+--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Inconsistent hyphenation and dialect spelling in the | | original document have been preserved. | | | | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in this | | text. For a complete list, please see the end of document. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

THE COLONEL'S DREAM

A Novel

by

CHARLES W. CHESNUTT

Harlem MoonBroadway BooksNew York

Published in 1905 byDoubleday, New York. 

THE COLONEL'S DREAM

DEDICATION

_To the great number of those who are seeking, in whatever manner ordegree, from near at hand or far away, to bring the forces ofenlightenment to bear upon the vexed problems which harass the South, this volume is inscribed, with the hope that it may contribute to thesame good end. _

_If there be nothing new between its covers, neither is love new, norfaith, nor hope, nor disappointment, nor sorrow. Yet life is not theless worth living because of any of these, nor has any man truly liveduntil he has tasted of them all. _

LIST OF CHARACTERS

_Colonel Henry French_, A RETIRED MERCHANT

_Mr. Kirby_, }_Mrs. Jerviss_, } HIS FORMER PARTNERS

_Philip French_, THE COLONEL'S SON

_Peter French_, HIS OLD SERVANT

_Mrs. Treadwell_, AN OLD LADY

_Miss Laura Treadwell_, HER DAUGHTER

_Graciella Treadwell_, HER GRANDDAUGHTER

_Malcolm Dudley_, A TREASURE-SEEKER

_Ben Dudley_, HIS NEPHEW

_Viney_, HIS HOUSEKEEPER

_William Fetters_, A CONVICT LABOUR CONTRACTOR

_Barclay Fetters_, HIS SON

_Bud Johnson_, A CONVICT LABOURER

_Caroline_, HIS WIFE

_Henry Taylor_, A NEGRO SCHOOLMASTER

_William Nichols_, A MULATTO BARBER

_Haynes_, A CONSTABLE

One

Two gentlemen were seated, one March morning in 189--, in the privateoffice of French and Company, Limited, on lower Broadway. Mr. Kirby, the junior partner--a man of thirty-five, with brown hair andmustache, clean-cut, handsome features, and an alert manner, wassmoking cigarettes almost as fast as he could roll them, and at thesame time watching the electric clock upon the wall and getting up nowand then to stride restlessly back and forth across the room. 

Mr. French, the senior partner, who sat opposite Kirby, was an olderman--a safe guess would have placed him somewhere in the debatableground between forty and fifty; of a good height, as could be seeneven from the seated figure, the upper part of which was held erectwith the unconscious ease which one associates with military training. His closely cropped brown hair had the slightest touch of gray. Thespacious forehead, deep-set gray eyes, and firm chin, scarcelyconcealed by a light beard, marked the thoughtful man of affairs. Hisface indeed might have seemed austere, but for a sensitive mouth, which suggested a reserve of humour and a capacity for deep feeling. Aman of well-balanced character, one would have said, not apt toundertake anything lightly, but sure to go far in whatever he took inhand; quickly responsive to a generous impulse, and capable of arighteous indignation; a good friend, a dangerous enemy; more likelyto be misled by the heart than by the head; of the salt of the earth, which gives it savour. 

Mr. French sat on one side, Mr. Kirby on the other, of a handsome, broad-topped mahogany desk, equipped with telephones and push buttons, and piled with papers, account books and letter files in orderlyarray. In marked contrast to his partner's nervousness, Mr. Frenchscarcely moved a muscle, except now and then to take the cigar fromhis lips and knock the ashes from the end. 

"Nine fifty!" ejaculated Mr. Kirby, comparing the clock with hiswatch. "Only ten minutes more. "

Mr. French nodded mechanically. Outside, in the main office, the sameair of tense expectancy prevailed. For two weeks the office force hadbeen busily at work, preparing inventories and balance sheets. Thefirm of French and Company, Limited, manufacturers of crashes andburlaps and kindred stuffs, with extensive mills in Connecticut, andcentral offices in New York, having for a long time resisted the sirenvoice of the promoter, had finally faced the alternative of sellingout, at a sacrifice, to the recently organised bagging trust, or ofmeeting a disastrous competition. Expecting to yield in the end, theyhad fought for position--with brilliant results. Negotiations for asale, upon terms highly favourable to the firm, had been in progressfor several weeks; and the two partners were awaiting, in theirprivate office, the final word. Should the sale be completed, theywere richer men than they could have hoped to be after ten years moreof business stress and struggle; should it fail, they were heavylosers, for their fight had been expensive. They were in much the sameposition as the player who had staked the bulk of his fortune on thecast of a die. Not meaning to risk so much, they had been drawn intoit; but the game was worth the candle. 

"Nine fifty-five, " said Kirby. "Five minutes more!"

He strode over to the window and looked out. It was snowing, and theMarch wind, blowing straight up Broadway from the bay, swept the whiteflakes northward in long, feathery swirls. Mr. French preserved hisrigid attitude, though a close observer might have wondered whether itwas quite natural, or merely the result of a supreme effort of will. 

Work had been practically suspended in the outer office. The clerkswere also watching the clock. Every one of them knew that the board ofdirectors of the bagging trust was in session, and that at ten o'clockit was to report the result of its action on the proposition of Frenchand Company, Limited. The clerks were not especially cheerful; theimpending change meant for them, at best, a change of masters, and formany of them, the loss of employment. The firm, for relinquishing itsbusiness and good will, would receive liberal compensation; theclerks, for their skill, experience, and prospects of advancement, would receive their discharge. What else could be expected? Theprincipal reason for the trust's existence was economy ofadministration; this was stated, most convincingly, in the prospectus. There was no suggestion, in that model document, that competitionwould be crushed, or that, monopoly once established, labour mustsweat and the public groan in order that a few captains, orchevaliers, of industry, might double their dividends. Mr. French mayhave known it, or guessed it, but he was between the devil and thedeep sea--a victim rather than an accessory--he must take what hecould get, or lose what he had. 

"Nine fifty-nine!"

Kirby, as he breathed rather than spoke the words, threw away hisscarcely lighted cigarette, and gripped the arms of his chairspasmodically. His partner's attitude had not varied by a hair'sbreadth; except for the scarcely perceptible rise and fall of hischest he might have been a wax figure. The pallor of his countenancewould have strengthened the illusion. 

Kirby pushed his chair back and sprung to his feet. The clock markedthe hour, but nothing happened. Kirby was wont to say, thereafter, that the ten minutes that followed were the longest day of his life. But everything must have an end, and their suspense was terminated bya telephone call. Mr. French took down the receiver and placed it tohis ear. 

"It's all right, " he announced, looking toward his partner. "Ourfigures accepted--resolution adopted--settlement to-morrow. Weare----"

The receiver fell upon the table with a crash. Mr. French toppledover, and before Kirby had scarcely realised that something was thematter, had sunk unconscious to the floor, which, fortunately, wasthickly carpeted. 

It was but the work of a moment for Kirby to loosen his partner'scollar, reach into the recesses of a certain drawer in the big desk, draw out a flask of brandy, and pour a small quantity of the burningliquid down the unconscious man's throat. A push on one of theelectric buttons summoned a clerk, with whose aid Mr. French waslifted to a leather-covered couch that stood against the wall. Almostat once the effect of the stimulant was apparent, and he opened hiseyes. 

"I suspect, " he said, with a feeble attempt at a smile, "that I musthave fainted--like a woman--perfectly ridiculous. "

"Perfectly natural, " replied his partner. "You have scarcely slept fortwo weeks--between the business and Phil--and you've reached the endof your string. But it's all over now, except the shouting, and youcan sleep a week if you like. You'd better go right up home. I'll sendfor a cab, and call Dr. Moffatt, and ask him to be at the hotel by thetime you reach it. I'll take care of things here to-day, and after agood sleep you'll find yourself all right again. "

"Very well, Kirby, " replied Mr. French, "I feel as weak as water, butI'm all here. It might have been much worse. You'll call up Mrs. Jerviss, of course, and let her know about the sale?"

When Mr. French, escorted to the cab by his partner, and accompaniedby a clerk, had left for home, Kirby rang up the doctor, and requestedhim to look after Mr. French immediately. He then called for anothernumber, and after the usual delay, first because the exchange girl wasbusy, and then because the line was busy, found himself incommunication with the lady for whom he had asked. 

"It's all right, Mrs. Jerviss, " he announced without preliminaries. "Our terms accepted, and payment to be made, in cash and bonds, assoon as the papers are executed, when you will be twice as rich as youare to-day. "

"Thank you, Mr. Kirby! And I suppose I shall never have another happymoment until I know what to do with it. Money is a great trial. Ioften envy the poor. "

Kirby smiled grimly. She little knew how near she had been to ruin. The active partners had mercifully shielded her, as far as possible, from the knowledge of their common danger. If the worst happened, shemust know, of course; if not, then, being a woman whom they bothliked--she would be spared needless anxiety. How closely they hadskirted the edge of disaster she did not learn until afterward;indeed, Kirby himself had scarcely appreciated the true situation, andeven the senior partner, since he had not been present at the meetingof the trust managers, could not know what had been in their minds. 

But Kirby's voice gave no hint of these reflections. He laughed acheerful laugh. "If the world only knew, " he rejoined, "it wouldcease to worry about the pains of poverty, and weep for the woes ofwealth. "

"Indeed it would!" she replied, with a seriousness which seemed almostsincere. "Is Mr. French there? I wish to thank him, too. "

"No, he has just gone home. "

"At this hour?" she exclaimed, "and at such a time? What can be thematter? Is Phil worse?"

"No, I think not. Mr. French himself had a bad turn, for a fewminutes, after we learned the news. "

Faces are not yet visible over the telephone, and Kirby could not seethat for a moment the lady's grew white. But when she spoke again thenote of concern in her voice was very evident. 

"It was nothing--serious?"

"Oh, no, not at all, merely overwork, and lack of sleep, and thesuspense--and the reaction. He recovered almost immediately, and oneof the clerks went home with him. "

"Has Dr. Moffatt been notified?" she asked. 

"Yes, I called him up at once; he'll be at the Mercedes by the timethe patient arrives. "

There was a little further conversation on matters of business, andKirby would willingly have prolonged it, but his news about Mr. Frenchhad plainly disturbed the lady's equanimity, and Kirby rang off, afterarranging to call to see her in person after business hours. 

Mr. Kirby hung up the receiver with something of a sigh. 

"A fine woman, " he murmured, "I could envy French his chances, thoughhe doesn't seem to see them--that is, if I were capable of envy towardso fine a fellow and so good a friend. It's curious how clearsighted aman can be in some directions, and how blind in others. "

Mr. French lived at the Mercedes, an uptown apartment hoteloverlooking Central Park. He had scarcely reached his apartment, whenthe doctor arrived--a tall, fair, fat practitioner, and one of thebest in New York; a gentleman as well, and a friend, of Mr. French. 

"My dear fellow, " he said, after a brief examination, "you've beenburning the candle at both ends, which, at your age won't do at all. No, indeed! No, indeed! You've always worked too hard, and you've beenworrying too much about the boy, who'll do very well now, with care. You've got to take a rest--it's all you need. You confess to no badhabits, and show the signs of none; and you have a fine constitution. I'm going to order you and Phil away for three months, to some mildclimate, where you'll be free from business cares and where the boycan grow strong without having to fight a raw Eastern spring. Youmight try the Riviera, but I'm afraid the sea would be too much forPhil just yet; or southern California--but the trip is tiresome. TheSouth is nearer at hand. There's Palm Beach, or Jekyll Island, orThomasville, Asheville, or Aiken--somewhere down in the pine country. It will be just the thing for the boy's lungs, and just the place foryou to rest. Start within a week, if you can get away. In fact, you've_got_ to get away. "

Mr. French was too weak to resist--both body and mind seemed strangelyrelaxed--and there was really no reason why he should not go. His workwas done. Kirby could attend to the formal transfer of the business. He would take a long journey to some pleasant, quiet spot, where heand Phil could sleep, and dream and ride and drive and grow strong, and enjoy themselves. For the moment he felt as though he would nevercare to do any more work, nor would he need to, for he was richenough. He would live for the boy. Phil's education, his health, hishappiness, his establishment in life--these would furnish occupationenough for his well-earned retirement. 

