps two hundred acres. "

"Two hundred acres? Do you expect to buy that land for five dollars anacre?"

"Oh, no, sir. I thought it might cost as much as twenty-five dollars. "

"But you've only got a thousand dollars. "

"Yes, sir; I thought I might pay that down and then pay the rest fromthe crops. "

"Who's going to work on the place?"

Zora named a number of the steadiest tenants to whom she had spoken. 

"They owe me a lot of money, " said the Colonel. 

"We'd try to pay that, too. "

Colonel Cresswell considered. There was absolutely no risk. The cost ofthe land, the back debts of the tenants--no possible crops could pay forthem. Then there was the chance of getting the swamp cleared for almostnothing. 

"How's the school getting on?" he asked suddenly. 

"Very poorly, " answered Zora sadly. "You know it's mortgaged, and MissSmith has had to use the mortgage money for yearly expenses. "

The Colonel smiled grimly. 

"It will cost you fifty dollars an acre, " he said finally. Zora lookeddisappointed and figured out the matter slowly. 

"That would be one thousand down and nine thousand to pay--"

"With interest, " said Cresswell. 

Zora shook her head doubtfully. 

"What would the interest be?" she asked. 

"Ten per cent. "

She stood silent a moment and Colonel Cresswell spoke up:

"It's the best land about here and about the only land you can buy--Iwouldn't sell it to anybody else. "

She still hesitated. 

"The trouble is, you see, Colonel Cresswell, the price is high and theinterest heavy. And after all I may not be able to get as many tenantsas I'd need. I think though, I'd try it if--if I could be sure you'dtreat me fairly, and that I'd get the land if I paid for it. "

Colonel Cresswell reddened a little, and John Taylor looked away. 

"Well, if you don't want to undertake it, all right. "

Zora looked thoughtfully across the field--

"Mr. Maxwell has a bit of land, " she began meditatively. 

"Worked out, and not worth five dollars an acre!" snapped the Colonel. But he did not propose to hand Maxwell a thousand dollars. "Now, seehere, I'll treat you as well as anybody, and you know it. "

"I believe so, sir, " acknowledged Zora in a tone that brought a suddenkeen glance from Taylor; but her face was a mask. "I reckon I'll makethe bargain. "

"All right. Bring the money and we'll fix the thing up. "

"The money is here, " said Zora, taking an envelope out of her bosom. 

"Well, leave it here, and I'll see to it. "

"But you see, sir, Miss Smith is so methodical; she expects some papersor receipts. "

"Well, it's too late tonight. "

"Possibly you could sign a sort of receipt and later--"

Cresswell laughed. "Well, write one, " he indulgently assented. And Zorawrote. 

When Zora left Colonel Cresswell's about noon that Sunday she knew herwork had just begun, and she walked swiftly along the country roads, calling here and there. Would Uncle Isaac help her build a log home?Would the boys help her some time to clear some swamp land? Would Robbecome a tenant when she asked? For this was the idle time of the year. Crops were laid by and planting had not yet begun. 

This too was the time of big church meetings. She knew that in her partof the country on that day the black population, man, woman, and child, were gathered in great groups; all day they had been gathering, streaming in snake-like lines along the country roads, in well-brushed, brilliant attire, half fantastic, half crude. Down where theToomsville-Montgomery highway dipped to the stream that fed theCresswell swamp squatted a square barn that slept through day and weeksin dull indifference. But on the First Sunday it woke to sudden mightylife. The voices of men and children mingled with the snorting ofanimals and the cracking of whips. Then came the long drone andsing-song of the preacher with its sharp wilder climaxes and theanswering "amens" and screams of the worshippers. This was the shrine ofthe Baptists--shrine and oracle, centre and source of inspiration--andhither Zora hurried. 

The preacher was Jones, a big man, fat, black, and greasy, with littleeyes, unctuous voice, and three manners: his white folks manner, soft, humble, wheedling; his black folks manner, voluble, important, condescending; and above all, his pulpit manner, loud, wild, and strong. He was about to don this latter cloak when Zora approached with arequest briefly to address the congregation. Remembering some formersnubs, his manner was lordly. 

"I doesn't see, " he returned reflectively, wiping his brows, "as how Ican rightly spare you any time; the brethren is a-gettin' mightyonpatient to hear me. " He pulled down his cuffs, regarding herdoubtfully. 

"I might speak after you're through, " she suggested. But he objectedthat there was the regular collection and two or three othercollections, a baptism, a meeting of the trustees; there was no time, inshort; but--he eyed her again. 

"Does you want--a collection?" he questioned suspiciously, for he couldimagine few other reasons for talking. Then, too, he did not want to betoo inflexible, for all of his people knew Zora and liked her. 

"Oh, no, I want no collection at all. I only want a little voluntarywork on their part. " He looked relieved, frowned through the door at theaudience, and looked at his bright gold watch. The whole crowd was notthere yet--perhaps--

"You kin say just a word before the sermont, " he finally yielded; "butnot long--not long. They'se just a-dying to hear me. "

So Zora spoke simply but clearly: of neglect and suffering, of the sinsof others that bowed young shoulders, of the great hope of thechildren's future. Then she told something of what she had seen and readof the world's newer ways of helping men and women. She talked ofcooperation and refuges and other efforts; she praised their way ofadopting children into their own homes; and then finally she told themof the land she was buying for new tenants and the helping hands sheneeded. The preacher fidgeted and coughed but dared not actuallyinterrupt, for the people were listening breathless to a kind ofstraightforward talk which they seldom heard and for which they werehungering. 

And Zora forgot time and occasion. The moments flew; the crowd increaseduntil the wonderful spell of those dark and upturned faces pulsed in herblood. She felt the wild yearning to help them beating in her ears andblinding her eyes. 

"Oh, my people!" she almost sobbed. "My own people, I am not asking youto help others; I am pleading with you to help yourselves. Rescue yourown flesh and blood--free yourselves--free yourselves!" And from theswaying sobbing hundreds burst a great "Amen!" The minister's dusky facegrew more and more sombre, and the angry sweat started on his brow. Hefelt himself hoaxed and cheated, and he meant to have his revenge. Twohundred men and women rose and pledged themselves to help Zora; and whenshe turned with overflowing heart to thank the preacher he had left theplatform, and she found him in the yard whispering darkly with twodeacons. She realized her mistake, and promised to retrieve it duringthe week; but the week was full of planning and journeying and talking. 

Saturday dawned cool and clear. She had dinner prepared for cooking inthe yard: sweet potatoes, hoe-cake, and buttermilk, and a hog to bebarbecued. Everything was ready by eight o'clock in the morning. Emmaand two other girl helpers were on the tip-toe of expectancy. Nineo'clock came and no one with it. Ten o'clock came, and eleven. Highnoon found Zora peering down the highway under her shading hand, but nosoul in sight. She tried to think it out: what could have happened? Herpeople were slow, tardy, but they would not thus forget her anddisappoint her without some great cause. She sent the girls home at duskand then seated herself miserably under the great oak; then at last onehalf-grown boy hurried by. 

"I wanted to come, Miss Zora, but I was afeared. Preacher Jones has beentalking everywhere against you. He says that your mother was a voodoowoman and that you don't believe in God, and the deacons voted that themembers mustn't help you. "

"And do the people believe that?" she asked in consternation. 

"They just don't know what to say. They don't 'zactly believe it, butthey has to 'low that you didn't say much 'bout religion when youtalked. You ain't been near Big Meetin'--and--and--you ain't saved. " Hehurried on. 

Zora leaned her head back wearily, watching the laced black brancheswhere the star-light flickered through--as coldly still and immovable asshe had watched them from those gnarled roots all her life--and shemurmured bitterly the world-old question of despair: "What's the use?"It seemed to her that every breeze and branch was instinct withsympathy, and murmuring, "What's the use?" She wondered vaguely why, andas she wondered, she knew. 

For yonder where the black earth of the swamp heaved in a formless moundshe felt the black arms of Elspeth rising from the sod--gigantic, mighty. They stole toward her with stealthy hands and claw-like talons. They clutched at her skirts. She froze and could not move. Down, downshe slipped toward the black slime of the swamp, and the air about washorror--down, down, till the chilly waters stung her knees; and thenwith one grip she seized the oak, while the great hand of Elspethtwisted and tore her soul. Faint, afar, nearer and nearer and evermightier, rose a song of mystic melody. She heard its human voice andsought to cry aloud. She strove again and again with that gripping, twisting pain--that awful hand--until the shriek came and she awoke. 

She lay panting and sweating across the bent and broken roots of theoak. The hand of Elspeth was gone but the song was still there. She rosetrembling and listened. It was the singing of the Big Meeting in thechurch far away. She had forgotten this religious revival in her days ofhurried preparation, and the preacher had used her absence and apparentindifference against her and her work. The hand of Elspeth was reachingfrom the grave to pull her back; but she was no longer dreaming now. Drawing her shawl about her, she hurried down the highway. 

The meeting had overflowed the church and spread to the edge of theswamp. The tops of young trees had been bent down and interlaced to forma covering and benches twined to their trunks. Thus a low and widecathedral, all green and silver in the star-light, lay packed with aliving mass of black folk. Flaming pine torches burned above thedevotees; the rhythm of their stamping, the shout of their voices, andthe wild music of their singing shook the night. Four hundred peoplefell upon their knees when the huge black preacher, uncoated, red-eyed, frenzied, stretched his long arms to heaven. Zora saw the throng fromafar, and hesitated. After all, she knew little of this strange faith oftheirs--had little belief in its mummery. She herself had been broughtup almost without religion save some few mystic remnants of ahalf-forgotten heathen cult. The little she had seen of religiousobservance had not moved her greatly, save once yonder in Washington. There she found God after a searching that had seared her soul; but Hehad simply pointed the Way, and the way was human. 

Humanity was near and real. She loved it. But if she talked again ofmere men would these devotees listen? Already the minister had spied hertall form and feared her power. He set his powerful voice and the frenzyof his hearers to crush her. 

"Who is dis what talks of doing the Lord's work for Him? What does degood Book say? Take no thought 'bout de morrow. Why is you trying tomake dis ole world better? I spits on the world! Come out from it. SeekJesus. Heaven is my home! Is it yo's?" "Yes, " groaned the multitude. Hisarm shot out and he pointed straight at Zora. 

"Beware the ebil one!" he shouted, and the multitude moaned. "Beware ofdem dat calls ebil good. Beware of dem dat worships debbils; the debbilsdat crawl; de debbils what forgits God. "

"Help him, Lord!" cried the multitude. 

Zora stepped into the circle of light. A hush fell on the throng; thepreacher paused a moment, then started boldly forward with upraisedhands. Then a curious thing happened. A sharp cry arose far off downtoward the swamp and the sound of great footsteps coming, coming as fromthe end of the world; there swelled a rhythmical chanting, wilder andmore primitive than song. On, on it came, until it swung into sight. Anold man led the band--tall, massive, with tufted gray hair and wrinkledleathery skin, and his eyes were the eyes of death. He reached thecircle of light, and Zora started: once before she had seen that oldman. The singing stopped but he came straight on till he reached Zora'sside and then he whirled and spoke. 

The words leaped and flew from his lips as he lashed the throng withbitter fury. He said what Zora wanted to say with two great differences:first, he spoke their religious language and spoke it with absoluteconfidence and authority; and secondly, he seemed to know each one therepersonally and intimately so that he spoke to no inchoate throng--hespoke to them individually, and they listened awestruck and fearsome. 

"God is done sent me, " he declared in passionate tones, "to preach Hisacceptable time. Faith without works is dead; who is you that dares toset and wait for the Lord to do your work?" Then in sudden fury, "Yegeneration of vipers--who kin save you?" He bent forward and pointed hislong finger. "Yes, " he cried, "pray, Sam Collins, you black devil; pray, for the corn you stole Thursday. " The black figure moved. "Moan, SisterMaxwell, for the backbiting you did today. Yell, Jack Tolliver, yousneaking scamp, t'wil the Lord tell Uncle Bill who ruined his daughter. Weep, May Haynes, for that baby--"

But the woman's shriek drowned his words, and he whirled full on thepreacher, stamping his feet and waving his hands. His anger choked him;the fat preacher cowered gray and trembling. The gaunt fanatic toweredover him. 

"You--you--ornery hound of Hell! God never knowed you and the devil ownsyour soul!" There leapt from his lips a denunciation so livid, specific, and impassioned that the preacher squatted and bowed, then finally fellupon his face and moaned. 

The gaunt speaker turned again to the people. He talked of littlechildren; he pictured their sin and neglect. "God is done sent me tooffer you all salvation, " he cried, while the people wept and wailed;"not in praying, but in works. Follow me!" The hour was halfway betweenmidnight and dawn, but nevertheless the people leapt frenziedly to theirfeet. 

"Follow me!" he shouted. 

And, singing and chanting, the throng poured out upon the black highway, waving their torches. Zora knew his intention. With a half-dozen ofyounger onlookers she unhitched teams and rode across the land, callingat the cabins. Before sunrise, tools were in the swamp, axes and sawsand hammers. The noise of prayer and singing filled the Sabbath dawn. The news of the great revival spread, and men and women came pouring in. Then of a sudden the uproar stopped, and the ringing of axes and gratingof saws and tugging of mules was heard. The forest trembled as by somemighty magic, swaying and falling with crash on crash. Huge bonfiresblazed and crackled, until at last a wide black scar appeared in thethick south side of the swamp, which widened and widened to full twentyacres. 

The sun rose higher and higher till it blazed at high noon. The workersdropped their tools. The aroma of coffee and roasting meat rose in thedim cool shade. With ravenous appetites the dark, half-famished throngfell upon the food, and then in utter weariness stretched themselves andslept: lying along the earth like huge bronze earth-spirits, sittingagainst trees, curled in dense bushes. 

And Zora sat above them on a high rich-scented pile of logs. Her sensesslept save her sleepless eyes. Amid a silence she saw in the littlegrove that still stood, the cabin of Elspeth tremble, sigh, anddisappear, and with it flew some spirit of evil. 

Then she looked down to the new edge of the swamp, by the old lagoon, and saw Bles Alwyn standing there. It seemed very natural; and closingher eyes, she fell asleep. 

_Thirty-four_

THE RETURN OF ALWYN

Bles Alwyn stared at Mrs. Harry Cresswell in surprise. He had not seenher since that moment at the ball, and he was startled at the change. Her abundant hair was gone; her face was pale and drawn, and there werelittle wrinkles below her sunken eyes. In those eyes lurked the tiredlook of the bewildered and the disappointed. It was in the loftywaiting-room of the Washington station where Alwyn had come to meet afriend. Mrs. Cresswell turned and recognized him with genuine pleasure. He seemed somehow a part of the few things in the world--little andunimportant perhaps--that counted and stood firm, and she shook his handcordially, not minding the staring of the people about. He took her bagand carried it towards the gate, which made the observers breatheeasier, seeing him in servile duty. Someway, she knew not just how, shefound herself telling him of the crisis in her life before she realized;not everything, of course, but a great deal. It was much as though shewere talking to some one from another world--an outsider; but one shehad known long, one who understood. Both from what she recounted andwhat she could not tell he gathered the substance of the story, and itbewildered him. He had not thought that white people had such troubles;yet, he reflected, why not? They, too, were human. 

"I suppose you hear from the school?" he ventured after a pause. 

"Why, yes--not directly--but Zora used to speak of it. "

Bles looked up quickly. 

"Zora?"

"Yes. Didn't you see her while she was here? She has gone back now. "

Then the gate opened, the crowd surged through, sweeping them apart, andnext moment he was alone. 

Alwyn turned slowly away. He forgot the friend he was to meet. He forgoteverything but the field of the Silver Fleece. It rose shadowy there inthe pale concourse, swaying in ghostly breezes. The purple of itsflowers mingled with the silver radiance of tendrils that trembledacross the hurrying throng, like threads of mists along low hills. Inits midst rose a dark, slim, and quivering form. She had been here--herein Washington! Why had he not known? What was she doing? "She has goneback now"--back to the Sun and the Swamp, back to the Burden. 

Why should not he go back, too? He walked on thinking. He had failed. His apparent success had been too sudden, too overwhelming, and when hehad faced the crisis his hand had trembled. He had chosen the Right--butthe Right was ineffective, impotent, almost ludicrous. It left himshorn, powerless, and in moral revolt. The world had suddenly left him, as the vision of Carrie Wynn had left him, alone, a mere clerk, aninsignificant cog in the great grinding wheel of humdrum drudgery. Hischance to do and thereby to be had not come. 

He thought of Zora again. Why not go back to the South where she hadgone? He shuddered as one who sees before him a cold black pool whitherhis path leads. To face the proscription, the insult, the lawless hateof the South again--never! And yet he went home and sat down and wrote along letter to Miss Smith. 

The reply that came after some delay was almost curt. It answered few ofhis questions, argued with none of his doubts, and made no mention ofZora. Yes, there was need of a manager for the new farm and settlement. She was not sure whether Alwyn could do the work or not. The salary wasmeagre and the work hard. If he wished it, he must decide immediately. 

Two weeks later found Alwyn on the train facing Southward in the JimCrow car. How he had decided to go back South he did not know. In fact, he had not decided. He had sat helpless and inactive in the grip ofgreat and shadowed hands, and the thing was as yet incomprehensible. Andso it was that the vision Zora saw in the swamp had been real enough, and Alwyn felt strangely disappointed that she had given no sign ofgreeting on recognition. 

In other ways, too, Zora, when he met her, was to him a new creature. She came to him frankly and greeted him, her gladness shining in hereyes, yet looking nothing more than gladness and saying nothing more. Just what he had expected was hard to say; but he had left her on herknees in the dirt with outstretched hands, and somehow he had expectedto return to some corresponding mental attitude. The physical change ofthese three years was marvellous. The girl was a woman, well-rounded andpoised, tall, straight, and quick. And with this went mental change: aself-mastery; a veiling of the self even in intimate talk; a subtle airas of one looking from great and unreachable heights down on the dawn ofthe world. Perhaps no one who had not known the child and the girl as hehad would have noted all this; but he saw and realized thetransformation with a pang--something had gone; the innocence and wonderof the child, and in their place had grown up something to himincomprehensible and occult. 

Miss Smith was not to be easily questioned on the subject. She took nohints and gave no information, and when once he hazarded some pointedquestions she turned on him abruptly, observing acidly: "If I were youI'd think less of Zora and more of her work. "

Gradually, in his spiritual perplexity, Alwyn turned to Mary Cresswell. She was staying with the Colonel at Cresswell Oaks. Her coming South wassupposed to be solely for reasons of health, and her appearance madethis excuse plausible. She was lonely and restless, and naturally drawntoward the school. Her intercourse with Miss Smith was only formal, buther interest in Zora's work grew. Down in the swamp, at the edge of thecleared space, had risen a log cabin; long, low, spacious, overhung withoak and pine. It was Zora's centre for her settlement-work. There shelived, and with her a half-dozen orphan girls and children too young forthe boarding department of the school. Mrs. Cresswell easily fell intothe habit of walking by here each day, coming down the avenue of oaksacross the road and into the swamp. She saw little of Zora personallybut she saw her girls and learned much of her plans. 

The rooms of the cottage were clean and light, supplied with books andpictures, simple toys, and a phonograph. The yard was one wide green andgolden play-ground, and all day the music of children's glad crooningand the singing of girls went echoing and trembling through the trees, as they played and sewed and washed and worked. 

From the Cresswells and the Maxwells and others came loads of clothesfor washing and mending. The Tolliver girls had simple dresses made, embroidery was ordered from town, and soon there would be the gardensand cotton fields. Mrs. Cresswell would saunter down of mornings. Sometimes she would talk to the big girls and play with the children;sometimes she would sit hidden in the forest, listening and glimpsingand thinking, thinking, till her head whirled and the world danced redbefore her eyes, today she rose wearily, for it was near noon, andstarted home. She saw Alwyn swing along the road to the schooldining-room where he had charge of the students at the noonday meal. 

Alwyn wanted Mrs. Cresswell's judgment and advice. He was growingdoubtful of his own estimate of women. Evidently something about hisstandards was wrong; consequently he made opportunities to talk withMrs. Cresswell when she was about, hoping she would bring up the subjectof Zora of her own accord. But she did not. She was too full of her owncares and troubles, and she was only too glad of willing and sympatheticears into which to pour her thoughts. Miss Smith soon began to look onthese conversations with some uneasiness. Black men and white womencannot talk together casually in the South and she did not know how farthe North had put notions in Alwyn's head. 

Today both met each other almost eagerly. 

Mrs. Cresswell had just had a bit of news which only he would fullyappreciate. 

"Have you heard of the Vanderpools?" she asked. 

"No--except that he was appointed and confirmed at last. "

"Well, they had only arrived in France when he died of apoplexy. I donot know, " added Mrs. Cresswell, "I may be wrong and--I hope I'm notglad. " Then there leapt to her mind a hypothetical question which had todo with her own curious situation. It was characteristic of her to broodand then restlessly to seek relief in consulting the one person near whoknew her story. She started to open the subject again today. 

But Alwyn, his own mind full, spoke first and rapidly. He, too, hadturned to her as he saw her come from Zora's home. He must know moreabout the girl. He could no longer endure this silence. Zora beneath herapparent frankness was impenetrable, and he felt that she carefullyavoided him, although she did it so deftly that he felt rather thanobserved it. Miss Smith still systematically snubbed him when hebroached the subject of Zora. With others he did not speak; the matterseemed too delicate and sacred, and he always had an awful dread lestsometime, somewhere, a chance and fatal word would be dropped, a breathof evil gossip which would shatter all. He had hated to obtrude histroubles on Mrs. Cresswell, who seemed so torn in soul. But today hemust speak, although time pressed. 

"Mrs. Cresswell, " he began hurriedly, "there's a matter--a personalmatter of which I have wanted to speak--a long time--I--" Thedinner-bell rang, and he stopped, vexed. 

"Come up to the house this afternoon, " she said; "Colonel Cresswell willbe away--" Then she paused abruptly. A strange startling thought flashedthrough her brain. Alwyn noticed nothing. He thanked her cordially andhurried toward the dining-hall, meeting Colonel Cresswell on horsebackjust as he turned into the school gate. 