It was a golden moment. He had won a notable victory against greed andcraft and highly trained intelligence. And yet, a year later, he wasto recall this recent past with envy and regret; for in the meantimehe was to fight another battle against the same forces, and othersquite as deeply rooted in human nature. But he was to fight upon a newfield, and with different weapons, and with results which could not beforeseen. 

But no premonition of impending struggle disturbed Mr. French'spleasant reverie; it was broken in a much more agreeable manner by thearrival of a visitor, who was admitted by Judson, Mr. French's man. The visitor was a handsome, clear-eyed, fair-haired woman, of thirtyor thereabouts, accompanied by another and a plainer woman, evidentlya maid or companion. The lady was dressed with the most expensivesimplicity, and her graceful movements were attended by the rustle ofunseen silks. In passing her upon the street, any man under ninetywould have looked at her three times, the first glance instinctivelyrecognising an attractive woman, the second ranking her as a lady;while the third, had there been time and opportunity, would have beenthe long, lingering look of respectful or regretful admiration. 

"How is Mr. French, Judson?" she inquired, without dissembling heranxiety. 

"He's much better, Mrs. Jerviss, thank you, ma'am. "

"I'm very glad to hear it; and how is Phil?"

"Quite bright, ma'am, you'd hardly know that he'd been sick. He'sgaining strength rapidly; he sleeps a great deal; he's asleep now, ma'am. But, won't you step into the library? There's a fire in thegrate, and I'll let Mr. French know you are here. "

But Mr. French, who had overheard part of the colloquy, came forwardfrom an adjoining room, in smoking jacket and slippers. 

"How do you do?" he asked, extending his hand. "It was mighty good ofyou to come to see me. "

"And I'm awfully glad to find you better, " she returned, giving himher slender, gloved hand with impulsive warmth. "I might havetelephoned, but I wanted to see for myself. I felt a part of the blameto be mine, for it is partly for me, you know, that you have beenoverworking. "

"It was all in the game, " he said, "and we have won. But sit down andstay awhile. I know you'll pardon my smoking jacket. We are partners, you know, and I claim an invalid's privilege as well. "

The lady's fine eyes beamed, and her fair cheek flushed with pleasure. Had he only realised it, he might have claimed of her any privilege awoman can properly allow, even that of conducting her to the altar. But to him she was only, thus far, as she had been for a long time, avery good friend of his own and of Phil's; a former partner's widow, who had retained her husband's interest in the business; a wholesome, handsome woman, who was always excellent company and at whose table hehad often eaten, both before and since her husband's death. Nor, despite Kirby's notions, was he entirely ignorant of the lady'spartiality for himself. 

"Doctor Moffatt has ordered Phil and me away, for three months, " hesaid, after Mrs. Jerviss had inquired particularly concerning hishealth and Phil's. 

"Three months!" she exclaimed with an accent of dismay. "But you'll beback, " she added, recovering herself quickly, "before the vacationseason opens?"

"Oh, certainly; we shall not leave the country. "

"Where are you going?"

"The doctor has prescribed the pine woods. I shall visit my old home, where I was born. We shall leave in a day or two. "

"You must dine with me to-morrow, " she said warmly, "and tell me aboutyour old home. I haven't had an opportunity to thank you for making merich, and I want your advice about what to do with the money; and I'mtiring you now when you ought to be resting. "

"Do not hurry, " he said. "It is almost a pleasure to be weak andhelpless, since it gives me the privilege of a visit from you. "

She lingered a few moments and then went. She was the embodiment ofgood taste and knew when to come and when to go. 

Mr. French was conscious that her visit, instead of tiring him, hadhad an opposite effect; she had come and gone like a pleasant breeze, bearing sweet odours and the echo of distant music. Her shapely hand, when it had touched his own, had been soft but firm; and he had almostwished, as he held it for a moment, that he might feel it resting onhis still somewhat fevered brow. When he came back from the South, hewould see a good deal of her, either at the seaside, or wherever shemight spend the summer. 

When Mr. French and Phil were ready, a day or two later, to start upontheir journey, Kirby was at the Mercedes to see them off. 

"You're taking Judson with you to look after the boy?" he asked. 

"No, " replied Mr. French, "Judson is in love, and does not wish toleave New York. He will take a vacation until we return. Phil and Ican get along very well alone. "

Kirby went with them across the ferry to the Jersey side, and throughthe station gates to the waiting train. There was a flurry of snow inthe air, and overcoats were comfortable. When Mr. French had turnedover his hand luggage to the porter of the Pullman, they walked up anddown the station platform. 

"I'm looking for something to interest us, " said Kirby, rolling acigarette. "There's a mining proposition in Utah, and a trolleyrailroad in Oklahoma. When things are settled up here, I'll take a runout, and look the ground over, and write to you. "

"My dear fellow, " said his friend, "don't hurry. Why should I make anymore money? I have all I shall ever need, and as much as will be goodfor Phil. If you find a good thing, I can help you finance it; andMrs. Jerviss will welcome a good investment. But I shall take a longrest, and then travel for a year or two, and after that settle downand take life comfortably. "

"That's the way you feel now, " replied Kirby, lighting anothercigarette, "but wait until you are rested, and you'll yearn for thefray; the first million only whets the appetite for more. "

"All aboard!"

The word was passed along the line of cars. Kirby took leave of Phil, into whose hand he had thrust a five-dollar bill, "To buy popcorn onthe train, " he said, kissed the boy, and wrung his ex-partner's handwarmly. 

"Good-bye, " he said, "and good luck. You'll hear from me soon. We'repartners still, you and I and Mrs. Jerviss. "

And though Mr. French smiled acquiescence, and returned Kirby's handclasp with equal vigour and sincerity, he felt, as the train rolledaway, as one might feel who, after a long sojourn in an alien land, atlast takes ship for home. The mere act of leaving New York, after theseverance of all compelling ties, seemed to set in motion old currentsof feeling, which, moving slowly at the start, gathered momentum asthe miles rolled by, until his heart leaped forward to the oldSouthern town which was his destination, and he soon felt himselfchafing impatiently at any delay that threatened to throw the trainbehind schedule time. 

"He'll be back in six weeks, " declared Kirby, when Mrs. Jerviss and henext met. "I know him well; he can't live without his club and hiscounting room. It is hard to teach an old dog new tricks. "

"And I'm sure he'll not stay away longer than three months, " said thelady confidently, "for I have invited him to my house party. "

"A privilege, " said Kirby gallantly, "for which many a man would comefrom the other end of the world. "

But they were both mistaken. For even as they spoke, he whose futureeach was planning, was entering upon a new life of his own, from whichhe was to look back upon his business career as a mere period ofpreparation for the real end and purpose of his earthly existence. 

_Two_

The hack which the colonel had taken at the station after a two-days'journey, broken by several long waits for connecting trains, jogged insomewhat leisurely fashion down the main street toward the hotel. Thecolonel, with his little boy, had left the main line of railroadleading north and south and had taken at a certain way station the onedaily train for Clarendon, with which the express made connection. They had completed the forty-mile journey in two or three hours, arriving at Clarendon at noon. 

It was an auspicious moment for visiting the town. It is true that thegrass grew in the street here and there, but the sidewalks wereseparated from the roadway by rows of oaks and elms and china-trees inearly leaf. The travellers had left New York in the midst of asnowstorm, but here the scent of lilac and of jonquil, the song ofbirds, the breath of spring, were all about them. The occasionalstretches of brick sidewalk under their green canopy looked cool andinviting; for while the chill of winter had fled and the sultry heatof summer was not yet at hand, the railroad coach had been close anddusty, and the noonday sun gave some slight foretaste of his comingreign. 

The colonel looked about him eagerly. It was all so like, and yet sodifferent--shrunken somewhat, and faded, but yet, like a woman oneloves, carried into old age something of the charm of youth. The oldtown, whose ripeness was almost decay, whose quietness was scarcelydistinguishable from lethargy, had been the home of his youth, and hesaw it, strange to say, less with the eyes of the lad of sixteen whohad gone to the war, than with those of the little boy to whom it hadbeen, in his tenderest years, the great wide world, the only world heknew in the years when, with his black boy Peter, whom his father hadgiven to him as a personal attendant, he had gone forth to field andgarden, stream and forest, in search of childish adventure. Yonder wasthe old academy, where he had attended school. The yellow brick of itswalls had scaled away in places, leaving the surface mottled with palesplotches; the shingled roof was badly dilapidated, and overgrown hereand there with dark green moss. The cedar trees in the yard were inneed of pruning, and seemed, from their rusty trunks and scantleafage, to have shared in the general decay. As they drove down thestreet, cows were grazing in the vacant lot between the bank, whichhad been built by the colonel's grandfather, and the old red brickbuilding, formerly a store, but now occupied, as could be seen by therow of boxes visible through the open door, by the post-office. 

The little boy, an unusually handsome lad of five or six, with blueeyes and fair hair, dressed in knickerbockers and a sailor cap, wasalso keenly interested in the surroundings. It was Saturday, and thelittle two-wheeled carts, drawn by a steer or a mule; the pigssleeping in the shadow of the old wooden market-house; the lean andsallow pinelanders and listless negroes dozing on the curbstone, wereall objects of novel interest to the boy, as was manifest by the lightin his eager eyes and an occasional exclamation, which in a clearchildish treble, came from his perfectly chiselled lips. Only a glancewas needed to see that the child, though still somewhat pale anddelicate from his recent illness, had inherited the characteristicsattributed to good blood. Features, expression, bearing, were markedby the signs of race; but a closer scrutiny was required to discover, in the blue-eyed, golden-haired lad, any close resemblance to theshrewd, dark man of affairs who sat beside him, and to whom thislittle boy was, for the time being, the sole object in life. 

But for the child the colonel was alone in the world. Many yearsbefore, when himself only a boy, he had served in the Southern army, in a regiment which had fought with such desperate valour that thehonour of the colonelcy had come to him at nineteen, as the solesurvivor of the group of young men who had officered the regiment. Hisfather died during the last year of the Civil War, having lived longenough to see the conflict work ruin to his fortunes. The son had beenoffered employment in New York by a relative who had sympathised withthe South in her struggle; and he had gone away from Clarendon. Theold family "mansion"--it was not a very imposing structure, except bycomparison with even less pretentious houses--had been sold uponforeclosure, and bought by an ambitious mulatto, who only a few yearsbefore had himself been an object of barter and sale. Entering hisuncle's office as a clerk, and following his advice, reinforced by asense of the fitness of things, the youthful colonel had dropped hismilitary title and become plain Mr. French. Putting the past behindhim, except as a fading memory, he had thrown himself eagerly into thecurrent of affairs. Fortune favoured one both capable and energetic. In time he won a partnership in the firm, and when death removed hisrelative, took his place at its head. 

He had looked forward to the time, not very far in the future, when hemight retire from business and devote his leisure to study and travel, tastes which for years he had subordinated to the pursuit of wealth;not entirely, for his life had been many sided; and not so much forthe money, as because, being in a game where dollars were thecounters, it was his instinct to play it well. He was winning already, and when the bagging trust paid him, for his share of the business, asum double his investment, he found himself, at some years less thanfifty, relieved of business cares and in command of an ample fortune. 

This change in the colonel's affairs--and we shall henceforth call himthe colonel, because the scene of this story is laid in the South, where titles are seldom ignored, and where the colonel could hardlyhave escaped his own, even had he desired to do so--this change in thecolonel's affairs coincided with that climacteric of the mind, fromwhich, without ceasing to look forward, it turns, at times, in wistfulretrospect, toward the distant past, which it sees thenceforwardthrough a mellowing glow of sentiment. Emancipated from the countingroom, and ordered South by the doctor, the colonel's thoughts turnedeasily and naturally to the old town that had given him birth; and hefelt a twinge of something like remorse at the reflection that neveronce since leaving it had he set foot within its borders. For years hehad been too busy. His wife had never manifested any desire to visitthe South, nor was her temperament one to evoke or sympathise withsentimental reminiscence. He had married, rather late in life, a NewYork woman, much younger than himself; and while he had admired herbeauty and they had lived very pleasantly together, there had notexisted between them the entire union of souls essential to perfectfelicity, and the current of his life had not been greatly altered byher loss. 

Toward little Phil, however, the child she had borne him, his feelingwas very different. His young wife had been, after all, but a sweetand pleasant graft upon a sturdy tree. Little Phil was flesh of hisflesh and bone of his bone. Upon his only child the colonel lavishedall of his affection. Already, to his father's eye, the boy gavepromise of a noble manhood. His frame was graceful and active. Hishair was even more brightly golden than his mother's had been; hiseyes more deeply blue than hers; while his features were a duplicateof his father's at the same age, as was evidenced by a fadeddaguerreotype among the colonel's few souvenirs of his own childhood. Little Phil had a sweet temper, a loving disposition, and endearedhimself to all with whom he came in contact. 

The hack, after a brief passage down the main street, deposited thepassengers at the front of the Clarendon Hotel. The colonel paid theblack driver the quarter he demanded--two dollars would have been theNew York price--ran the gauntlet of the dozen pairs of eyes in theheads of the men leaning back in the splint-bottomed armchairs underthe shade trees on the sidewalk, registered in the book pushed forwardby a clerk with curled mustaches and pomatumed hair, and accompaniedby Phil, followed the smiling black bellboy along a passage and up oneflight of stairs to a spacious, well-lighted and neatly furnishedroom, looking out upon the main street. 

_Three_

When the colonel and Phil had removed the dust and disorder of travelfrom their appearance, they went down to dinner. After they had eaten, the colonel, still accompanied by the child, left the hotel, andfollowing the main street for a short distance, turned into anotherthoroughfare bordered with ancient elms, and stopped for a momentbefore an old gray house with high steps and broad piazza--a large, square-built, two-storied house, with a roof sloping down toward thefront, broken by dormer windows and buttressed by a massive brickchimney at either end. In spite of the gray monotone to which thepaintless years had reduced the once white weatherboarding and greenVenetian blinds, the house possessed a certain stateliness of stylewhich was independent of circumstance, and a solidity of constructionthat resisted sturdily the disintegrating hand of time. Heart-pine andlive-oak, mused the colonel, like other things Southern, live longand die hard. The old house had been built of the best materials, andits woodwork dowelled and mortised and tongued and grooved by men whoknew their trade and had not learned to scamp their work. For thecolonel's grandfather had built the house as a town residence, thefamily having owned in addition thereto a handsome country place upona large plantation remote from the town. 

The colonel had stopped on the opposite side of the street and waslooking intently at the home of his ancestors and of his own youth, when a neatly dressed coloured girl came out on the piazza, seatedherself in a rocking-chair with an air of proprietorship, and openedwhat the colonel perceived to be, even across the street, a copy of awoman's magazine whose circulation, as he knew from the advertisingrates that French and Co. Had paid for the use of its columns, touchedthe million mark. Not wishing to seem rude, the colonel moved slowlyon down the street. When he turned his head, after going a rod or two, and looked back over his shoulder, the girl had risen and wasre-entering the house. Her disappearance was promptly followed by thenotes of a piano, slightly out of tune, to which some one--presumablythe young woman--was singing in a high voice, which might have beenbetter had it been better trained, _"I dreamt that I dwe-elt in ma-arble halls With vassals and serfs at my si-i-ide. "_

The colonel had slackened his pace at the sound of the music, but, after the first few bars, started forward with quickened footstepswhich he did not relax until little Phil's weight, increasingmomentarily, brought home to him the consciousness that his stride wastoo long for the boy's short legs. Phil, who was a thoroughbred, andwould have dropped in his tracks without complaining, was neverthelessrelieved when his father's pace returned to the normal. 

Their walk led down a hill, and, very soon, to a wooden bridge whichspanned a creek some twenty feet below. The colonel paused for amoment beside the railing, and looked up and down the stream. Itseemed narrower and more sluggish than his memory had pictured it. Above him the water ran between high banks grown thick with underbrushand over-arching trees; below the bridge, to the right of the creek, lay an open meadow, and to the left, a few rods away, the ruins of theold Eureka cotton mill, which in his boyhood had harboured aflourishing industry, but which had remained, since Sherman's armylaid waste the country, the melancholy ruin the colonel had seen itlast, when twenty-five years or more before, he left Clarendon to seeka wider career in the outer world. The clear water of the creekrippled harmoniously down a gentle slope and over the site where thegreat dam at the foot had stood, while birds were nesting in the vineswith which kindly nature had sought to cloak the dismantled andcrumbling walls. 

Mounting the slope beyond the bridge, the colonel's stride nowcarefully accommodated to the child's puny step, they skirted a lowbrick wall, beyond which white headstones gleamed in a mass ofverdure. Reaching an iron gate, the colonel lifted the latch, andentered the cemetery which had been the object of their visit. 

"Is this the place, papa?" asked the little boy. 

"Yes, Phil, but it is farther on, in the older part. "

They passed slowly along, under the drooping elms and willows, pastthe monuments on either hand--here, resting on a low brick wall, aslab of marble, once white, now gray and moss-grown, from which thehand of time had well nigh erased the carved inscription; here afamily vault, built into the side of a mound of earth, from which onlythe barred iron door distinguished it; here a pedestal, with atime-worn angel holding a broken fragment of the resurrection trumpet;here a prostrate headstone, and there another bending to its fall;and among them a profusion of rose bushes, on some of which the earlyroses were already blooming--scarcely a well-kept cemetery, for inmany lots the shrubbery grew in wild unpruned luxuriance; nor yetentirely neglected, since others showed the signs of loving care, andan effort had been made to keep the walks clean and clear. 

Father and son had traversed half the width of the cemetery, when theycame to a spacious lot, surrounded by large trees and containingseveral monuments. It seemed less neglected than the lots about it, and as they drew nigh they saw among the tombs a very black andseemingly aged Negro engaged in pruning a tangled rose tree. Near himstood a dilapidated basket, partially filled with weeds and leaves, into which he was throwing the dead and superfluous limbs. He seemedvery intent upon his occupation, and had not noticed the colonel's andPhil's approach until they had paused at the side of the lot and stoodlooking at him. 

When the old man became aware of their presence, he straightenedhimself up with the slow movement of one stiff with age or rheumatismand threw them a tentatively friendly look out of a pair of fadedeyes. 

"Howdy do, uncle, " said the colonel. "Will you tell me whose gravesthese are that you are caring for?"

"Yas, suh, " said the old man, removing his battered hatrespectfully--the rest of his clothing was in keeping, a picturesqueassortment of rags and patches such as only an old Negro can gettogether, or keep together--"dis hyuh lot, suh, b'longs ter de famblydat I useter b'long ter--de ol' French fambly, suh, de fines' famblyin Beaver County. "

"Why, papa!" cried little Phil, "he means----"

"Hush, Phil! Go on, uncle. "

"Yas, suh, de fines' fambly in Cla'endon, suh. Dis hyuh headstonehyuh, suh, an' de little stone at de foot, rep'esents de grave er ol'Gin'al French, w'at fit in de Revolution' Wah, suh; and dis hyuh onenex' to it is de grave er my ol' marster, Majah French, w'at fit inde Mexican Wah, and died endyoin' de wah wid de Yankees, suh. "

"Papa, " urged Phil, "that's my----"

"Shut up, Phil! Well, uncle, did this interesting old family die out, or is it represented in the present generation?"

"Lawd, no, suh, de fambly did n' die out--'deed dey did n' die out!dey ain't de kind er fambly ter die out! But it's mos' as bad, suh--dey's moved away. Young Mars Henry went ter de Norf, and dey sayhe's got rich; but he ain't be'n back no mo', suh, an' I don' knowwhether he's ever comin' er no. "

"You must have been very fond of them to take such good care of theirgraves, " said the colonel, much moved, but giving no sign. 

"Well, suh, I b'longed ter de fambly, an' I ain' got no chick nerchile er my own, livin', an' dese hyuh dead folks 'pears mo' closerter me dan anybody e'se. De cullud folks don' was'e much time wid aole man w'at ain' got nothin', an' dese hyuh new w'ite folks wa't iscome up sence de wah, ain' got no use fer niggers, now dat dey don'b'long ter nobody no mo'; so w'en I ain' got nothin' e'se ter do, Icomes roun' hyuh, whar I knows ev'ybody and ev'ybody knows me, an'trims de rose bushes an' pulls up de weeds and keeps de grass downjes' lak I s'pose Mars Henry'd 'a' had it done ef he'd 'a' lived hyuhin de ole home, stidder 'way off yandah in de Norf, whar he so busymakin' money dat he done fergot all 'bout his own folks. "

"What is your name?" asked the colonel, who had been looking closelyat the old man. 

"Peter, suh--Peter French. Most er de niggers change' dey names afterde wah, but I kept de ole fambly name I wuz raise' by. It wuz good'nuff fer me, suh; dey ain' none better. "

"Oh, papa, " said little Phil, unable to restrain himself longer, "hemust be some kin to us; he has the same name, and belongs to the samefamily, and you know you called him 'Uncle. '"

The old Negro had dropped his hat, and was staring at the colonel andthe little boy, alternately, with dawning amazement, while a look ofrecognition crept slowly into his rugged old face. 

"Look a hyuh, suh, " he said tremulously, "is it?--it can't be!--butdere's de eyes, an' de nose, an' de shape er de head--why, it _must_be my young Mars Henry!"

"Yes, " said the colonel, extending his hand to the old man, whograsped it with both his own and shook it up and down withunconventional but very affectionate vigour, "and you are my boyPeter; who took care of me when I was no bigger than Phil here!"

This meeting touched a tender chord in the colonel's nature, alreadytuned to sympathy with the dead past of which Peter seemed the onlysurvival. The old man's unfeigned delight at their meeting; hisretention of the family name, a living witness of its former standing;his respect for the dead; his "family pride, " which to theunsympathetic outsider might have seemed grotesque; were proofs ofloyalty that moved the colonel deeply. When he himself had been achild of five or six, his father had given him Peter as his own boy. Peter was really not many years older than the colonel, but prosperityhad preserved the one, while hard luck had aged the other prematurely. Peter had taken care of him, and taught him to paddle in the shallowwater of the creek and to avoid the suck-holes; had taught him simplewoodcraft, how to fish, and how to hunt, first with bow and arrow, andlater with a shotgun. Through the golden haze of memory the colonel'shappy childhood came back to him with a sudden rush of emotion. 

"Those were good times, Peter, when we were young, " he sighedregretfully, "good times! I have seen none happier. "

"Yas, suh! yas, suh! 'Deed dem wuz good ole times! Sho' dey wuz, suh, sho' dey wuz! 'Member dem co'n-stalk fiddles we use' ter make, an' demelderberry-wood whistles?"

"Yes, Peter, and the robins we used to shoot and the rabbits we usedto trap?"

"An' dem watermillions, suh--um-m-m, um-m-m-m!"

"_Y-e-s_, " returned the colonel, with a shade of pensiveness. Therehad been two sides to the watermelon question. Peter and he had notalways been able to find ripe watermelons, early in the season, and attimes there had been painful consequences, the memory of which cameback to the colonel with surprising ease. Nor had they always beencareful about boundaries in those early days. There had been oneoccasion when an irate neighbour had complained, and Major French hadthrashed Henry and Peter both--Peter because he was older, and knewbetter, and Henry because it was important that he should haveimpressed upon him, early in life, that of him to whom much is given, much will be required, and that what might be lightly regarded inPeter's case would be a serious offence in his future master's. Thelesson had been well learned, for throughout the course of his lifethe colonel had never shirked responsibility, but had made theperformance of duty his criterion of conduct. To him the line of leastresistance had always seemed the refuge of the coward and theweakling. With the twenty years preceding his return to Clarendon, this story has nothing to do; but upon the quiet background of hisbusiness career he had lived an active intellectual and emotionallife, and had developed into one of those rare natures of whom it maybe truly said that they are men, and that they count nothing of whatis human foreign to themselves. 