Mary Cresswell walked slowly on, flushing and paling by turns. Could itbe that this Negro had dared to misunderstand her--had presumed? Shereviewed her conduct. Perhaps she had been indiscreet in thus making aconfidant of him in her trouble. She had thought of him as a boy--an oldstudent, a sort of confidential servant; but what had he thought? Sheremembered Miss Smith's warning of years before--and he had been Northsince and acquired Northern notions of freedom and equality. She bit herlip cruelly. 

Yet, she mused, she was herself to blame. She had unwittingly made theintimacy and he was but a Negro, looking on every white woman as agoddess and ready to fawn at the slightest encouragement. There had beenno one else here to confide in. She could not tell Miss Smith hertroubles, although she knew Miss Smith must suspect. Harry Cresswell, apparently, had written nothing home of their quarrel. All the neighborsbehaved as if her excuse of ill-health were sufficient to account forher return South to escape the rigors of a Northern winter. Alwyn, andAlwyn alone, really knew. Well, it was her blindness, and she must rightit quietly and quickly with hard ruthless plainness. She blushed againat the shame of it; then she began to excuse. 

After all, which was worse--a Cresswell or an Alwyn? It was no sin thatAlwyn had done; it was simply ignorant presumption, and she must correcthim firmly, but gently, like a child. What a crazy muddle the world was!She thought of Harry Cresswell and the tale he told her in the swamp. She thought of the flitting ghosts that awful night in Washington. Shethought of Miss Wynn who had jilted Alwyn and given her herself a verybad quarter of an hour. What a world it was, and after all how far wasthis black boy wrong? Just then Colonel Cresswell rode up behind andgreeted her. 

She started almost guiltily, and again a sense of the awkwardness of herposition reddened her face and neck. The Colonel dismounted, despite herprotest, and walked beside her. They chatted along indifferently, of thecrops, her brother's new baby, the proposed mill. 

"Mary, " his voice abruptly struck a new note. "I don't like the way youtalk with that Alwyn nigger. "

She was silent. 

"Of course, " he continued, "you're Northern born and you have been ateacher in this school and feel differently from us in some ways; butmark what I say, a nigger will presume on the slightest pretext, and youmust keep them in their place. Then, too, you are a Cresswell now--"

She smiled bitterly; he noticed it, but went on:

"You are a Cresswell, even if you have caught Harry up to some of hisdeviltry, "--she started, --"and got miffed about it. It'll all come outright. You're a Cresswell, and you must hold yourself too high to'Mister' a nigger or let him dream of any sort of equality. "

He spoke pleasantly, but with a certain sharp insistence that struck anote of fear in Mary's heart. For a moment she thought of writing Alwynnot to call. But, no; a note would be unwise. She and Colonel Cresswelllunched rather silently. 

"Well, I must get to town, " he finally announced. "The mill directorsmeet today. If Maxwell calls by about that lumber tell him I'll see himin town. " And away he went. 

He had scarcely reached the highway and ridden a quarter of a mile orso when he spied Bles Alwyn hurrying across the field toward theCresswell Oaks. He frowned and rode on. Then reining in his horse, hestopped in the shadow of the trees and watched Alwyn. 

It was here that Zora saw him as she came up from her house. She, too, stopped, and soon saw whom he was watching. She had been planning to seeMr. Cresswell about the cut timber on her land. By legal right it washers but she knew he would claim half, treating her like a mere tenant. Seeing him watching Alwyn she paused in the shadow and waited, fearingtrouble. She, too, had felt that the continued conversations of Alwynand Mrs. Cresswell were indiscreet, but she hoped that they hadattracted no one else's attention. Now she feared the Colonel wassuspicious and her heart sank. Alwyn went straight toward the house anddisappeared in the oak avenue. Still Colonel Cresswell waited but Zorawaited no longer. Alwyn must be warned. She must reach Cresswell'smansion before Cresswell did and without him seeing her. This meant along detour of the swamp to approach the Oaks from the west. Shesilently gathered up her skirts and walked quickly and carefully away. 

She was a strong woman, lithe and vigorous, living in the open air andused to walking. Once out of hearing she threw away her hat and bendingforward ran through the swamp. For a while she ran easily and swiftly. Then for a moment she grew dizzy and it seemed as though she wasstanding still and the swamp in solemn grandeur marching past--in solemnmocking grandeur. She loosened her dress at the neck and flew on. 

She sped at last through the oaks, up the terraces, and slowing down toan unsteady walk, staggered into the house. No one would wonder at herbeing there. She came up now and then and sorted the linen and piled thebaskets for her girls. She entered a side door and listened. TheColonel's voice sounded impatiently in the front hall. 

"Mary! Mary?"

A pause, then an answer:

"Yes, father!"

He started up the front stairway and Zora hurried up the narrow backstairs, almost overturning a servant. 

"I'm after the clothes, " she explained. She reached the back landingjust in time to see Colonel Cresswell's head rising up the frontstaircase. With a quick bound she almost fell into the first room at thetop of the stairs. 

Bles Alwyn had hurried through his dinner duties and hastened to theOaks. The questions, the doubts, the uncertainty within him wereclamoring for utterance. How much had Mrs. Cresswell ever known of Zora?What kind of a woman was Zora now? Mrs. Cresswell had seen her and hadtalked to her and watched her. What did she think? Thus he formulatedhis questions as he went, half timid, and fearful in putting them andyet determined to know. 

Mrs. Cresswell, waiting for him, was almost panic-stricken. Probably hewould beat round the bush seeking further encouragement; but at theslightest indication she must crush him ruthlessly and at the same timepoint the path of duty. He ought to marry some good girl--not Zora, butsome one. Somehow Zora seemed too unusual and strange for him--tooinhuman, as Mary Cresswell judged humanity. She glanced out from herseat on the upper verandah over the front porch and saw Alwyn coming. Where should she receive him? On the porch and have Mr. Maxwell ride up?In the parlor and have the servants astounded and talking? If she tookhim up to her own sitting-room the servants would think he was doingsome work or fetching something for the school. She greeted him brieflyand asked him in. 

"Good-afternoon, Bles"--using his first name to show him his place, andthen inwardly recoiling at its note of familiarity. She preceded himup-stairs to the sitting-room, where, leaving the door ajar, she seatedherself on the opposite side of the room and waited. 

He fidgeted, then spoke rapidly. 

"Mrs. Cresswell--this is a personal affair. " She reddened angrily. "Alove affair"--she paled with something like fear--"and I"--she startedto speak, but could not--"I want to know what you think about Zora?"

"About Zora!" she gasped weakly. The sudden reaction, the revulsion ofher agitated feelings, left her breathless. 

"About Zora. You know I loved her dearly as a boy--how dearly I haveonly just begun to realize: I've been wondering if I understood--if Iwasn't--"

Mrs. Cresswell got angrily to her feet. 

"You have come here to speak to me of that--that--" she choked, and Blesthought his worst fears realized. 

"Mary, Mary!" Colonel Cresswell's voice broke suddenly in upon them. With a start of fear Mrs. Cresswell rushed out into the hall and closedthe door. 

"Mary, has that Alwyn nigger been here this afternoon?" Mr. Cresswellwas coming up-stairs, carrying his riding whip. 

"Why, no!" she answered, lying instinctively before she quite realizedwhat her lie meant. She hesitated. "That is, I haven't seen him. I musthave nodded over my book, "--looking toward the little verandah at thefront of the upper hall, where her easy chair stood with her book. Thenwith an awful flash of enlightenment she realized what her lie mightmean, and her heart paused. 

Cresswell strode up. 

"I saw him come up--he must have entered. He's nowhere downstairs, " hewavered and scowled. "Have you been in your sitting-room?" And then, notwaiting for a reply, he strode to the door. 

"But the damned scoundrel wouldn't dare!"

He deliberately placed his hand in his right-hand hip-pocket and threwopen the door. 

Mary Cresswell stood frozen. The full horror of the thing burst uponher. Her own silly misapprehension, the infatuation of Alwyn for Zora, her thoughtless--no, vindictive--betrayal of him to something worse thandeath. She listened for the crack of doom. She heard a bird singing fardown in the swamp; she heard the soft raising of a window and theclosing of a door. And then--great God in heaven! must she live foreverin this agony?--and then, she heard the door bang and Mr. Cresswell'sgruff voice--

"Well, where is he?--he isn't in there!"

Mary Cresswell felt that something was giving way within. She swayed andwould have crashed to the bottom of the staircase if just then she hadnot seen at the opposite end of the hall, near the back stairs, Zora andAlwyn emerge calmly from a room, carrying a basket full of clothes. Colonel Cresswell stared at them, and Zora instinctively put up her handand fastened her dress at the throat. The Colonel scowled, for it wasall clear to him now. 

"Look here, " he angrily opened upon them, "if you niggers want to meetaround keep out of this house; hereafter I'll send the clothes down. ByGod, if you want to make love go to the swamp!" He stamped down thestairs while an ashy paleness stole beneath the dark-red bronze ofZora's face. 

They walked silently down the road together--the old familiar road. Alwyn was staring moodily ahead. 

"We must get married--before Christmas, Zora, " he presently avowed, notlooking at her. He felt the basket pause and he glanced up. Her darkeyes were full upon him and he saw something in their depths thatbrought him to himself and made him realize his blunder. 

"Zora!" he stammered, "forgive me! Will you marry me?"

She looked at him calmly with infinite compassion. But her reply wasuttered unhesitantly; distinct, direct. 

"No, Bles. "

_Thirty-five_

THE COTTON MILL

The people of Toomsville started in their beds and listened. A new songwas rising on the air: a harsh, low, murmuring croon that shook thevillage ranged around its old square of dilapadated stores. It was not asong of joy; it was not a song of sorrow; it was not a song at all, perhaps, but a confused whizzing and murmuring, as of a thousandill-tuned, busy voices. Some of the listeners wondered; but most of thetown cried joyfully, "It's the new cotton-mill!"

John Taylor's head teemed with new schemes. The mill trust of the Northwas at last a fact. The small mills had not been able to buy cotton whenit was low because Cresswell was cornering it in the name of theFarmers' League; now that it was high they could not afford to, and manysurrendered to the trust. 

"Next thing, " wrote Taylor to Easterly, "is to reduce cost ofproduction. Too much goes in wages. Gradually transfer mills South. "

Easterly argued that the labor was too unskilled in the South and thatto send Northern spinners down would spread labor troubles. Taylorreplied briefly: "Never fear; we'll scare them with a vision of niggersin the mills!"

Colonel Cresswell was not so easily won over to the new scheme. In thefirst place he was angry because the school, which he had come to regardas on its last legs, somehow still continued to flourish. Theten-thousand-dollar mortgage had but three more years, and that wouldend all; but he had hoped for a crash even earlier. Instead of this, Miss Smith was cheerfully expanding the work, hiring new teachers, andespecially she had brought to help her two young Negroes whom hesuspected. Colonel Cresswell had prevented the Tolliver land sale, onlyto be inveigled himself into Zora's scheme which now began to worry him. He must evict Zora's tenants as soon as the crops were planted andharvested. There was nothing unjust about such a course, he argued, forNegroes anyway were too lazy and shiftless to buy the land. They wouldnot, they could not, work without driving. All this he imparted to JohnTaylor, to which that gentleman listened carefully. 

"H'm, I see, " he owned. "And I know the way out. "

"How?"

"A cotton mill in Toomsville. "

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Bring in whites. "

"But I don't want poor white trash; I'd sooner have niggers. "

"Now, see here, " argued Taylor, "you can't have everything youwant--day's gone by for aristocracy of old kind. You must haveneighbors: choose, then, white or black. I say white. "

"But they'll rule us--out-vote us--marry our daughters, " warmly objectedthe Colonel. 

"Some of them may--most of them won't. A few of them with brains willhelp us rule the rest with money. We'll plant cotton mills beside thecotton fields, use whites to keep niggers in their place, and the fearof niggers to keep the poorer whites in theirs. "

The Colonel looked thoughtful. 

"There's something in that, " he confessed after a while; "but it's amighty big experiment, and it may go awry. "

"Not with brains and money to guide it. And at any rate, we've got totry it; it's the next logical step, and we must take it. "

"But in the meantime, I'm not going to give up good old methods; I'mgoing to set the sheriff behind these lazy niggers, " said the Colonel;"and I'm going to stop that school putting notions into their heads. "

In three short months the mill at Toomsville was open and its wheelswhizzing to the boundless pride of the citizens. 

"Our enterprise, sir!" they said to the strangers on the strength of thefive thousand dollars locally invested. 

Once it had vigor to sing, the song of the mill knew no resting; morningand evening, day and night it crooned its rhythmic tune; only during thedaylight Sundays did its murmur die to a sibilant hiss. All the week itsdoors were filled with the coming and going of men and women andchildren: many men, more women, and greater and greater throngs ofchildren. It seemed to devour children, sitting with its myriad eyesgleaming and its black maw open, drawing in the pale white mites, sucking their blood and spewing them out paler and ever paler. The faceof the town began to change, showing a ragged tuberculous looking sidewith dingy homes in short and homely rows. 

There came gradually a new consciousness to the town. Hitherto town andcountry had been ruled by a few great landlords but at the very firstelection, Colton, an unknown outsider, had beaten the regular candidatefor sheriff by such a majority that the big property owners dared notcount him out. They had, however, an earnest consultation with JohnTaylor. 

"It's just as I said, " growled Colonel Cresswell, "if you don't watchout our whole plantation system will be ruined and we'll be governed bythis white trash from the hills. "

"There's only one way, " sighed Caldwell, the merchant; "we've got tovote the niggers. "

John Taylor laughed. "Nonsense!" he spurned the suggestion. "You'reold-fashioned. Let the mill-hands have the offices. What good will itdo?"

"What good! Why, they'll do as they please with us. "

"Bosh! Don't we own the mill? Can't we keep wages where we like bythreatening to bring in nigger labor?"

"No, you can't, permanently, " Maxwell disputed, "for they sometime willcall your bluff. "

"Let 'em call, " said Taylor, "and we'll put niggers in the mills. "

"What!" ejaculated the landlords in chorus. Only Maxwell was silent. "And kill the plantation system?"

"Oh, maybe some time, of course. But not for years; not until you'vemade your pile. You don't really expect to keep the darkies downforever, do you?"

"No, I don't, " Maxwell slowly admitted. "This system can't lastalways--sometimes I think it can't last long. It's wrong, through andthrough. It's built on ignorance, theft, and force, and I wish to God wehad courage enough to overthrow it and take the consequences. I wish itwas possible to be a Southerner and a Christian and an honest man, totreat niggers and dagoes and white trash like men, and be big enough tosay, 'To Hell with consequences!'"

Colonel Cresswell stared at his neighbor, speechless with bewildermentand outraged traditions. Such unbelievable heresy from a Northerner or aNegro would have been natural; but from a Southerner whose father hadowned five hundred slaves--it was incredible! The other landlordsscarcely listened; they were dogged and impatient and they could suggestno remedy. They could only blame the mill for their troubles. 

John Taylor left the conference blithely. "No, " he said to thecommittee from the new mill-workers' union. "Can't raise wages, gentlemen, and can't lessen hours. Mill is just started and not yetpaying expenses. You're getting better wages than you ever got. If youdon't want to work, quit. There are plenty of others, white and black, who want your jobs. "

The mention of black people as competitors for wages was like a red ragto a bull. The laborers got together and at the next election they madea clean sweep, judge, sheriff, two members of the legislature, and theregistrars of votes. Undoubtedly the following year they would captureHarry Cresswell's seat in Congress. 

The result was curious. From two sides, from landlord and white laborer, came renewed oppression of black men. The laborers found that theirpolitical power gave them little economic advantage as long as thethreatening cloud of Negro competition loomed ahead. There was some talkof a strike, but Colton, the new sheriff, discouraged it. 

"I tell you, boys, where the trouble lies: it's the niggers. They liveon nothing and take any kind of treatment, and they keep wages down. Ifyou strike, they'll get your jobs, sure. We'll just have to grin andbear it a while, but get back at the darkies whenever you can. I'llstick 'em into the chain-gang every chance I get. "

On the other hand, inspired by fright, the grip of the landlords on theblack serfs closed with steadily increasing firmness. They saw one classrising from beneath them to power, and they tightened the chains on theother. Matters simmered on in this way, and the only party whollysatisfied with conditions was John Taylor and the few young Southernerswho saw through his eyes. He was making money. The landlords, on thecontrary, were losing power and prestige, and their farm labor, despitestrenuous efforts, was drifting to town attracted by new and incidentalwork and higher wages. The mill-hands were more and more overworked andunderpaid, and hated the Negroes for it in accordance with theirleaders' directions. 

At the same time the oppressed blacks and scowling mill-hands could nothelp recurring again and again to the same inarticulate thought which noone was brave enough to voice. Once, however, it came out flatly. It waswhen Zora, crowding into the village courthouse to see if she could nothelp Aunt Rachel's accused boy, found herself beside a gaunt, overworkedwhite woman. The woman was struggling with a crippled child and Zora, turning, lifted him carefully for the weak mother, who thanked her halftimidly. "That mill's about killed him, " she said. 

At this juncture the manacled boy was led into court, and the womansuddenly turned again to Zora. 

"Durned if I don't think these white slaves and black slaves had oughtter git together, " she declared. 

"I think so, too, " Zora agreed. 

Colonel Cresswell himself caught the conversation and it struck him witha certain dismay. Suppose such a conjunction should come to pass? Heedged over to John Taylor and spoke to him; but Taylor, who had justsuccessfully stopped a suit for damages to the injured boy, merelyshrugged his shoulders. 

"What's this nigger charged with?" demanded the Judge when the firstblack boy was brought up before him. 

"Breaking his labor contract. "

"Any witnesses?"

"I have the contract here, " announced the sheriff. "He refuses to work. "

"A year, or one hundred dollars. "

Colonel Cresswell paid his fine, and took him in charge. 

"What's the charge here?" said the Judge, pointing to Aunt Rachel's boy. 

"Attempt to kill a white man. "

"Any witnesses?"

"None except the victim. "

"And I, " said Zora, coming forward. 

Both the sheriff and Colonel Cresswell stared at her. Of course, she wassimply a black girl but she was an educated woman, who knew things aboutthe Cresswell plantations that it was unnecessary to air in court. Thenewly elected Judge had not yet taken his seat, and Cresswell's word wasstill law in the court. He whispered to the Judge. 

"Case postponed, " said the Court. 

The sheriff scowled. 

"Wait till Jim gets on the bench, " he growled. 

The white bystanders, however, did not seem enthusiastic and one man--hewas a Northern spinner--spoke out plainly. 

"It's none o' my business, of course. I've been fired and I'm damnedglad of it. But see here: if you mutts think you're going to beat thesebig blokes at their own game of cheating niggers you're daffy. You takethis from me: get together with the niggers and hold up this wholecapitalist gang. If you don't get the niggers first, they'll use 'em asa club to throw you down. You hear me, " and he departed for the train. 

Colton was suspicious. The sentiment of joining with the Negroes did notseem to arouse the bitter resentment he expected. There even camewhispers to his ears that he had sold out to the landlords, and therewas enough truth in the report to scare him. Thus to both parties camethe uncomfortable spectre of the black men, and both sides went to workto lay the ghost. 

Particularly was Colonel Cresswell stirred to action. He realized thatin Bles and Zora he was dealing with a younger class of educated blackfolk, who were learning to fight with new weapons. They were, he wassure, as dissolute and weak as their parents, but they were shrewder andmore aspiring. They must be crushed, and crushed quickly. To this end hehad recourse to two sources of help--Johnson and the whites in town. 

Johnson was what Colonel Cresswell repeatedly called "a faithfulnigger. " He was one of those constitutionally timid creatures into whomthe servility of his fathers had sunk so deep that it had becomesecond-nature. To him a white man was an archangel, while theCresswells, his father's masters, stood for God. He served them withdog-like faith, asking no reward, and for what he gave in reverence tothem, he took back in contempt for his fellows--"niggers!" He appliedthe epithet with more contempt than the Colonel himself could express. To the Negroes he was a "white folk's nigger, " to be despised andfeared. 

To him Colonel Cresswell gave a few pregnant directions. Then he rode totown, and told Taylor again of his fears of a labor movement which wouldinclude whites and blacks. Taylor could not see any great danger. 

"Of course, " he conceded, "they'll eventually get together; theirinterests are identical. I'll admit it's our game to delay this as longpossible. "

"It must be delayed forever, sir. "

"Can't be, " was the terse response. "But even if they do allythemselves, our way is easy: separate the leaders, the talented, thepushers, of both races from their masses, and through them rule the restby money. "

But Colonel Cresswell shook his head. "It's precisely these leaders ofthe Negroes that we mush crush, " he insisted. Taylor looked puzzled. 

"I thought it was the lazy, shiftless, and criminal Negroes, youfeared?"

"Hang it, no! We can deal with them; we've got whips, chain-gangs, and--mobs, if need be--no, it's the Negro who wants to climb up thatwe've got to beat to his knees. "

Taylor could not follow this reasoning. He believed in an aristocracy oftalent alone, and secretly despised Colonel Cresswell's pretensions ofbirth. If a man had ability and push Taylor was willing and anxious toopen the way for him, even though he were black. The caste way ofthinking in the South, both as applied to poor whites and to Negroes, he simply could not understand. The weak and the ignorant of all raceshe despised and had no patience with them. "But others--a man's a man, isn't he?" he persisted. But Colonel Cresswell replied:

"No, never, if he's black, and not always when he's white, " and hestalked away. 

Zora sensed fully the situation. She did not anticipate any immediateunderstanding with the laboring whites, but she knew that eventually itwould be inevitable. Meantime the Negro must strengthen himself andbring to the alliance as much independent economic strength as possible. For the development of her plans she needed Bles Alwyn's constantcooperation. He was business manager of the school and was doing well, but she wanted to point out to him the larger field. So long as she wasuncertain of his attitude toward her, it was difficult to act; but now, since the flash of the imminent tragedy at Cresswell Oaks had clearedthe air, with all its hurt a frank understanding had been made possible. The very next day Zora chose to show Bles over her new home and grounds, and to speak frankly to him. They looked at the land, examined theproposed farm sites, and viewed the living-room and dormitory in thehouse. 

"You haven't seen my den, " said Zora. 