But the serenity of Peter's retrospect was unmarred by any passingcloud. Those who dwell in darkness find it easier to remember thebright places in their lives. 

"Yas, suh, yas, suh, dem watermillions, " he repeated with unction, "Ikin tas'e 'em now! Dey wuz de be's watermillions dat evuh growed, suh--dey doan raise none lack 'em dese days no mo'. An' den demchinquapin bushes down by de swamp! 'Member dem chinquapin bushes, whar we killt dat water moccasin dat day? He wuz 'bout ten footlong!"

"Yes, Peter, he was a whopper! Then there were the bullace vines, inthe woods beyond the tanyard!"

"Sho' 'nuff, suh! an' de minnows we use' ter ketch in de creek, an'dem perch in de mill pon'?"

For years the colonel had belonged to a fishing club, which preservedan ice-cold stream in a Northern forest. For years the choicest fruitsof all the earth had been served daily upon his table. Yet as helooked back to-day no shining trout that had ever risen to his fly hadstirred his emotions like the diaphanous minnows, caught, with acrooked pin, in the crooked creek; no luscious fruit had ever matchedin sweetness the sour grapes and bitter nuts gathered from the nativewoods--by him and Peter in their far-off youth. 

"Yas, suh, yas, suh, " Peter went on, "an' 'member dat time you an'young Mars Jim Wilson went huntin' and fishin' up de countrytergether, an' got ti'ed er waitin' on yo'se'ves an' writ back fer meter come up ter wait on yer and cook fer yer, an' ole Marster say hedid n' dare ter let me go 'way off yander wid two keerliss boys lakyou-all, wid guns an' boats fer fear I mought git shot, er drownded?"

"It looked, Peter, as though he valued you more than me! more than hisown son!"

"Yas, suh, yas, suh! sho' he did, sho' he did! old Marse Philip wuz amonstus keerful man, an' _I_ wuz winth somethin', suh, dem times; Iwuz wuth five hundred dollahs any day in de yeah. But nobody would n'give five hundred cents fer me now, suh. Dey'd want pay fer takin' me, mos' lakly. Dey ain' none too much room fer a young nigger no mo', let'lone a' ol' one. "

"And what have you been doing all these years, Peter?" asked thecolonel. 

Peter's story was not a thrilling one; it was no tale of inordinateambition, no Odyssey of a perilous search for the prizes of life, butthe bald recital of a mere struggle for existence. Peter had stayed byhis master until his master's death. Then he had worked for arailroad contractor, until exposure and overwork had laid him up witha fever. After his recovery, he had been employed for some years atcutting turpentine boxes in the pine woods, following the trail of theindustry southward, until one day his axe had slipped and wounded himseverely. When his wound was healed he was told that he was too oldand awkward for the turpentine, and that they needed younger and moreactive men. 

"So w'en I got my laig kyo'ed up, " said the old man, concluding hisstory, "I come back hyuh whar I wuz bo'n, suh, and whar my w'ite folksuse' ter live, an' whar my frien's use' ter be. But my w'ite folks wuzall in de graveya'd, an' most er my frien's wuz dead er moved away, an' I fin's it kinder lonesome, suh. I goes out an' picks cotton in defall, an' I does arrants an' little jobs roun' de house fer folks w'at'll hire me; an' w'en I ain' got nothin' ter eat I kin gor oun' ter deole house an' wo'k in de gyahden er chop some wood, an' git a meal ervittles f'om ole Mis' Nichols, who's be'n mighty good ter me, suh. She's de barbuh's wife, suh, w'at bought ouah ole house. Dey got mo'dan any yuther colored folks roun' hyuh, but dey he'ps de po', suh, dey he'ps de po'. "

"Which speaks well for them, Peter. I'm glad that all the virtue hasnot yet gone out of the old house. "

The old man's talk rambled on, like a sluggish stream, while thecolonel's more active mind busied itself with the problem suggested bythis unforeseen meeting. Peter and he had both gone out into theworld, and they had both returned. He had come back rich andindependent. What good had freedom done for Peter? In the colonel'schildhood his father's butler, old Madison, had lived a life which, compared to that of Peter at the same age, was one of ease and luxury. How easy the conclusion that the slave's lot had been the morefortunate! But no, Peter had been better free. There were plenty ofpoor white men, and no one had suggested slavery as an improvement oftheir condition. Had Peter remained a slave, then the colonel wouldhave remained a master, which was only another form of slavery. Thecolonel had been emancipated by the same token that had made Peterfree. Peter had returned home poor and broken, not because he had beenfree, but because nature first, and society next, in distributingtheir gifts, had been niggardly with old Peter. Had he been betterequipped, or had a better chance, he might have made a better showing. The colonel had prospered because, having no Peters to work for him, he had been compelled to work for himself. He would set his ownsuccess against Peter's failure; and he would take off his hat to thememory of the immortal statesman, who in freeing one race hademancipated another and struck the shackles from a Nation's mind. 

_Four_

While the colonel and old Peter were thus discussing reminiscences inwhich little Phil could have no share, the boy, with childishcuriosity, had wandered off, down one of the shaded paths. When, alittle later, the colonel looked around for him, he saw Phil seated ona rustic bench, in conversation with a lady. As the boy seemedentirely comfortable, and the lady not at all disturbed, the coloneldid not interrupt them for a while. But when the lady at length rose, holding Phil by the hand, the colonel, fearing that the boy, who was achild of strong impulses, prone to sudden friendships, might beproving troublesome, left his seat on the flat-topped tomb of hisRevolutionary ancestor and hastened to meet them. 

"I trust my boy hasn't annoyed you, " he said, lifting his hat. 

"Not at all, sir, " returned the lady, in a clear, sweet voice, somehaunting tone of which found an answering vibration in the colonel'smemory. "On the contrary, he has interested me very much, and innothing more than in telling me his name. If this and my memory do notdeceive me, _you_ are Henry French!"

"Yes, and you are--you are Laura Treadwell! How glad I am to meet you!I was coming to call this afternoon. "

"I'm glad to see you again. We have always remembered you, and knewthat you had grown rich and great, and feared that you had forgottenthe old town--and your old friends. "

"Not very rich, nor very great, Laura--Miss Treadwell. "

"Let it be Laura, " she said with a faint colour mounting in her cheek, which had not yet lost its smoothness, as her eyes had not faded, norher step lost its spring. 

"And neither have I forgotten the old home nor the old friends--sinceI am here and knew you the moment I looked at you and heard yourvoice. "

"And what a dear little boy!" exclaimed Miss Treadwell, looking downat Phil. "He is named Philip--after his grandfather, I reckon?"

"After his grandfather. We have been visiting his grave, and those ofall the Frenches; and I found them haunted--by an old retainer, whohad come hither, he said, to be with his friends. "

"Old Peter! I see him, now and then, keeping the lot in order. Thereare few like him left, and there were never any too many. But how haveyou been these many years, and where is your wife? Did you bring herwith you?"

"I buried her, " returned the colonel, "a little over a year ago. Sheleft me little Phil. "

"He must be like her, " replied the lady, "and yet he resembles you. "

"He has her eyes and hair, " said his father. "He is a good little boyand a lad of taste. See how he took to you at first sight! I canalways trust Phil's instincts. He is a born gentleman. "

"He came of a race of gentlemen, " she said. "I'm glad it is not todie out. There are none too many left--in Clarendon. You are going tolike me, aren't you, Phil?" asked the lady. 

"I like you already, " replied Phil gallantly. "You are a very nicelady. What shall I call you?"

"Call her Miss Laura, Phil--it is the Southern fashion--a happy unionof familiarity and respect. Already they come back to me, Laura--onebreathes them with the air--the gentle Southern customs. With all thefaults of the old system, Laura--it carried the seeds of decay withinitself and was doomed to perish--a few of us, at least, had a goodtime. An aristocracy is quite endurable, for the aristocrat, andslavery tolerable, for the masters--and the Peters. When we wereyoung, before the rude hand of war had shattered our illusions, wewere very happy, Laura. "

"Yes, we were very happy. "

They were walking now, very slowly, toward the gate by which thecolonel had entered, with little Phil between them, confiding a handto each. 

"And how is your mother?" asked the colonel. "She is living yet, Itrust?"

"Yes, but ailing, as she has been for fifteen years--ever since myfather died. It was his grave I came to visit. "

"You had ever a loving heart, Laura, " said the colonel, "given to dutyand self-sacrifice. Are you still living in the old place?"

"The old place, only it is older, and shows it--like the rest of us. "

She bit her lip at the words, which she meant in reference to herself, but which she perceived, as soon as she had uttered them, might applyto him with equal force. Despising herself for the weakness which hemight have interpreted as a bid for a compliment, she was glad that heseemed unconscious of the remark. 

The colonel and Phil had entered the cemetery by a side gate and theirexit led through the main entrance. Miss Laura pointed out, as theywalked slowly along between the elms, the graves of many whom thecolonel had known in his younger days. Their names, woven in thetapestry of his memory, needed in most cases but a touch to restorethem. For while his intellectual life had ranged far and wide, hisbusiness career had run along a single channel, his circle ofintimates had not been very large nor very variable, nor was hismemory so overlaid that he could not push aside its later impressionsin favour of those graven there so deeply in his youth. 

Nearing the gate, they passed a small open space in which stood asimple marble shaft, erected to the memory of the Confederate Dead. 

A wealth of fresh flowers lay at its base. The colonel took off hishat as he stood before it for a moment with bowed head. But for themercy of God, he might have been one of those whose deaths as well asdeeds were thus commemorated. 

Beyond this memorial, impressive in its pure simplicity, and betweenit and the gate, in an obtrusively conspicuous spot stood a floridmonument of granite, marble and bronze, of glaring design andstrangely out of keeping with the simple dignity and quiet restfulnessof the surroundings; a monument so striking that the colonel pausedinvoluntarily and read the inscription in bronze letters on the marbleshaft above the granite base:

 "'_Sacred to the Memory of Joshua Fetters and Elizabeth Fetters, his Wife. _

 "'_Life's work well done, Life's race well run, Life's crown well won, Then comes rest. _'"

"A beautiful sentiment, if somewhat trite, " said the colonel, "but anatrocious monument. "

"Do you think so?" exclaimed the lady. "Most people think the monumentfine, but smile at the sentiment. "

"In matters of taste, " returned the colonel, "the majority are alwayswrong. But why smile at the sentiment? Is it, for some reason, inappropriate to this particular case? Fetters--Fetters--the nameseems familiar. Who was Fetters, Laura?"

"He was the speculator, " she said, "who bought and sold negroes, andkept dogs to chase runaways; old Mr. Fetters--you must remember oldJosh Fetters? When I was a child, my coloured mammy used him for abogeyman for me, as for her own children. "

"'Look out, honey, ' she'd say, 'ef you ain' good, ole Mr. Fettuhs 'llketch you. '"

Yes, he remembered now. Fetters had been a character in Clarendon--notan admirable character, scarcely a good character, almost a badcharacter; a necessary adjunct of an evil system, and, like otherparasites, worse than the body on which he fed; doing the dirty workof slavery, and very naturally despised by those whose instrument hewas, but finding consolation by taking it out of the Negroes in thecourse of his business. The colonel would have expected Fetters to liein an unmarked grave in his own back lot, or in the potter's field. Had he so far escaped the ruin of the institution on which he lived, as to leave an estate sufficient to satisfy his heirs and also pay forthis expensive but vulgar monument?