"No. "

"Miss Smith is in there now; she often hides there. Come. "

He went into the large central house and into the living-room, then outon the porch, beyond which lay the kitchen. But to the left, and at theend of the porch, was a small building. It was ceiled in dark yellowpine, with figured denim on the walls. A straight desk of rough hewnwood stood in the corner by the white-curtained window, and a couch andtwo large easy-chairs faced a tall narrow fireplace of uneven stone. Athick green rag-carpet covered the floor; a few pictures were on thewalls--a Madonna, a scene of mad careering horses, and some sad babyfaces. The room was a unity; things fitted together as if they belongedtogether. It was restful and beautiful, from the cheerful pine blazebefore which Miss Smith was sitting, to the square-paned window that letin the crimson rays of gathering night. All round the room, stoppingonly at the fireplace, ran low shelves of the same yellow pine, filledwith books and magazines. He scanned curiously Plato's Republic, Gorky's"Comrades, " a Cyclopædia of Agriculture, Balzac's novels, Spencer's"First Principles, " Tennyson's Poems. 

"This is my university, " Zora explained, smiling at his interestedsurvey. They went out again and wandered down near the old lagoon. 

"Now, Bles, " she began, "since we understand each other, can we not worktogether as good friends?" She spoke simply and frankly, withoutapparent effort, and talked on at length of her work and vision. 

Somehow he could not understand. His mental attitude toward Zora hadalways been one of guidance, guardianship, and instruction. He had beenjudging and weighing her from on high, looking down upon her withthoughts of uplift and development. Always he had been holding her darklittle hands to lead her out of the swamp of life, and always, when insenseless anger he had half forgotten and deserted her, this vision ofelder brotherhood had still remained. Now this attitude was beingrevolutionized. She was proposing to him a plan of wide scope--a boldregeneration of the land. It was a plan carefully studied out, longthought of and read about. He was asked to be co-worker--nay, in a senseto be a follower, for he was ignorant of much. 

He hesitated. Then all at once a sense of his utter unworthinessoverwhelmed him. Who was he to stand and judge this unselfish woman? Whowas he to falter when she called? A sense of his smallness andnarrowness, of his priggish blindness, rose like a mockery in his soul. One thing alone held him back: he was not unwilling to be simply human, a learner and a follower; but would he as such ever command the love andrespect of this new and inexplicable woman? Would not comradeship on thebasis of the new friendship which she insisted on, be the death of loveand thoughts of love?

Thus he hesitated, knowing that his duty lay clear. In her direst needhe had deserted her. He had left her to go to destruction and expectedthat she would. By a superhuman miracle she had risen and seated herselfabove him. She was working; here was work to be done. He was asked tohelp; he would help. If it killed his old and new-born dream of love, well and good; it was his punishment. 

Yet the sacrifice, the readjustment was hard; he grew to it gradually, inwardly revolting, feeling always a great longing to take this womanand make her nestle in his arms as she used to; catching himself againand again on the point of speaking to her and urging, yet ever againholding himself back and bowing in silent respect to the dignity of herlife. Only now and then, when their eyes met suddenly or unthinkingly, agreat kindling flash of flame seemed struggling behind showers of tears, until in a moment she smiled or spoke, and then the dropping veil leftonly the frank open glance, unwavering, soft, kind, but nothing more. Then Alwyn would go wearily away, vexed or disappointed, or merely sad, and both would turn to their work again. 

_Thirty-six_

THE LAND

Colonel Cresswell started all the more grimly to overthrow the new workat the school because somewhere down beneath his heart a pity and awonder were stirring; pity at the perfectly useless struggle to raisethe unraisable, a wonder at certain signs of rising. But it wasimpossible--and unthinkable, even if possible. So he squared his jaw andcheated Zora deliberately in the matter of the cut timber. He placedevery obstacle in the way of getting tenants for the school land. HereJohnson, the "faithful nigger, " was of incalculable assistance. He wasamong the first to hear the call for prospective tenants. 

The meeting was in the big room of Zora's house, and Aunt Rachel cameearly with her cheery voice and smile which faded so quickly to lines ofsorrow and despair, and then twinkled back again. After her hobbled oldSykes. Fully a half-hour later Rob hurried in. 

"Johnson, " he informed the others, "has sneaked over to Cresswell's totell of this meeting. We ought to beat that nigger up. " But Zora askedhim about the new baby, and he was soon deep in child-lore. Higgins andSanders came together--dirty, apologetic, and furtive. Then cameJohnson. 

"How do, Miss Zora--Mr. Alwyn, I sure is glad to see you, sir. Well, ifthere ain't Aunt Rachel! looking as young as ever. And Higgins, youscamp--Ah, Mr. Sanders--well, gentlemen and ladies, this sure is gwineto be a good cotton season. I remember--" And he ran on endlessly, nowto this one, now to that, now to all, his little eyes all the whiledancing insinuatingly here and there. About nine o'clock a buggy droveup and Carter and Simpson came in--Carter, a silent, strong-faced, brownlaborer, who listened and looked, and Simpson, a worried nervous man, who sat still with difficulty and commenced many sentences but did notfinish them. Alwyn looked at his watch and at Zora, but she gave no signuntil they heard a rollicking song outside and Tylor burst into theroom. He was nearly seven feet high and broad-shouldered, yellow, withcurling hair and laughing brown eyes. He was chewing an enormous quid oftobacco, the juice of which he distributed generously, and had had justliquor enough to make him jolly. His entrance was a breeze and a roar. 

Alwyn then undertook to explain the land scheme. 

"It is the best land in the county--"

"When it's cl'ared, " interrupted Johnson, and Simpson looked alarmed. 

"It is partially cleared, " continued Alwyn, "and our plan is to sell offsmall twenty-acre farms--"

"You can't do nothing on twenty acres--" began Johnson, but Tylor laidhis huge hand right over his mouth and said briefly:

"Shut up!"

Alwyn started again: "We shall sell a few twenty-acre farms but keep onecentral plantation of one hundred acres for the school. Here Miss Zorawill carry on her work and the school will run a model farm with yourhelp. We want to centre here agencies to make life better. We want allsorts of industries; we want a little hospital with a resident physicianand two or three nurses; we want a cooperative store for buyingsupplies; we want a cotton-gin and saw-mill, and in the future otherthings. This land here, as I have said, is the richest around. We wantto keep this hundred acres for the public good, and not sell it. We aregoing to deed it to a board of trustees, and those trustees are to bechosen from the ones who buy the small farms. "

"Who's going to get what's made on this land?" asked Sanders. 

"All of us. It is going first to pay for the land, then to support theHome and the School, and then to furnish capital for industries. "

Johnson snickered. "You mean youse gwine to git yo' livin' off it?"

"Yes, " answered Alwyn; "but I'm going to work for it. "

"Who's gwine--" began Simpson, but stopped helplessly. 

"Who's going to tend this land?" asked the practical Carter. 

"All of us. Each man is going to promise us so many days' work a year, and we're going to ask others to help--the women and girls and schoolchildren--they will all help. "

"Can you put trust in that sort of help?"

"We can when once the community learns that it pays. "

"Does you own the land?" asked Johnson suddenly. 

"No; we're buying it, and it's part paid for already. "

The discussion became general. Zora moved about among the men whisperingand explaining; while Johnson moved, too, objecting and hinting. At lasthe arose. 

"Brethren, " he began, "the plan's good enough for talkin' but you can'twork it; who ever heer'd tell of such a thing? First place, the landain't yours; second place, you can't get it worked; third place, whitefolks won't 'low it. Who ever heer'd of such working land on shares?"

"You do it for white folks each day, why not for yourselves, " Alwynpointed out. 

"'Cause we ain't white, and we can't do nothin' like that. "

Tylor was asleep and snoring and the others looked doubtfully at eachother. It was a proposal a little too daring for them, a bit too farbeyond their experience. One consideration alone kept them fromshrinking away and that was Zora's influence. Not a man was there whomshe had not helped and encouraged nor who had not perfect faith in her;in her impetuous hope, her deep enthusiasm, and her strong will. Evenher defects--the hard-held temper, the deeply rooted dislikes--caughttheir imagination. 

Finally, after several other meetings five men took courage--three ofthe best and two of the weakest. During the Spring long negotiationswere entered into by Miss Smith to "buy" the five men. Colonel Cresswelland Mr. Tolliver had them all charged with large sums of indebtednessand these sums had to be assumed by the school. As Colonel Cresswellcounted over two thousand dollars of school notes and deposited thembeside the mortgage he smiled grimly for he saw the end. Yet, even thenhis hand trembled and that curious doubt came creeping back. He put itaside angrily and glanced up. 

"Nigger wants to talk with you, " announced his clerk. 

The Colonel sauntered out and found Bles Alwyn waiting. 

"Colonel Cresswell, " he said, "I have charge of the buying for theschool and our tenants this year and I naturally want to do the bestpossible. I thought I'd come over and see about getting my supplies atyour store. "

"That's all right; you can get anything you want, " said ColonelCresswell cheerily, for this to his mind was evidence of sense on thepart of the Negroes. Bles showed his list of needed supplies--seeds, meat, corn-meal, coffee, sugar, etc. The Colonel glanced over itcarelessly, then moved away. 

"All right. Come and get what you want--any time, " he called back. 

"But about the prices, " said Alwyn, following him. 

"Oh, they'll be all right. "

"Of course. But what I want is an estimate of your lowest cash prices. "

"Cash?"

"Yes, sir. "

Cresswell thought a while; such a business-like proposition from Negroessurprised him. 

"Well, I'll let you know, " he said. 

It was nearly a week later before Alwyn approached him again. 

"Now, see here, " said Colonel Cresswell, "there's practically nodifference between cash and time prices. We buy our stock on time andyou can just as well take advantage of this as not. I have figured outabout what these things will cost. The best thing for you to do is tomake a deposit here and get things when you want them. If you make agood deposit I'll throw off ten per cent, which is all of my profit. "

"Thank you, " said Alwyn, but he looked over the account and found thewhole bill at least twice as large as he expected. Without furtherparley, he made some excuse and started to town while Mr. Cresswell wentto the telephone. 

In town Alwyn went to all the chief merchants one after another andreceived to his great surprise practically the same estimate. He couldnot understand it. He had estimated the current market prices accordingto the Montgomery paper, yet the prices in Toomsville were fifty to ahundred and fifty per cent higher. The merchant to whom he went last, laughed. 

"Don't you know we're not going to interfere with Colonel Cresswell'stenants?" He stated the dealers' attitude, and Alwyn saw light. He wenthome and told Zora, and she listened without surprise. 

"Now to business, " she said briskly. "Miss Smith, " turning to theteacher, "as I told you, they're combined against us in town and we mustbuy in Montgomery. I was sure it was coming, but I wanted to giveColonel Cresswell every chance. Bles starts for Montgomery--"

Alwyn looked up. "Does he?" he asked, smiling. 

"Yes, " said Zora, smiling in turn. "We must lose no further time. "

"But there's no train from Toomsville tonight. "

"But there's one from Barton in the morning and Barton is only twentymiles away. "

"It is a long walk. " Alwyn thought a while, silently. Then he rose. "I'mgoing, " he said. "Good-bye. "

In less than a week the storehouse was full, and tenants were at work. The twenty acres of cleared swamp land, attended to by the voluntarylabor of all the tenants, was soon bearing a magnificent crop. ColonelCresswell inspected all the crops daily with a proprietary air thatwould have been natural had these folk been simply tenants, and as suchhe persisted in regarding them. 