"The memorial was erected, as you see from the rest of theinscription, 'by his beloved and affectionate son. ' That either lovedthe other no one suspected, for Bill was harshly treated, and ran awayfrom home at fifteen. He came back after the war, with money, which helent out at high rates of interest; everything he touched turned togold; he has grown rich, and is a great man in the State. He was alarge contributor to the soldiers' monument. "

"But did not choose the design; let us be thankful for that. It mighthave been like his father's. Bill Fetters rich and great, " he mused, "who would have dreamed it? I kicked him once, all the way down MainStreet from the schoolhouse to the bank--and dodged his angry motherfor a whole month afterward!"

"No one, " suggested Miss Laura, "would venture to cross him now. Toomany owe him money. "

"He went to school at the academy, " the colonel went on, unwinding thethread of his memory, "and the rest of the boys looked down on him andmade his life miserable. Well, Laura, in Fetters you see one thingthat resulted from the war--the poor white boy was given a chance togrow; and if the product is not as yet altogether admirable, taste andculture may come with another generation. "

"It is to be hoped they may, " said Miss Laura, "and character as well. Mr. Fetters has a son who has gone from college to college, and willgraduate from Harvard this summer. They say he is very wild and spendsten thousand dollars a year. I do not see how it can be possible!"

The colonel smiled at her simplicity. 

"I have been, " he said, "at a college football game, where the gatereceipts were fifty thousand dollars, and half a million was said tohave changed hands in bets on the result. It is easy to waste money. "

"It is a sin, " she said, "that some should be made poor, that othersmay have it to waste. "

There was a touch of bitterness in her tone, the instinctiveresentment (the colonel thought) of the born aristocrat toward theupstart who had pushed his way above those no longer strong enough toresist. It did not occur to him that her feeling might rest upon anypersonal ground. It was inevitable that, with the incubus of slaveryremoved, society should readjust itself in due time upon a democraticbasis, and that poor white men, first, and black men next, shouldreach a level representing the true measure of their talents and theirambition. But it was perhaps equally inevitable that for a generationor two those who had suffered most from the readjustment, shouldchafe under its seeming injustice. 

The colonel was himself a gentleman, and the descendant of a long lineof gentlemen. But he had lived too many years among those who judgedthe tree by its fruit, to think that blood alone entitled him to anyspecial privileges. The consciousness of honourable ancestry mightmake one clean of life, gentle of manner, and just in one's dealings. In so far as it did this it was something to be cherished, butscarcely to be boasted of, for democracy is impatient of anyexcellence not born of personal effort, of any pride save that ofachievement. He was glad that Fetters had got on in the world. Itjustified a fine faith in humanity, that wealth and power should havebeen attained by the poor white lad, over whom, with a boy'sunconscious brutality, he had tyrannised in his childhood. He couldhave wished for Bill a better taste in monuments, and better luck insons, if rumour was correct about Fetters's boy. But, these, perhaps, were points where blood _did_ tell. There was something in blood, after all, Nature might make a great man from any sort of material:hence the virtue of democracy, for the world needs great men, andsuffers from their lack, and welcomes them from any source. But finetypes were a matter of breeding and were perhaps worth the trouble ofpreserving, if their existence were compatible with the larger good. He wondered if Bill ever recalled that progress down Main Street inwhich he had played so conspicuous a part, or still bore anyresentment toward the other participants?

"Could your mother see me, " he asked, as they reached the gate, "if Iwent by the house?"

"She would be glad to see you. Mother lives in the past, and you wouldcome to her as part of it. She often speaks of you. It is only a shortdistance. You have not forgotten the way?"

They turned to the right, in a direction opposite to that from whichthe colonel had reached the cemetery. After a few minutes' walk, inthe course of which they crossed another bridge over the same windingcreek, they mounted the slope beyond, opened a gate, climbed a shortflight of stone steps and found themselves in an enchanted garden, where lilac bush and jessamine vine reared their heads high, tulip anddaffodil pushed their way upward, but were all dominated by theintenser fragrance of the violets. 

Old Peter had followed the party at a respectful distance, but, seeinghimself forgotten, he walked past the gate, after they had entered it, and went, somewhat disconsolately, on his way. He had stopped, and waslooking back toward the house--Clarendon was a great place for lookingback, perhaps because there was little in the town to which to lookforward--when a white man, wearing a tinned badge upon his coat, cameup, took Peter by the arm and led him away, despite some feebleprotests on the old man's part. 

_Five_

At the end of the garden stood a frame house with a wide, columnedporch. It had once been white, and the windows closed with blinds thatstill retained a faded tint of green. Upon the porch, in a comfortablearm chair, sat an old lady, wearing a white cap, under which her whitehair showed at the sides, and holding her hands, upon which she woreblack silk mits, crossed upon her lap. On the top step, at oppositeends, sat two young people--one of them a rosy-cheeked girl, in thebloom of early youth, with a head of rebellious brown hair. She hadbeen reading a book held open in her hand. The other was along-legged, lean, shy young man, of apparently twenty-three ortwenty-four, with black hair and eyes and a swarthy complexion. Fromthe jack-knife beside him, and the shavings scattered around, it wasclear that he had been whittling out the piece of pine that he wasadjusting, with some nicety, to a wooden model of some mechanicalcontrivance which stood upon the floor beside him. They were astrikingly handsome couple, of ideally contrasting types. 

"Mother, " said Miss Treadwell, "this is Henry French--ColonelFrench--who has come back from the North to visit his old home and thegraves of his ancestors. I found him in the cemetery; and this is hisdear little boy, Philip--named after his grandfather. "

The old lady gave the colonel a slender white hand, thin almost totransparency. 

"Henry, " she said, in a silvery thread of voice, "I am glad to seeyou. You must excuse my not rising--I can't walk without help. You arelike your father, and even more like your grandfather, and your littleboy takes after the family. " She drew Phil toward her and kissed him. 

Phil accepted this attention amiably. Meantime the young people hadrisen. 

"This, " said Miss Treadwell, laying her hand affectionately on thegirl's arm, "is my niece Graciella--my brother Tom's child. Tom isdead, you know, these eight years and more, and so is Graciella'smother, and she has lived with us. "

Graciella gave the colonel her hand with engaging frankness. "I'm surewe're awfully glad to see anybody from the North, " she said. "Are youfamiliar with New York?"

"I left there only day before yesterday, " replied the colonel. 

"And this, " said Miss Treadwell, introducing the young man, who, whenhe unfolded his long legs, rose to a rather imposing height, "this isMr. Ben Dudley. "

"The son of Malcolm Dudley, of Mink Run, I suppose? I'm glad to meetyou, " said the colonel, giving the young man's hand a cordial grasp. 

"His nephew, sir, " returned young Dudley. "My uncle never married. "

"Oh, indeed? I did not know; but he is alive, I trust, and well?"

"Alive, sir, but very much broken. He has not been himself for years. "

"You find things sadly changed, Henry, " said Mrs. Treadwell. "Theyhave never been the same since the surrender. Our people are poor now, right poor, most of them, though we ourselves were fortunate enough tohave something left. "

"We have enough left for supper, mother, " interposed Miss Lauraquickly, "to which we are going to ask Colonel French to stay. "

"I suppose that in New York every one has dinner at six, and supperafter the theatre or the concert?" said Graciella, inquiringly. 

"The fortunate few, " returned the colonel, smiling into her eagerface, "who can afford a seat at the opera, and to pay for and digesttwo meals, all in the same evening. "

"And now, colonel, " said Miss Treadwell, "I'm going to see about thesupper. Mother will talk to you while I am gone. "

"I must be going, " said young Dudley. 

"Won't you stay to supper, Ben?" asked Miss Laura. 

"No, Miss Laura; I'd like to, but uncle wasn't well to-day and I muststop by the drug store and get some medicine for him. Dr. Price gaveme a prescription on my way in. Good-bye, sir, " he added, addressingthe colonel. "Will you be in town long?"

"I really haven't decided. A day or two, perhaps a week. I am notbound, at present, by any business ties--am foot-loose, as we used tosay when I was young. I shall follow my inclinations. "

"Then I hope, sir, that you'll feel inclined to pay us a long visitand that I shall see you many times. "

As Ben Dudley, after this courteous wish, stepped down from thepiazza, Graciella rose and walked with him along the garden path. Shewas tall as most women, but only reached his shoulder. 

"Say, Graciella, " he asked, "won't you give me an answer. "

"I'm thinking about it, Ben. If you could take me away from this deadold town, with its lazy white people and its trifling niggers, to aplace where there's music and art, and life and society--where there'ssomething going on all the time, I'd _like_ to marry you. But if I didso now, you'd take me out to your rickety old house, with your daffyold uncle and his dumb old housekeeper, and I should lose my own mindin a week or ten days. When you can promise to take me to New York, I'll promise to marry you, Ben. I want to travel, and to see things, to visit the art galleries and libraries, to hear Patti, and to lookat the millionaires promenading on Fifth Avenue--and I'll marry theman who'll take me there!"

"Uncle Malcolm can't live forever, Graciella--though I wouldn't wishhis span shortened by a single day--and I'll get the plantation. Andthen, you know, " he added, hesitating, "we may--we may find themoney. "

Graciella shook her head compassionately. "No, Ben, you'll never findthe money. There isn't any; it's all imagination--moonshine. The warunsettled your uncle's brain, and he dreamed the money. "

"It's as true as I'm standing here, Graciella, " replied Ben, earnestly, "that there's money--gold--somewhere about the house. Unclecouldn't imagine paper and ink, and I've seen the letter from myuncle's uncle Ralph--I'll get it and bring it to you. Some day themoney will turn up, and then may be I'll be able to take you away. Meantime some one must look after uncle and the place; there's no oneelse but me to do it. Things must grow better some time--they alwaysdo, you know. "

"They couldn't be much worse, " returned Graciella, discontentedly. 

"Oh, they'll be better--they're bound to be! They'll just have to be. And you'll wait for me, won't you, Graciella?"

"Oh, I suppose I'll have to. You're around here so much that every oneelse is scared away, and there isn't much choice at the best; all theyoung men worth having are gone away already. But you know myultimatum--I must get to New York. If you are ready before any oneelse speaks, you may take me there. "

"You're hard on a poor devil, Graciella. I don't believe you care abit for me, or you wouldn't talk like that. Don't you suppose I haveany feelings, even if I ain't much account? Ain't I worth as much as atrip up North?"

"Why should I waste my time with you, if I didn't care for you?"returned Graciella, begging the question. "Here's a rose, in token ofmy love. "

She plucked the flower and thrust it into his hand. 

"It's full of thorns, like your love, " he said ruefully, as he pickedthe sharp points out of his fingers. 

"'Faithful are the wounds of a friend, '" returned the girl. "SeePsalms, xxvii: 6. "

"Take care of my cotton press, Graciella; I'll come in to-morrowevening and work on it some more. I'll bring some cotton along to tryit with. "

"You'll probably find some excuse--you always do. "

"Don't you want me to come?" he asked with a trace of resentment. "Ican stay away, if you don't. "

"Oh, you come so often that I--I suppose I'd miss you, if you didn't!One must have some company, and half a loaf is better than no bread. "

He went on down the hill, turning at the corner for a lingeringbackward look at his tyrant. Graciella, bending her head over thewall, followed his movements with a swift tenderness in her sparklingbrown eyes. 

"I love him better than anything on earth, " she sighed, "but it wouldnever do to tell him so. He'd get so conceited that I couldn't managehim any longer, and so lazy that he'd never exert himself. I must getaway from this town before I'm old and gray--I'll be seventeen nextweek, and an old maid in next to no time--and Ben must take me away. But I must be his inspiration; he'd never do it by himself. I'll gonow and talk to that dear old Colonel French about the North; I canlearn a great deal from him. And he doesn't look so old either, " shemused, as she went back up the walk to where the colonel sat on thepiazza talking to the other ladies. 