The cotton now growing was perhaps not so uniformly fine as the firstacre of Silver Fleece, but it was of unusual height and thickness. 

"At least a bale to the acre, " Alwyn estimated, and the Colonel mentallydetermined to take two-thirds of the crop. After that he decided that hewould evict Zora immediately; since sufficient land was cleared alreadyfor his purposes and moreover, he had seen with consternation a herd ofcattle grazing in one field on some early green stuff, and heard a droveof hogs in the swamp. Such an example before the tenants of the BlackBelt would be fatal. He must wait a few weeks for them to pick thecotton--then, the end. He was fighting the battle of his color andcaste. 

The children sang merrily in the brown-white field. The wide baskets, poised aloft, foamed on the erect and swaying bodies of the darkcarriers. The crop throughout the land was short that year, for priceshad ruled low last season in accordance with the policy of the Combine. This year they started high again. Would they fall? Many thought so andhastened to sell. 

Zora and Alwyn gathered their tenants' crops, ginned them at theCresswells' gin, and carried their cotton to town, where it wasdeposited in the warehouse of the Farmers' League. 

"Now, " said Alwyn, "we would best sell while prices are high. "

Zora laughed at him frankly. 

"We can't, " she said. "Don't you know that Colonel Cresswell will attachour cotton for rent as soon as it touches the warehouse?"

"But it's ours. "

"Nothing is ours. No black man ordinarily can sell his crop without awhite creditor's consent. "

Alwyn fumed. 

"The best way, " he declared, "is to go to Montgomery and get afirst-class lawyer and just fight the thing through. The land is legallyours, and he has no right to our cotton. "

"Yes, but you must remember that no man like Colonel Cresswell regards abusiness bargain with a colored man as binding. No white man underordinary circumstances will help enforce such a bargain againstprevailing public opinion. "

"But if we cannot trust to the justice of the case, and if you knew wecouldn't, why did you try?"

"Because I had to try; and moreover the circumstances are not altogetherordinary: the men in power in Toomsville now are not the landlords ofthis county; they are poor whites. The Judge and sheriff were bothelected by mill-hands who hate Cresswell and Taylor. Then there's a newyoung lawyer who wants Harry Cresswell's seat in Congress; he don't knowmuch law, I'm afraid; but what he don't know of this case I think I do. I'll get his advice and then--I mean to conduct the case myself, " Zoracalmly concluded. 

"Without a lawyer!" Bles Alwyn stared his amazement. 

"Without a lawyer in court. "

"Zora! That would be foolish!"

"Is it? Let's think. For over a year now I've been studying the law ofthe case, " and she pointed to her law books; "I know the law and most ofthe decisions. Moreover, as a black woman fighting a hopeless battlewith landlords, I'll gain the one thing lacking. "

"What's that?"

"The sympathy of the court and the bystanders. "

"Pshaw! From these Southerners?"

"Yes, from them. They are very human, these men, especially thelaborers. Their prejudices are cruel enough, but there are joints intheir armor. They are used to seeing us either scared or blindly angry, and they understand how to handle us then, but at other times it is hardfor them to do anything but meet us in a human way. "

"But, Zora, think of the contact of the court, the humiliation, thecoarse talk--"

Zora put up her hand and lightly touched his arm. Looking at him, shesaid:

"Mud doesn't hurt much. This is my duty. Let me do it. "

His eyes fell before the shadow of a deeper rebuke. He arose heavily. 

"Very well, " he acquiesced as he passed slowly out. 

The young lawyer started to refuse to touch the case until he saw--ordid Zora adroitly make him see?--a chance for eventual politicalcapital. They went over the matter carefully, and the lawyer acquired arespect for the young woman's knowledge. 

"First, " he said, "get an injunction on the cotton--then go to court. "And to insure the matter he slipped over and saw the Judge. 

Colonel Cresswell next day stalked angrily into his lawyers' office. 

"See here, " he thundered, handing the lawyer the notice of theinjunction. 

"See the Judge, " began the lawyer, and then remembered, as he was oftenforced to do these days, who was Judge. 

He inquired carefully into the case and examined the papers. Then hesaid:

"Colonel Cresswell, who drew this contract of sale?"

"The black girl did. "

"Impossible!"

"She certainly did--wrote it in my presence. "

"Well, it's mighty well done. "

"You mean it will stand in law?"

"It certainly will. There's but one way to break it, and that's toallege misunderstanding on your part. "

Cresswell winced. It was not pleasant to go into open court andacknowledge himself over-reached by a Negro; but several thousanddollars in cotton and land were at stake. 

"Go ahead, " he concurred. 

"You can depend on Taylor, of course?" added the lawyer. 

"Of course, " answered Cresswell. "But why prolong the thing?"

"You see, she's got your cotton tied by injunction. "

"I don't see how she did it. "

"Easy enough: this Judge is the poor white you opposed in the lastprimary. "

Within a week the case was called, and they filed into the courtroom. Cresswell's lawyer saw only this black woman--no other lawyer or sign ofone appeared to represent her. The place soon filled with a lazy, tobacco-chewing throng of white men. A few blacks whispered in onecorner. The dirty stove was glowing with pine-wood and the Judge sat ata desk. 

"Where's your lawyer?" he asked sharply of Zora. 

"I have none, " returned Zora, rising. 

There came a silence in the court. Her voice was low, and the men leanedforward to listen. The Judge felt impelled to be over-gruff. 

"Get a lawyer, " he ordered. 

"Your honor, my case is simple, and with your honor's permission I wishto conduct it myself. I cannot afford a lawyer, and I do not think Ineed one. "

Cresswell's lawyer smiled and leaned back. It was going to be easierthan he supposed. Evidently the woman believed she had no case, and wasweakening. 

The trial proceeded, and Zora stated her contention. She told how longher mother and grandmother had served the Cresswells and showed herreceipt for rent paid. 

"A friend sent me some money. I went to Mr. Cresswell and asked him tosell me two hundred acres of land. He consented to do so and signed thiscontract in the presence of his son-in-law. "

Just then John Taylor came into the court, and Cresswell beckoned tohim. 

"I want you to help me out, John. "

"All right, " whispered Taylor. "What can I do?"

"Swear that Cresswell didn't mean to sign this, " said the lawyerquickly, as he arose to address the court. 

Taylor looked at the paper blankly and then at Cresswell and someinkling of the irreconcilable difference in the two natures leapt inboth their hearts. Cresswell might gamble and drink and lie "like agentleman, " but he would never willingly cheat or take advantage of awhite man's financial necessities. Taylor, on the other hand, had ahorror of a lie, never drank nor played games of chance, but his wholelife was speculation and in the business game he was utterly ruthlessand respected no one. Such men could never thoroughly understand eachother. To Cresswell a man who had cheated the whole South out ofmillions by a series of misrepresentations ought to regard this littlefalsehood as nothing. 

Meantime Colonel Cresswell's lawyer was on his feet, and he adopted hismost irritating and contemptuous manner. 

"This nigger wench wrote out some illegible stuff and Colonel Cresswellsigned it to get rid of her. We are not going to question the legalityof the form--that's neither here nor there. The point is, Mr. Cresswellnever intended--never dreamed of selling this wench land right in frontof his door. He meant to rent her the land and sign a receipt for rentpaid in advance. I will not worry your honor by a long argument toprove this, but just call one of the witnesses well known to you--Mr. John Taylor of the Toomsville mills. "

Taylor looked toward the door and then slowly took the stand. 

"Mr. Taylor, " said the lawyer carelessly, "were you present at thistransaction?"

"Yes. "

"Did you see Colonel Cresswell sign this paper?"

"Yes. "

"Well, did he intend so far as you know to sign such a paper?"

"I do not know his intentions. "

"Did he say he meant to sign such a contract?"

Taylor hesitated. 

"Yes, " he finally answered. Colonel Cresswell looked up in amazement andthe lawyer dropped his glasses. 

"I--I don't think you perhaps understood me, Mr. Taylor, " he gasped. "I--er--meant to ask if Colonel Cresswell, in signing this paper, meantto sign a contract to sell this wench two hundred acres of land?"

"He said he did, " reiterated Taylor. "Although I ought to add that hedid not think the girl would ever be able to pay. If he had thought shewould pay, I don't think he would have signed the paper. "

Colonel Cresswell went red, than pale, and leaning forward before thewhole court, he hurled:

"You damned scoundrel!"

The Judge rapped for order and fidgeted in his seat. There was someconfusion and snickering in the courtroom. Finally the Judge plucked upcourage:

"The defendant is ordered to deliver this cotton to Zora Cresswell, " hedirected. 

The raging of Colonel Cresswell's anger now turned against John Tayloras well as the Negroes. Wind of the estrangement flew over town quickly. The poor whites saw a chance to win Taylor's influence and the sheriffapproached him cautiously. Taylor paid him slight courtesy. He wasirritated with this devilish Negro problem; he was making money; hiswife and babies were enjoying life, and here was this fool trial toupset matters. But the sheriff talked. 

"The thing I'm afraid of, " he said, "is that Cresswell and his gang willswing in the niggers on us. "

"How do you mean?"

"Let 'em vote. "

"But they'd have to read and write. "

"Sure!"

"Well, then, " said Taylor, "it might be a good thing. "

Colton eyed him suspiciously. 

"You'd let a nigger vote?"

"Why, yes, if he had sense enough. "

"There ain't no nigger got sense. "

"Oh, pshaw!" Taylor ejaculated, walking away. 

The sheriff was angry and mistrustful. He believed he had discovered adeep-laid scheme of the aristocrats to cultivate friendliness betweenwhites and blacks, and then use black voters to crush the whites. Such acourse was, in Colton's mind, dangerous, monstrous, and unnatural; itmust be stopped at all hazards. He began to whisper among his friends. One or two meetings were held, and the flame of racial prejudice wasstudiously fanned. 

The atmosphere of the town and country quickly began to change. Whateverlittle beginnings of friendship and understanding had arisen now quicklydisappeared. The town of a Saturday no longer belonged to a happy, careless crowd of black peasants, but the black folk found themselveselbowed to the gutter, while ugly quarrels flashed here and there with aquick arrest of the Negroes. 

Colonel Cresswell made a sudden resolve. He sent for the sheriff andreceived him at the Oaks, in his most respectable style, filling himwith good food, and warming him with good liquor. 

"Colton, " he asked, "are you sending any of your white children to thenigger school yet?"

"What!" yelled Colton. 

The Colonel laughed, frankly telling Colton John Taylor's philosophy onthe race problem, --his willingness to let Negroes vote; his threat tolet blacks and whites work together; his contempt for the officialselected by the people. 

"Candidly, Colton, " he concluded, "I believe in aristocracy. I can'tthink it right or wise to replace the old aristocracy by new and untriedblood. " And in a sudden outburst--"But, by God, sir! I'm a white man, and I place the lowest white man ever created above the highest darkeyever thought of. This Yankee, Taylor, is a nigger-lover. He's secretlyencouraging and helping them. You saw what he did to me, and I'm warningyou in time. "

Colton's glass dropped. 