_Six_

The colonel spent a delightful evening in the company of his friends. The supper was typically Southern, and the cook evidently a good one. There was smothered chicken, light biscuit, fresh eggs, poundcake andtea. The tablecloth and napkins were of fine linen. That they weresoft and smooth the colonel noticed, but he did not observe closelyenough to see that they had been carefully darned in many places. Thesilver spoons were of fine, old-fashioned patterns, worn very thin--sothin that even the colonel was struck by their fragility. Howcharming, he thought, to prefer the simple dignity of the past to thevulgar ostentation of a more modern time. He had once dined off agolden dinner service, at the table of a multi-millionaire, and hadnot enjoyed the meal half so much. The dining-room looked out upon thegarden and the perfume of lilac and violet stole in through the openwindows. A soft-footed, shapely, well-trained negro maid, in whitecap and apron, waited deftly upon the table; a woman of seriouscountenance--so serious that the colonel wondered if she were apresent-day type of her race, and if the responsibilities of freedomhad robbed her people of their traditional light-heartedness andgaiety. 

After supper they sat out upon the piazza. The lights within wereturned down low, so that the moths and other insects might not beattracted. Sweet odours from the garden filled the air. Through theelms the stars, brighter than in more northern latitudes, looked outfrom a sky of darker blue; so bright were they that the colonel, looking around for the moon, was surprised to find that luminaryinvisible. On the green background of the foliage the fireflies glowedand flickered. There was no strident steam whistle from factory ortrain to assault the ear, no rumble of passing cabs or street cars. Far away, in some distant part of the straggling town, a sweet-tonedbell sounded the hour of an evening church service. 

"To see you is a breath from the past, Henry, " said Mrs. Treadwell. "You are a fine, strong man now, but I can see you as you were, theday you went away to the war, in your new gray uniform, on your finegray horse, at the head of your company. You were going to take Peterwith you, but he had got his feet poisoned with poison ivy, andcouldn't walk, and your father gave you another boy, and Peter criedlike a baby at being left behind. I can remember how proud you were, and how proud your father was, when he gave you his sword--yourgrandfather's sword, and told you never to draw it or sheath it, except in honour; and how, when you were gone, the old gentleman shuthimself up for two whole days and would speak to no one. He was gladand sorry--glad to send you to fight for your country, and sorry tosee you go--for you were his only boy. "

The colonel thrilled with love and regret. His father had loved him, he knew very well, and he had not visited his tomb for twenty-fiveyears. How far away it seemed too, the time when he had thought ofthe Confederacy as his country! And the sword, his grandfather'ssword, had been for years stored away in a dark closet. His father hadkept it displayed upon the drawing-room wall, over the table on whichthe family Bible had rested. 

Mrs. Treadwell was silent for a moment. 

"Times have changed since then, Henry. We have lost a great deal, although we still have enough--yes, we have plenty to live upon, andto hold up our heads among the best. "

Miss Laura and Graciella, behind the colonel's back, exchanged meaningglances. How well they knew how little they had to live upon!

"That is quite evident, " said the colonel, glancing through the windowat the tasteful interior, "and I am glad to see that you have fared sowell. My father lost everything. "

"We were more fortunate, " said Mrs. Treadwell. "We were obliged to letBelleview go when Major Treadwell died--there were debts to be paid, and we were robbed as well--but we have several rentable properties intown, and an estate in the country which brings us in an income. Butthings are not quite what they used to be!"

Mrs. Treadwell sighed, and nodded. Miss Laura sat in silence--apensive silence. She, too, remembered the time gone by, but unlike hermother's life, her own had only begun as the good times were ending. Her mother, in her youth, had seen something of the world. Thedaughter of a wealthy planter, she had spent her summers at Saratoga, had visited New York and Philadelphia and New Orleans, and had taken avoyage to Europe. Graciella was young and beautiful. Her prince mightcome, might be here even now, if this grand gentleman should chance tothrow the handkerchief. But she, Laura, had passed her youth in atransition period; the pleasures neither of memory nor of hope hadbeen hers--except such memories as came of duty well performed, andsuch hopes as had no root in anything earthly or corruptible. 

Graciella was not in a reflective mood, and took up the burden of theconversation where her grandmother had dropped it. Her thoughts werenot of the past, but of the future. She asked many eager questions ofNew York. Was it true that ladies at the Waldorf-Astoria always wentto dinner in low-cut bodices with short sleeves, and was evening dressalways required at the theatre? Did the old Knickerbocker familiesrecognise the Vanderbilts? Were the Rockefellers anything at allsocially? Did he know Ward McAllister, at that period the Beau Brummelof the metropolitan smart set? Was Fifth Avenue losing itspre-eminence? On what days of the week was the Art Museum free to thepublic? What was the fare to New York, and the best quarter of thecity in which to inquire for a quiet, select boarding house where aSouthern lady of refinement and good family might stay at a reasonableprice, and meet some nice people? And would he recommend stenographyor magazine work, and which did he consider preferable, as a careerwhich such a young lady might follow without injury to her socialstanding?

The colonel, with some amusement, answered these artless inquiries asbest he could; they came as a refreshing foil to the sweet butmelancholy memories of the past. They were interesting, too, from thisvery pretty but very ignorant little girl in this backward littleSouthern town. She was a flash of sunlight through a soft gray cloud;a vigorous shoot from an old moss-covered stump--she was life, younglife, the vital principle, breaking through the cumbering envelope, and asserting its right to reach the sun. 

After a while a couple of very young ladies, friends of Graciella, dropped in. They were introduced to the colonel, who found that he hadknown their fathers, or their mothers, or their grandfathers, or theirgrandmothers, and that many of them were more or less distantlyrelated. A little later a couple of young men, friends of Graciella'sfriends--also very young, and very self-conscious--made theirappearance, and were duly introduced, in person and by pedigree. Theconversation languished for a moment, and then one of the young ladiessaid something about music, and one of the young men remarked that hehad brought over a new song. Graciella begged the colonel to excusethem, and led the way to the parlour, followed by her young friends. 

Mrs. Treadwell had fallen asleep, and was leaning comfortably back inher armchair. Miss Laura excused herself, brought a veil, and laid itsoftly across her mother's face. 

"The night air is not damp, " she said, "and it is pleasanter for herhere than in the house. She won't mind the music; she is accustomed toit. "

Graciella went to the piano and with great boldness of touch struckthe bizarre opening chords and then launched into the grotesque wordsof the latest New York "coon song, " one of the first and worst of itskind, and the other young people joined in the chorus. 

It was the first discordant note. At home, the colonel subscribed tothe opera, and enjoyed the music. A plantation song of the olden time, as he remembered it, borne upon the evening air, when sung by thetired slaves at the end of their day of toil, would have beenpleasing, with its simple melody, its plaintive minor strains, itsnotes of vague longing; but to the colonel's senses there was to-nightno music in this hackneyed popular favourite. In a metropolitan musichall, gaudily bedecked and brilliantly lighted, it would have beentolerable from the lips of a black-face comedian. But in this quietplace, upon this quiet night, and in the colonel's mood, it seemedlike profanation. The song of the coloured girl, who had dreamt thatshe dwelt in marble halls, and the rest, had been less incongruous; ithad at least breathed aspiration. 

Mrs. Treadwell was still dozing in her armchair. The colonel, beckoning Miss Laura to follow him, moved to the farther end of thepiazza, where they might not hear the singers and the song. 

"It is delightful here, Laura. I seem to have renewed my youth. Iyield myself a willing victim to the charm of the old place, the oldways, the old friends. "

"You see our best side, Henry. Night has a kindly hand, that coversour defects, and the starlight throws a glamour over everything. Yousee us through a haze of tender memories. When you have been here aweek, the town will seem dull, and narrow, and sluggish. You will findus ignorant and backward, worshipping our old idols, and setting up nonew ones; our young men leaving us, and none coming in to take theirplace. Had you, and men like you, remained with us, we might havehoped for better things. "

"And perhaps not, Laura. Environment controls the making of men. Somerise above it, the majority do not. We might have followed in thewell-worn rut. But let us not spoil this delightful evening byspeaking of anything sad or gloomy. This is your daily life; to me itis like a scene from a play, over which one sighs to see the curtainfall--all enchantment, all light, all happiness. "

But even while he spoke of light, a shadow loomed up beside them. Thecoloured woman who had waited at the table came around the house fromthe back yard and stood by the piazza railing. 

"Miss Laura!" she called, softly and appealingly. "Kin you come hyuh aminute?"

"What is it, Catherine?"

"Kin I speak just a word to you, ma'am? It's somethin'partic'lar--mighty partic'lar, ma'am. "

"Excuse me a minute, Henry, " said Miss Laura, rising with evidentreluctance. 

She stepped down from the piazza, and walked beside the woman down oneof the garden paths. The colonel, as he sat there smoking--with MissLaura's permission he had lighted a cigar--could see the light stuffof the lady's gown against the green background, though she waswalking in the shadow of the elms. From the murmur which came to him, he gathered that the black woman was pleading earnestly, passionately, and he could hear Miss Laura's regretful voice, as she closed theinterview:

"I am sorry, Catherine, but it is simply impossible. I would if Icould, but I cannot. "

The woman came back first, and as she passed by an open window, thelight fell upon her face, which showed signs of deep distress, hardening already into resignation or despair. She was probably introuble of some sort, and her mistress had not been able, doubtlessfor some good reason, to help her out. This suspicion was borne out bythe fact that when Miss Laura came back to him, she too seemedtroubled. But since she did not speak of the matter, the colonel gaveno sign of his own thoughts. 

"You have said nothing of yourself, Laura, " he said, wishing to diverther mind from anything unpleasant. "Tell me something of your ownlife--it could only be a cheerful theme, for you have means andleisure, and a perfect environment. Tell me of your occupations, yourhopes, your aspirations. "

"There is little enough to tell, Henry, " she returned, with a suddencourage, "but that little shall be the truth. You will find it out, ifyou stay long in town, and I would rather you learned it from our lipsthan from others less friendly. My mother is--my mother--a dear, sweetwoman to whom I have devoted my life! But we are not well off, Henry. Our parlour carpet has been down for twenty-five years; surely youmust have recognised the pattern! The house has not been painted forthe same length of time; it is of heart pine, and we train the flowersand vines to cover it as much as may be, and there are many otherslike it, so it is not conspicuous. Our rentable property is threeramshackle cabins on the alley at the rear of the lot, for which weget four dollars a month each, when we can collect it. Our countryestate is a few acres of poor land, which we rent on shares, and fromwhich we get a few bushels of corn, an occasional load of firewood, and a few barrels of potatoes. As for my own life, I husband our smallresources; I keep the house, and wait on mother, as I have done sinceshe became helpless, ten years ago. I look after Graciella. I teach inthe Sunday School, and I give to those less fortunate such help as thepoor can give the poor. "

"How did you come to lose Belleview?" asked the colonel, after apause. "I had understood Major Treadwell to be one of the few peoplearound here who weathered the storm of war and emerged financiallysound. "

"He did; and he remained so--until he met Mr. Fetters, who had mademoney out of the war while all the rest were losing. Father despisedthe slavetrader's son, but admired his ability to get along. Fettersmade his acquaintance, flattered him, told him glowing stories ofwealth to be made by speculating in cotton and turpentine. Father wasnot a business man, but he listened. Fetters lent him money, andfather lent Fetters money, and they had transactions back and forth, and jointly. Father lost and gained and we had no inkling that he hadsuffered greatly, until, at his sudden death, Fetters foreclosed amortgage he held upon Belleview. Mother has always believed there wassomething wrong about the transaction, and that father was notindebted to Fetters in any such sum as Fetters claimed. But we couldfind no papers and we had no proof, and Fetters took the plantationfor his debt. He changed its name to Sycamore; he wanted a post-officethere, and there were too many Belleviews. "

"Does he own it still?"

"Yes, and runs it--with convict labour! The thought makes me shudder!We were rich when he was poor; we are poor and he is rich. But wetrust in God, who has never deserted the widow and the fatherless. ByHis mercy we have lived and, as mother says, held up our heads, notin pride or haughtiness, but in self-respect, for we cannot forgetwhat we were. "

"Nor what you are, Laura, for you are wonderful, " said the colonel, not unwilling to lighten a situation that bordered on intensity. "Youshould have married and had children. The South needs such mothers asyou would have made. Unless the men of Clarendon have lost theirdiscernment, unless chivalry has vanished and the fire died out of theSouthern blood, it has not been for lack of opportunity that your nameremains unchanged. "

Miss Laura's cheek flushed unseen in the shadow of the porch. 

"Ah, Henry, that would be telling! But to marry me, one must havemarried the family, for I could not have left them--they have had onlyme. I have not been unhappy. I do not know that I would have had mylife different. "

Graciella and her friends had finished their song, the piano hadceased to sound, and the visitors were taking their leave. Graciellawent with them to the gate, where they stood laughing and talking. Thecolonel looked at his watch by the light of the open door. 

"It is not late, " he said. "If my memory is true, you too played thepiano when you--when I was young. "

"It is the same piano, Henry, and, like our life here, somewhat thinand weak of tone. But if you think it would give you pleasure, I willplay--as well as I know how. "

She readjusted the veil, which had slipped from her mother's face, andthey went into the parlour. From a pile of time-stained music sheselected a sheet and seated herself at the piano. The colonel stood ather elbow. She had a pretty back, he thought, and a still youthfulturn of the head, and still plentiful, glossy brown hair. Her handswere white, slender and well kept, though he saw on the side of theforefinger of her left hand the telltale marks of the needle. 

The piece was an arrangement of the well-known air from the opera of_Maritana_:

 _"Scenes that are brightest, May charm awhile, Hearts which are lightest And eyes that smile. Yet o'er them above us, Though nature beam, With none to love us, How sad they seem!"_

Under her sympathetic touch a gentle stream of melody flowed from theold-time piano, scarcely stronger toned in its decrepitude, than thespinet of a former century. A few moments before, under Graciella'svigorous hands, it had seemed to protest at the dissonances it hadbeen compelled to emit; now it seemed to breathe the notes of the oldopera with an almost human love and tenderness. It, too, mused thecolonel, had lived and loved and was recalling the memories of abrighter past. 

The music died into silence. Mrs. Treadwell was awake. 

"Laura!" she called. 

Miss Treadwell went to the door. 

"I must have been nodding for a minute. I hope Colonel French did notobserve it--it would scarcely seem polite. He hasn't gone yet?"

"No, mother, he is in the parlour. "

"I must be going, " said the colonel, who came to the door. "I hadalmost forgotten Phil, and it is long past his bedtime. "

Miss Laura went to wake up Phil, who had fallen asleep after supper. He was still rubbing his eyes when the lady led him out. 

"Wake up, Phil, " said the colonel. "It's time to be going. Tell theladies good night. "

Graciella came running up the walk. 

"Why, Colonel French, " she cried, "you are not going already? I madethe others leave early so that I might talk to you. "

"My dear young lady, " smiled the colonel, "I have already risen to go, and if I stayed longer I might wear out my welcome, and Phil wouldsurely go to sleep again. But I will come another time--I shall stayin town several days. "

"Yes, _do_ come, if you _must_ go, " rejoined Graciella with emphasis. "I want to hear more about the North, and about New York societyand--oh, everything! Good night, Philip. _Good_ night, ColonelFrench. "

"Beware of the steps, Henry, " said Miss Laura, "the bottom stone isloose. "

They heard his footsteps in the quiet street, and Phil's light patterbeside him. 

"He's a lovely man, isn't he, Aunt Laura?" said Graciella. 

"He is a gentleman, " replied her aunt, with a pensive look at heryoung niece. 

"Of the old school, " piped Mrs. Treadwell. 

"And Philip is a sweet child, " said Miss Laura. 

"A chip of the old block, " added Mrs. Treadwell. "I remember----"

"Yes, mother, you can tell me when I've shut up the house, "interrupted Miss Laura. "Put out the lamps, Graciella--there's notmuch oil--and when you go to bed hang up your gown carefully, for ittakes me nearly half an hour to iron it. "

"And you are right good to do it! Good night, dear Aunt Laura! Goodnight, grandma!"

Mr. French had left the hotel at noon that day as free as air, and heslept well that night, with no sense of the forces that were toconstrain his life. And yet the events of the day had started thegrowth of a dozen tendrils, which were destined to grow, and reachout, and seize and hold him with ties that do not break. 

_Seven_

The constable who had arrested old Peter led his prisoner away throughalleys and quiet streets--though for that matter all the streets ofClarendon were quiet in midafternoon--to a guardhouse or calaboose, constructed of crumbling red brick, with a rusty, barred iron doorsecured by a heavy padlock. As they approached this structure, whichwas sufficiently forbidding in appearance to depress the mostlighthearted, the strumming of a banjo became audible, accompanying amellow Negro voice which was singing, to a very ragged ragtime air, words of which the burden was something like this:

 _"W'at's de use er my wo'kin' so hahd? I got a' 'oman in de white man's yahd. W'en she cook chicken, she save me a wing; W'en dey 'low I'm wo'kin', I ain' doin' a thing!"_

The grating of the key in the rusty lock interrupted the song. Theconstable thrust his prisoner into the dimly lighted interior, andlocked the door. 

"Keep over to the right, " he said curtly, "that's the niggers' side. "

"But, Mistah Haines, " asked Peter, excitedly, "is I got to stay hereall night? I ain' done nuthin'. "

"No, that's the trouble; you ain't done nuthin' fer a month, but loafaroun'. You ain't got no visible means of suppo't, so you're took upfor vagrancy. "

"But I does wo'k we'n I kin git any wo'k ter do, " the old manexpostulated. "An' ef I kin jus' git wo'd ter de right w'ite folks, I'll be outer here in half a' hour; dey'll go my bail. "

"They can't go yo' bail to-night, fer the squire's gone home. I'llbring you some bread and meat, an' some whiskey if you want it, andyou'll be tried to-morrow mornin'. "

Old Peter still protested. 

"You niggers are always kickin', " said the constable, who was notwithout a certain grim sense of humour, and not above talking to aNegro when there were no white folks around to talk to, or to listen. "I never see people so hard to satisfy. You ain' got no home, an' hereI've give' you a place to sleep, an' you're kickin'. You doan knowfrom one day to another where you'll git yo' meals, an' I offer youbread and meat and whiskey--an' you're kickin'! You say you can't gitnothin' to do, an' yit with the prospect of a reg'lar job befo' youto-morrer--you're kickin'! I never see the beat of it in all my bo'ndays. "

When the constable, chuckling at his own humour, left the guardhouse, he found his way to a nearby barroom, kept by one Clay Jackson, aplace with an evil reputation as the resort of white men of a lowclass. Most crimes of violence in the town could be traced to itsinfluence, and more than one had been committed within its walls. 

"Has Mr. Turner been in here?" demanded Haines of the man in charge. 

The bartender, with a backward movement of his thumb, indicated a dooropening into a room at the rear. Here the constable found his man--aburly, bearded giant, with a red face, a cunning eye and anoverbearing manner. He had a bottle and a glass before him, and wasunsociably drinking alone. 

"Howdy, Haines, " said Turner, "How's things? How many have you gotthis time?"

"I've got three rounded up, Mr. Turner, an' I'll take up another befo'night. That'll make fo'--fifty dollars fer me, an' the res' fer thesquire. "

"That's good, " rejoined Turner. "Have a glass of liquor. How much doyou s'pose the Squire'll fine Bud?"

"Well, " replied Haines, drinking down the glass of whiskey at a gulp, "I reckon about twenty-five dollars. "

"You can make it fifty just as easy, " said Turner. "Niggers are alljust a passell o' black fools. Bud would 'a' b'en out now, if ithadn't be'n for me. I bought him fer six months. I kept close watch ofhim for the first five, and then along to'ds the middle er the las'month I let on I'd got keerliss, an' he run away. Course I put thedawgs on 'im, an' followed 'im here, where his woman is, an' got youafter 'im, and now he's good for six months more. "

"The woman is a likely gal an' a good cook, " said Haines. "_She'd_ bewuth a good 'eal to you out at the stockade. "

"That's a shore fact, " replied the other, "an' I need another goodwoman to help aroun'. If we'd 'a' thought about it, an' give' her achance to hide Bud and feed him befo' you took 'im up, we could 'a'filed a charge ag'inst her for harborin' 'im. "

"Well, I kin do it nex' time, fer he'll run away ag'in--they alwaysdo. Bud's got a vile temper. "

"Yes, but he's a good field-hand, and I'll keep his temper down. Havesomethin' mo'?"

"I've got to go back now and feed the pris'ners, " said Haines, risingafter he had taken another drink; "an' I'll stir Bud up so he'll raiseh--ll, an' to-morrow morning I'll make another charge against himthat'll fetch his fine up to fifty and costs. "

"Which will give 'im to me till the cotton crop is picked, and severalmonths more to work on the Jackson Swamp ditch if Fetters gits thecontract. You stand by us here, Haines, an' help me git all the han'sI can out o' this county, and I'll give you a job at Sycamo' when yo'rtime's up here as constable. Go on and feed the niggers, an' stir upBud, and I'll be on hand in the mornin' when court opens. "

When the lesser of these precious worthies left his superior to hiscups, he stopped in the barroom and bought a pint of rotgut whiskey--acheap brand of rectified spirits coloured and flavoured to resemblethe real article, to which it bore about the relation of vitriol tolye. He then went into a cheap eating house, conducted by a Negro forpeople of his own kind, where he procured some slices of fried bacon, and some soggy corn bread, and with these various purchases, wrappedin a piece of brown paper, he betook himself to the guardhouse. Heunlocked the door, closed it behind him, and called Peter. The old mancame forward. 

"Here, Peter, " said Haines, "take what you want of this, and give someto them other fellows, and if there's anything left after you've gotwhat you want, throw it to that sulky black hound over yonder in thecorner. "

He nodded toward a young Negro in the rear of the room, the BudJohnson who had been the subject of the conversation with Turner. Johnson replied with a curse. The constable advanced menacingly, hishand moving toward his pocket. Quick as a flash the Negro threwhimself upon him. The other prisoners, from instinct, or prudence, orhope of reward, caught him, pulled him away and held him off untilHaines, pale with rage, rose to his feet and began kicking hisassailant vigorously. With the aid of well-directed blows of his fistshe forced the Negro down, who, unable to regain his feet, finally, whether from fear or exhaustion, lay inert, until the constable, having worked off his worst anger, and not deeming it to his advantageseriously to disable the prisoner, in whom he had a pecuniaryinterest, desisted from further punishment. 

"I might send you to the penitentiary for this, " he said, panting forbreath, "but I'll send you to h--ll instead. You'll be sold back toMr. Fetters for a year or two tomorrow, and in three months I'll bedown at Sycamore as an overseer, and then I'll learn you to strike awhite man, you----"

The remainder of the objurgation need not be told, but there was nodoubt, from the expression on Haines's face, that he meant what hesaid, and that he would take pleasure in repaying, in overflowingmeasure, any arrears of revenge against the offending prisoner which hemight consider his due. He had stirred Bud up very successfully--muchmore so, indeed, than he had really intended. He had meant to procureevidence against Bud, but had hardly thought to carry it away in theshape of a black eye and a swollen nose. 

_Eight_

When the colonel set out next morning for a walk down the main street, he had just breakfasted on boiled brook trout, fresh laid eggs, hotmuffins and coffee, and was feeling at peace with all mankind. He wasalone, having left Phil in charge of the hotel housekeeper. He hadgone only a short distance when he reached a door around which severalmen were lounging, and from which came the sound of voices and loudlaughter. Stopping, he looked with some curiosity into the door, overwhich there was a faded sign to indicate that it was the office of aJustice of the Peace--a pleasing collocation of words, to those whocould divorce it from any technical significance--Justice, Peace--theseed and the flower of civilisation. 