"I thought it was you that was corralling the niggers against us, " heexclaimed. 

The Colonel reddened. "I don't count all white men my equals, I admit, "he returned with dignity, "but I know the difference between a white manand a nigger. "

Colton stretched out his massive hand. "Put it there, sir, " said he; "Imisjudged you, Colonel Cresswell. I'm a Southerner, and I honor the oldaristocracy you represent. I'm going to join with you to crush thisYankee and put the niggers in their places. They are getting impudentaround here; they need a lesson and, by gad! they'll get one they'llremember. "

"Now, see here, Colton, --nothing rash, " the Colonel charged him, warningly. "Don't stir up needless trouble; but--well, things mustchange. "

Colton rose and shook his head. 

"The niggers need a lesson, " he muttered as he unsteadily bade his hostgood-bye. Cresswell watched him uncomfortably as he rode away, andagain a feeling of doubt stirred within him. What new force was heloosening against his black folk--his own black folk, who had livedabout him and his fathers nigh three hundred years? He saw the huge formof the sheriff loom like an evil spirit a moment on the rise of the roadand sink into the night. He turned slowly to his cheerless houseshuddering as he entered the uninviting portals. 

_Thirty-seven_

THE MOB

When Emma, Bertie's child, came home after a two years' course of study, she had passed from girlhood to young womanhood. She was white, andsandy-haired. She was not beautiful, and she appeared to be fragile; butshe also looked sweet and good, with that peculiar innocence which peersout upon the world with calm, round eyes and sees no evil, but doesmethodically its simple, everyday work. Zora mothered her, Miss Smithfound her plenty to do, and Bles thought her a good girl. But Mrs. Cresswell found her perfect, and began to scheme to marry her off. ForMary Cresswell, with the restlessness and unhappiness of an unemployedwoman, was trying to atone for her former blunders. 

Her humiliation after the episode at Cresswell Oaks had been complete. It seemed to her that the original cause of her whole life punishmentlay in her persistent misunderstanding of the black people and theirproblem. Zora appeared to her in a new and glorified light--a vigorous, self-sacrificing woman. She knew that Zora had refused to marry Bles, and this again seemed fitting. Zora was not meant for marrying; she wasa born leader, wedded to a great cause; she had long outgrown the boyand girl affection. She was the sort of woman she herself might havebeen if she had not married. 

Alwyn, on the other hand, needed a wife; he was a great, virile boy, requiring a simple, affectionate mate. No sooner did she see Emma thanshe was sure that this was the ideal wife. She compared herself withHelen Cresswell. Helen was a contented wife and mother because she wasfitted for the position, and happy in it; while she who had aimed sohigh had fallen piteously. From such a fate she would save Zora andBles. 

Emma's course in nurse-training had been simple and short and there wasno resident physician; but Emma, in her unemotional way, was a bornnurse and did much good among the sick in the neighborhood. Zora had asmall log hospital erected with four white beds, a private room, and anoffice which was also Emma's bedroom. The new white physician in town, just fresh from school in Atlanta, became interested and helped withadvice and suggestions. 

Meantime John Taylor's troubles began to increase. Under the oldpolitical regime it had been an easy matter to avoid seriousdamage-suits for the accidents in the mill. Much child labor and thelack of protective devices made accidents painfully frequent. Taylorinsisted that the chief cause was carelessness, while the mill handsalleged criminal neglect on his part. When the new labor officials tookcharge of the court and the break occurred between Colonel Cresswell andhis son-in-law, Taylor found that several damage-suits were likely tocost him a considerable sum. 

He determined not to let the bad feelings go too far, and when aparticularly distressing accident to a little girl took place, he showedmore than his usual interest and offered to care for her. The new youngphysician recommended Zora's infirmary as the only near place thatoffered a chance for the child's recovery. 

"Take her out, " Taylor promptly directed. 

Zora was troubled when the child came. She knew the suspicious temper ofthe town whites. The very next day Taylor sent out a second case, achild who had been hurt some time before and was not recovering as sheshould. Under the care of the little hospital and the gentle nurse thechildren improved rapidly, and in two weeks were outdoors, playing withthe little black children and even creeping into classrooms andlistening. The grateful mothers came out twice a week at least; at firstwith suspicious aloofness, but gradually melting under Zora's tact untilthey sat and talked with her and told their troubles and struggles. Zorarealized how human they were, and how like their problems were to hers. They and their children grew to love this busy, thoughtful woman, andZora's fears were quieted. 

The catastrophe came suddenly. The sheriff rode by, scowling and huntingfor some poor black runaway, when he saw white children in the Negroschool and white women, whom he knew were mill-hands, looking on. He wasblack with anger; turning he galloped back to town. A few hours laterthe young physician arrived hastily in a cab to take the women andchildren to town. He said something in a low tone to Zora and droveaway, frowning. 

Zora came quickly to the school and asked for Alwyn. He was in the barnand she hurried there. 

"Bles, " she said quietly, "it is reported that a Toomsville mob willburn the school tonight. "

Bles stood motionless. 

"I've been fearing it. The sheriff has been stirring up the worstelements in the town lately and the mills pay off tonight. "

"Well, " she said quietly, "we must prepare. "

He looked at her, his face aglow with admiration. 

"You wonder-woman!" he exclaimed softly. 

A moment they regarded each other. She saw the love in his eyes, and hesaw rising in hers something that made his heart bound. But she turnedquickly away. 

"You must hurry, Bles; lives are at stake. " And in another moment hethundered out of the barn on the black mare. 

Along the pike he flew and up the plantation roads. Across broad fieldsand back again, over to the Barton pike and along the swamp. At everycabin he whispered a word, and left behind him grey faces and whisperingchildren. 

His horse was reeking with sweat as he staggered again into theschool-yard; but already the people were gathering, with frightened, anxious, desperate faces. Women with bundles and children, men withguns, tottering old folks, wide-eyed boys and girls. Up from the swampland came the children crying and moaning. The sun was setting. Thewomen and children hurried into the school building, closing the doorsand windows. A moment Alwyn stood without and looked back. The world waspeaceful. He could hear the whistle of birds and the sobbing of thebreeze in the shadowing oaks. The sky was flashing to dull and purplishblue, and over all lay the twilight hush as though God did not care. 

He threw back his head and clenched his hands. His soul groaned withinhim. "Heavenly Father, was man ever before set to such a task?" Fight?God! if he could but fight! If he could but let go the elementalpassions that were leaping and gathering and burning in the eyes ofyonder caged and desperate black men. But his hands were tied--manacled. One desperate struggle, a whirl of blood, and the whole world would riseto crush him and his people. The white operatore in yonder town had butto flash the news, "Negroes killing whites, " to bring all the country, all the State, all the nation, to red vengeance. It mattered not whatthe provocation, what the desperate cause. 

The door suddenly opened behind him and he wheeled around. 

"Zora!" he whispered. 

"Bles, " she answered softly, and they went silently in to their people. 

All at once, from floor to roof, the whole school-house was lighted up, save a dark window here and there. Then some one slipped out into thedarkness and soon watch-fire after watch-fire flickered and flamed inthe night, and then burned vividly, sending up sparks and black smoke. Thus ringed with flaming silence, the school lay at the edge of thegreat, black swamp and waited. Owls hooted in the forest. Afar theshriek of the Montgomery train was heard across the night, mingling withthe wail of a wakeful babe; and then redoubled silence. The men becamerestless, and Johnson began to edge away toward the lower hall. Alwynwas watching him when a faint noise came to him on the eastern breeze--alow, rumbling murmur. It died away, and rose again; then a distantgun-shot woke the echoes. 

"They're coming!" he cried. Standing back in the shadow of a frontwindow, he waited. Slowly, intermittently, the murmuring swelled, tillit grew distinguishable as yelling, cursing, and singing, intermingledwith the crash of pistol-shots. Far away a flame, as of a burning cabin, arose, and a wilder, louder yell greeted it. Now the tramp of footstepscould be heard, and clearer and thicker the grating and booming ofvoices, until suddenly, far up the pike, a black moving mass, withglitter and shout, swept into view. They came headlong, guided bypine-torches, which threw their white and haggard faces into wilddistortion. Then as bonfire after bonfire met their gaze, they movedslowly and more slowly, and at last sent a volley of bullets at thefires. One bullet flew high and sang through a lighted window. Without aword, Uncle Isaac sank upon the floor and lay still. Silence and renewedmurmuring ensued, and the sound of high voices in dispute. Then the massdivided into two wings and slowly encircled the fence of fire; startingnoisily and confidently, and then going more slowly, quietly, warily, asthe silence of the flame began to tell on their heated nerves. 

Strained whispers arose. 

"Careful there!"

"Go on, damn ye!"

"There's some one by yon fire. "

"No, there ain't. "

"See the bushes move. "

_Bang! bang! bang!_

"Who's that?"

"It's me. "

"Let's rush through and fire the house. "

"And leave a pa'cel of niggers behind to shoot your lights out? Not me. "

"What the hell are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet. "

"I wish I could see a nigger. "

_"Hark!"_

Stealthy steps were approaching, a glint of steel flashed behind thefire lights. Each band mistook the other for the armed Negroes, and theleaders yelled in vain; human power can not stay the dashing torrent offear-inspired human panic. Whirling, the mob fled till it struck theroad in two confused, surging masses. Then in quick frenzy, shots flew;three men threw up their hands and tumbled limply in the dust, while themain body rushed pellmell toward town. 

At early dawn, when the men relaxed from the strain of the night'svigil, Alwyn briefly counselled them: "Hide your guns. "

"Why?" blustered Rob. "Haven't I a right to have a gun?"

"Yes, you have, Rob; but don't be foolish--hide it. We've not heard thelast of this. "

But Rob tossed his head belligerently. 

In town, rumor spread like wildfire. A body of peaceful whites passingthrough the black settlement had been fired on from ambush, and sixkilled--no, three killed--no, one killed and two severely wounded. 

"The thing mustn't stop here, " shouted Sheriff Colton; "these niggersmust have a lesson. " And before nine next morning fully half the grownmembers of the same mob, now sworn in as deputies, rode with him tosearch the settlement. They tramped insolently through the schoolgrounds, but there was no shred of evidence until they came to Rob'scabin and found his gun. They tied his hands behind him and marched himtoward town. 

But before the mob arrived the night before, Johnson feeling that hissafety lay in informing the white folks, had crawled with his gun intothe swamp. In the morning he peered out as the cavalcade approached, andnot knowing what had happened, he recognized Colton, the sheriff, andsignalled to him cautiously. In a moment a dozen men were on him, and heappealed and explained in vain--the gun was damning evidence. The voicesof Rob's wife and children could be heard behind the two men as theywere hurried along at a dog trot. 

The town poured out to greet them--"The murderers! the murderers! Killthe niggers!" and they came on with a rush. The sheriff turned anddisappeared in the rear. There was a great cloud of dust, a cry and awild scramble, as the white and angry faces of men and boys gleamed amoment and faded. 

A hundred or more shots rang out; then slowly and silently, the mass ofwomen and men were sucked into the streets of the town, leaving butblack eddies on the corners to throw backward glances toward the bare, towering pine where swung two red and awful things. The pale boy-face ofone, with soft brown eyes glared up sightless to the sun; the dead, leathered bronze of the other was carved in piteous terror. 

_Thirty-eight_

ATONEMENT

Three months had flown. It was Spring again, and Zora sat in thetransformed swamp--now a swamp in name only--beneath the great oak, dreaming. And what she dreamed there in the golden day she dared notformulate even to her own soul. She rose with a start, for there waswork to do. Aunt Rachel was ill, and Emma went daily to attend her;today, as she came back, she brought news that Colonel Cresswell, whohad been unwell for several days, was worse. She must send Emma up tohelp, and as she started toward the school she glanced toward theCresswell Oaks and saw the arm-chair of its master on the pillaredporch. 

Colonel Cresswell sat in his chair on the porch, alone. As far as hecould see, there was no human soul. His eyes were blood-shot, his cheekssunken, and his breath came in painful gasps. A sort of terror shookhim until he heard the distant songs of black folk in the fields. Hesighed, and lying back, closed his eyes and the breath came easier. Whenhe opened them again a white figure was coming up the avenue of theOaks. He watched it greedily. It was Mary Cresswell, and she startedwhen she saw him. 

"You are worse, father?" she asked. 

"Worse and better, " he replied, smiling cynically. Then suddenly heannounced: "I've made my will. "

"Why--why--" she stammered. 

"Why?" sharply. "Because I'm going to die. "

She said nothing. He smiled and continued:

"I've got it all fixed. Harry was in a tight place--gambling asusual--and I gave him a lump sum in lieu of all claims. Then I gave JohnTaylor--you needn't look. I sent for him. He's a damned scoundrel; buthe won't lie, and I needed him. I willed his children all the restexcept two or three legacies. One was one hundred thousand dollars foryou--"

"Oh, father!" she cried. "I don't deserve it. "

"I reckon two years with Harry was worth about that much, " he returnedgrimly. "Then there's another gift of two hundred thousand dollars andthis house and plantation. Whom do you think that's for?"

"Helen?"

"Helen!" he raised his hand in threatening anger. "I might rot here forall she cares. No--no--but then--I'll not tell you--I--ah--" A spasm ofpain shot across his face, and he lay back white and still. Abruptly hesat up again and peered down the oaks. "Hush!" he gasped. "Who's that?"

"I don't know--it's a girl--I--"

He gripped her till she winced. 

"My God--it walks--like my wife--I tell you--she held her head so--whois it?" He half rose. 

"Oh, father, it's nobody but Emma--little Emma--Bertie's child--themulatto girl. She's a nurse now, and I asked to have her come and attendyou. "

"Oh, " he said, "oh--" He looked at the girl curiously. "Come here. " Hepeered into her white young face. "Do you know me?"

The girl shrank away from him. 

"Yes, sir. "

"What do you do?"

"I teach and nurse at the school. "

"Good! Well, I'm going to give you some money--do you know why?"

A flash of self-consciousness passed over the girl's face; she looked athim with her wide blue eyes. 

"Yes, Grandfather, " she faltered. 

Mrs. Cresswell rose to her feet; but the old man slowly dropped thegirl's hand and lay back in his chair, with lips half smiling. "Grandfather, " he repeated softly. He closed his eyes a space and thenopened them. A tremor shivered in his limbs as he stared darkly at theswamp. 

"Hark!" he cried harshly. "Do you hear the bodies creaking on the limbs?It's Rob and Johnson. I did it--I--"

Suddenly he rose and stood erect and his wild eyes stricken with deathstared full upon Emma. Slowly and thickly he spoke, working histrembling hands. 

"Nell--Nell! Is it you, little wife, come back to accuse me? Ah, Nell, don't shrink! I know--I have sinned against the light and the blood ofyour poor black people is red on these old hands. No, don't put yourclean white hands upon me, Nell, till I wash mine. I'll do it, Nell;I'll atone. I'm a Cresswell yet, Nell, a Cresswell and a gen--" Heswayed. Vainly he struggled for the word. The shudder of death shook hissoul, and he passed. 

A week after the funeral of Colonel Cresswell, John Taylor drove out tothe school and was closeted with Miss Smith. His sister, installed onceagain for a few days in her old room at the school, understood that hewas conferring about Emma's legacy, and she was glad. She was more andmore convinced that the marriage of Emma and Bles was the best possiblesolution of many difficulties. She had asked Emma once if she likedBles, and Emma had replied in her innocent way, "Oh, so much. "

As for Bles, he was often saying what a dear child Emma was. Neitherperhaps realized yet that this was love, but it needed, Mrs. Cresswellwas sure, only the lightning-flash, and they would know. And who couldfurnish that illumination better than Zora, the calm, methodical Zora, who knew them so well?

As for herself, once she had accomplished the marriage and paid themortgage on the school out of her legacy, she would go abroad and intravel seek forgetfulness and healing. There had been no formal divorce, and so far as she was concerned there never would be; but the separationfrom her husband and America would be forever. 

Her brother came out of the office, nodded casually, for they had littleintercourse these days, and rode away. She rushed in to Miss Smith andfound her sitting there--straight, upright, composed in all save thatthe tears were streaming down her face and she was making no effort tostop them. 

"Why--Miss Smith!" she faltered. 

Miss Smith pointed to a paper. Mrs. Cresswell picked it up curiously. Itwas an official notification to the trustees of the Smith School of alegacy of two hundred thousand dollars together with the Cresswell houseand plantation. Mrs. Gresswell sat down in open-mouthed astonishment. Twice she tried to speak, but there were so many things to say that shecould not choose. 

"Tell Zora, " Miss Smith at last managed to say. 

Zora was dreaming again. Somehow, the old dream-life, with its gloriousphantasies, had come silently back, richer and sweeter than ever. Therewas no tangible reason why, and yet today she had shut herself in herden. Searching down in the depths of her trunk, she drew forth thatfilmy cloud of white--silk-bordered and half finished to a gown. Whywere her eyes wet today and her mind on the Silver Fleece? It was ananniversary, and perhaps she still remembered that moment, that suprememoment before the mob. She half slipped on, half wound about her, thewhite cloud of cloth, standing with parted lips, looking into the longmirror and gleaming in the fading day like midnight gowned in mists andstars. Abruptly there came a peremptory knocking at the door. 

"Zora! Zora!" sounded Mrs. Cresswell's voice. Forgetting her informalattire, she opened the door, fearing some mishap. Mrs. Cresswell pouredout the news. Zora received it in such motionless silence that Marywondered at her want of feeling. At last, however, she said happily toZora:

"Well, the battle's over, isn't it?"

"No, it's just begun. "

"Just begun?" echoed Mary in amazement. 

"Think of the servile black folk, the half awakened restless whites, thefat land waiting for the harvest, the masses panting to know--why, thebattle is scarcely even begun. "

"Yes, I guess that's so, " Mary began to comprehend. "We'll thank God ithas begun, though. "

"Thank God!" Zora reverently repeated. 

"Come, let's go back to poor, dear Miss Smith, " suggested Mary. 

"I can't come just now--but pretty soon. "

"Why? Oh, I see; you're trying on something--how pretty and becoming!Well, hurry. "

As they stood together, the white woman deemed the moment opportune; sheslipped her arm about the black woman's waist and began:

"Zora, I've had something on my mind for a long time, and I shouldn'twonder if you had thought of the same thing. "

"What is it?"

"Bles and Emma. "

"What of them?"

"Their liking for each other. "

Zora bent a moment and caught up the folds of the Fleece. 

"I hadn't noticed it, " she said in a low voice. 

"Well, you're busy, you see. They've been very much together--his takingher to her charges, bringing her back, and all that. I know they loveeach other; yet something holds them apart, afraid to show their love. Do you know--I've wondered if--quite unconciously, it is you? You knowBles used to imagine himself in love with you, just as he did afterwardwith Miss Wynn. "

"Miss--Wynn?"

"Yes, the Washington girl. But he got over that and you straightened himout finally. Still, Emma probably thinks yours is the prior claim, knowing, of course, nothing of facts. And Bles knows she thinks of himand you, and I'm convinced if you say the word, they'd love and marry. "

Zora walked silently with her to the door, where, looking out, she sawBles and Emma coming from Aunt Rachel's. He was helping her from thecarriage with smiling eyes, and her innocent blue eyes were fastened onhim. 

Zora looked long and searchingly. 

"Please run and tell them of the legacy, " she begged. "I--I willcome--in a moment. " And Mrs. Cresswell hurried out. 

Zora turned back steadily to her room, and locked herself in. After all, why shouldn't it be? Why had it not occurred to her before in herblindness? If she had wanted him--and ah, God! was not all her lifesimply the want of him?--why had she not bound him to her when he hadoffered himself? Why had she not bound him to her? She knew as sheasked--because she had wanted all, not a part--everything, love, respectand perfect faith--not one thing could she spare then--not one thing. And now, oh, God! she had dreamed that it was all hers, since that nightof death and circling flame when they looked at each other soul to soul. But he had not meant anything. It was pity she had seen there, not love;and she rose and walked the room slowly, fast and faster. 

With trembling hands she drew the Silver Fleece round her. Her head swamagain and the blood flashed in her eyes. She heard a calling in theswamp, and the shadow of Elspeth seemed to hover over her, claiming herfor her own, dragging her down, down. . . . She rushed through the swamp. The lagoon lay there before her presently, gleaming in thedarkness--cold and still, and in it swam an awful shape. 

She held her burning head--was not everything plain? Was not everythingclear? This was Sacrifice! This was the Atonement for the unforgivensin. Emma's was the pure soul which she must offer up to God; for it wasGod, a cold and mighty God, who had given it to Bles--her Bles. It waswell; God willed it. But could she live? Must she live? Did God askthat, too?

All at once she stood straight; her whole body grew tense, alert. Sheheard no sound behind her, but knew he was there, and braced herself. She must be true. She must be just. She must pay the uttermost farthing. 

"Bles, " she called faintly, but did not turn her head. 

"Zora!"

"Bles, " she choked, but her voice came stronger, "I know--all. Emma is agood girl. I helped bring her up myself and did all I could for her andshe--she is pure; marry her. "

His voice came slow and firm:

"Emma? But I don't love Emma. I love--some one else. "

Her heart bounded and again was still. It was that Washington girl then. She answered dully, groping for words, for she was tired:

"Who is it?"

"The best woman in all the world, Zora. "

"And is"--she struggled at the word madly--"is she pure?"

"She is more than pure. "

"Then you must marry her, Bles. "

"I am not worthy of her, " he answered, sinking before her. 

Then at last illumination dawned upon her blindness. She stood verystill and lifted up her eyes. The swamp was living, vibrant, tremulous. There where the first long note of night lay shot with burning crimson, burst in sudden radiance the wide beauty of the moon. There pulsed aglory in the air. Her little hands groped and wandered over hisclose-curled hair, and she sobbed, deep voiced:

"Will you--marry me, Bles?"

 L'ENVOI

 Lend me thine ears, O God the Reader, whose Fathers aforetime sent mine down into the land of Egypt, into this House of Bondage. Lay not these words aside for a moment's phantasy, but lift up thine eyes upon the Horror in this land;--the maiming and mocking and murdering of my people, and the prisonment of their souls. Let my people go, O Infinite One, lest the world shudder at

 The End