An unwashed, dingy-faced young negro, clothed in rags unspeakablyvile, which scarcely concealed his nakedness, was standing in themidst of a group of white men, toward whom he threw now and then ashallow and shifty glance. The air was heavy with the odour of staletobacco, and the floor dotted with discarded portions of the weed. Awhite man stood beside a desk and was addressing the audience:

"Now, gentlemen, here's Lot Number Three, a likely young nigger whoanswers to the name of Sam Brown. Not much to look at, but will make agood field hand, if looked after right and kept away from liquor; usedto workin', when in the chain gang, where he's been, off and on, sincehe was ten years old. Amount of fine an' costs thirty-seven dollarsan' a half. A musical nigger, too, who plays the banjo, an' sings jus'like a--like a blackbird. What am I bid for this prime lot?"

The negro threw a dull glance around the crowd with an air ofdetachment which seemed to say that he was not at all interested inthe proceedings. The colonel viewed the scene with something more thancurious interest. The fellow looked like an habitual criminal, or atleast like a confirmed loafer. This must be one of the idle andworthless blacks with so many of whom the South was afflicted. Thiswas doubtless the method provided by law for dealing with them. 

"One year, " answered a voice. 

"Nine months, " said a second. 

"Six months, " came a third bid, from a tall man with a buggy whipunder his arm. 

"Are you all through, gentlemen? Six months' labour for thirty-sevenfifty is mighty cheap, and you know the law allows you to keep thelabourer up to the mark. Are you all done? Sold to Mr. Turner, for Mr. Fetters, for six months. "

The prisoner's dull face showed some signs of apprehension when thename of his purchaser was pronounced, and he shambled away uneasilyunder the constable's vigilant eye. 

"The case of the State against Bud Johnson is next in order. Bring inthe prisoner. "

The constable brought in the prisoner, handcuffed, and placed him infront of the Justice's desk, where he remained standing. He was ashort, powerfully built negro, seemingly of pure blood, with awell-rounded head, not unduly low in the brow and quite broad betweenthe ears. Under different circumstances his countenance might havebeen pleasing; at present it was set in an expression of angrydefiance. He had walked with a slight limp, there were severalcontusions upon his face; and upon entering the room he had thrown adefiant glance around him, which had not quailed even before the sterneye of the tall man, Turner, who, as the agent of the absent Fetters, had bid on Sam Brown. His face then hardened into the blank expressionof one who stands in a hostile presence. 

"Bud Johnson, " said the justice, "you are charged with escaping fromthe service into which you were sold to pay the fine and costs on acharge of vagrancy. What do you plead--guilty or not guilty?"

The prisoner maintained a sullen silence. 

"I'll enter a plea of not guilty. The record of this court shows thatyou were convicted of vagrancy on December 26th, and sold to Mr. Fetters for four months to pay your fine and costs. The four monthswon't be up for a week. Mr. Turner may be sworn. "

Turner swore to Bud's escape and his pursuit. Haines testified to hiscapture. 

"Have you anything to say?" asked the justice. 

"What's de use er my sayin' anything, " muttered the Negro. "It won'tmake no diff'ence. I didn' do nothin', in de fus' place, ter be fine'fer, an' run away 'cause dey did n' have no right ter keep me dere. "

"Guilty. Twenty-five dollars an' costs. You are also charged withresisting the officer who made the arrest. Guilty or not guilty? Sinceyou don't speak, I'll enter a plea of not guilty. Mr. Haines may besworn. "

Haines swore that the prisoner had resisted arrest, and had only beencaptured by the display of a loaded revolver. The prisoner wasconvicted and fined twenty-five dollars and costs for this secondoffense. 

The third charge, for disorderly conduct in prison, was quicklydisposed of, and a fine of twenty-five dollars and costs levied. 

"You may consider yo'self lucky, " said the magistrate, "that Mr. Haines didn't prefer a mo' serious charge against you. Many a niggerhas gone to the gallows for less. And now, gentlemen, I want to cleanthis case up right here. How much time is offered for the fine andcosts of the prisoner, Bud Johnson, amounting to seventy-five dollarsfine and thirty-three dollars and fifty-fo' cents costs? You've heardthe evidence an' you see the nigger. Ef there ain't much competitionfor his services and the time is a long one, he'll have his ownstubbornness an' deviltry to thank for it. He's strong and healthy andable to do good work for any one that can manage him. "

There was no immediate response. Turner walked forward and viewed theprisoner from head to foot with a coldly sneering look. 

"Well, Bud, " he said, "I reckon we'll hafter try it ag'in. I havenever yet allowed a nigger to git the better o' me, an', moreover, Inever will. I'll bid eighteen months, Squire; an' that's all he'sworth, with his keep. "

There was no competition, and the prisoner was knocked down to Turner, for Fetters, for eighteen months. 

"Lock 'im up till I'm ready to go, Bill, " said Turner to theconstable, "an' just leave the irons on him. I'll fetch 'em back nexttime I come to town. "

The unconscious brutality of the proceeding grated harshly upon thecolonel's nerves. Delinquents of some kind these men must be, who werethus dealt with; but he had lived away from the South so long that sosudden an introduction to some of its customs came with something of ashock. He had remembered the pleasant things, and these but vaguely, since his thoughts and his interests had been elsewhere; and in thesifting process of a healthy memory he had forgotten the disagreeablethings altogether. He had found the pleasant things still inexistence, faded but still fragrant. Fresh from a land of labourunions, and of struggle for wealth and power, of strivings first forequality with those above, and, this attained, for a point of vantageto look down upon former equals, he had found in old Peter, only theday before, a touching loyalty to a family from which he could nolonger expect anything in return. Fresh from a land of women's clubsand women's claims, he had reveled last night in the charmingdomestic, life of the old South, so perfectly preserved in a quiethousehold. Things Southern, as he had already reflected, lived longand died hard, and these things which he saw now in the clear light ofday, were also of the South, and singularly suggestive of other thingsSouthern which he had supposed outlawed and discarded long ago. 

"Now, Mr. Haines, bring in the next lot, " said the Squire. 

The constable led out an old coloured man, clad in a quaint assortmentof tattered garments, whom the colonel did not for a moment recognise, not having, from where he stood, a full view of the prisoner's face. 

"Gentlemen, I now call yo'r attention to Lot Number Fo', left overfrom befo' the wah; not much for looks, but respectful and obedient, and accustomed, for some time past, to eat very little. Can be madeuseful in many ways--can feed the chickens, take care of the children, or would make a good skeercrow. What I am bid, gentlemen, for ol'Peter French? The amount due the co't is twenty-fo' dollahs and ahalf. "

There was some laughter at the Squire's facetiousness. Turner, who hadbid on the young and strong men, turned away unconcernedly. 

"You'd 'a' made a good auctioneer, Squire, " said the one-armed man. 

"Thank you, Mr. Pearsall. How much am I offered for this bargain?"

"He'd be dear at any price, " said one. 

"It's a great risk, " observed a second. 

"Ten yeahs, " said a third. 

"You're takin' big chances, Mr. Bennet, " said another. "He'll die infive, and you'll have to bury him. "

"I withdraw the bid, " said Mr. Bennet promptly. 

"Two yeahs, " said another. 

The colonel was boiling over with indignation. His interest in thefate of the other prisoners had been merely abstract; in old Peter'scase it assumed a personal aspect. He forced himself into the room andto the front. 

"May I ask the meaning of this proceeding?" he demanded. 

"Well, suh, " replied the Justice, "I don't know who you are, or whatright you have to interfere, but this is the sale of a vagrant nigger, with no visible means of suppo't. Perhaps, since you're interested, you'd like to bid on 'im. Are you from the No'th, likely?"

"Yes. "

"I thought, suh, that you looked like a No'the'n man. That bein' so, doubtless you'd like somethin' on the Uncle Tom order. Old Peter'sfine is twenty dollars, and the costs fo' dollars and a half. Theprisoner's time is sold to whoever pays his fine and allows him theshortest time to work it out. When his time's up, he goes free. "

"And what has old Peter done to deserve a fine of twenty dollars--moremoney than he perhaps has ever had at any one time?"

"'Deed, it is, Mars Henry, 'deed it is!" exclaimed Peter, fervently. 

"Peter has not been able, " replied the magistrate, "to show this co'tthat he has reg'lar employment, or means of suppo't, and he wastherefore tried and convicted yesterday evenin' of vagrancy, under ourState law. The fine is intended to discourage laziness and to promoteindustry. Do you want to bid, suh? I'm offered two yeahs, gentlemen, for old Peter French? Does anybody wish to make it less?"

"I'll pay the fine, " said the colonel, "let him go. "

"I beg yo' pahdon, suh, but that wouldn't fulfil the requi'ments ofthe law. He'd be subject to arrest again immediately. Somebody musttake the responsibility for his keep. "

"I'll look after him, " said the colonel shortly. 

"In order to keep the docket straight, " said the justice, "I shouldwant to note yo' bid. How long shall I say?"

"Say what you like, " said the colonel, drawing out his pocketbook. 

"You don't care to bid, Mr. Turner?" asked the justice. 

"Not by a damn sight, " replied Turner, with native elegance. "I buyniggers to work, not to bury. "

"I withdraw my bid in favour of the gentleman, " said the two-yearbidder. 

"Thank you, " said the colonel. 

"Remember, suh, " said the justice to the colonel, "that you areresponsible for his keep as well as entitled to his labour, for theperiod of your bid. How long shall I make it?"

"As long as you please, " said the colonel impatiently. 

"Sold, " said the justice, bringing down his gavel, "for life, to--whatname, suh?"

"French--Henry French. "

There was some manifestation of interest in the crowd; and the colonelwas stared at with undisguised curiosity as he paid the fine andcosts, which included two dollars for two meals in the guardhouse, andwalked away with his purchase--a purchase which his father had made, upon terms not very different, fifty years before. 

"One of the old Frenches, " I reckon, said a bystander, "come back on avisit. "

"Yes, " said another, "old 'ristocrats roun' here. Well, they ought totake keer of their old niggers. They got all the good out of 'em whenthey were young. But they're not runnin' things now. "

An hour later the colonel, driving leisurely about the outskirts ofthe town and seeking to connect his memories more closely with thescenes around him, met a buggy in which sat the man Turner. After thebuggy, tied behind one another to a rope, like a coffle of slaves, marched the three Negroes whose time he had bought at the constable'ssale. Among them, of course, was the young man who had been called BudJohnson. The colonel observed that this Negro's face, when turnedtoward the white man in front of him, expressed a fierce hatred, as ofsome wild thing of the woods, which finding itself trapped andbetrayed, would go to any length to injure its captor. 

Turner passed the colonel with no sign of recognition or greeting. 

Bud Johnson evidently recognised the friendly gentleman who hadinterfered in Peter's case. He threw toward the colonel a look whichresembled an appeal; but it was involuntary, and lasted but a moment, and, when the prisoner became conscious of it, and realised itsuselessness, it faded into the former expression. 

What the man's story was, the colonel did not know, nor what were hisdeserts. But the events of the day had furnished food for reflection. Evidently Clarendon needed new light and leading. Men, even black men, with something to live for, and with work at living wages, wouldscarcely prefer an enforced servitude in ropes and chains. And thepunishment had scarcely seemed to fit the crime. He had observed nogreat zeal for work among the white people since he came to town; suchwork as he had seen done was mostly performed by Negroes. If idlenesswere a crime, the Negroes surely had no monopoly of it. 

_Nine_

Furnished with money for his keep, Peter was ordered if again molestedto say that he was in the colonel's service. The latter, since his ownplans were for the present uncertain, had no very clear idea of whatdisposition he would ultimately make of the old man, but he meant toprovide in some way for his declining years. He also bought Peter aneat suit of clothes at a clothing store, and directed him to presenthimself at the hotel on the following morning. The interval would givethe colonel time to find something for Peter to do, so that he wouldbe able to pay him a wage. To his contract with the county he attachedlittle importance; he had already intended, since their meeting in thecemetery, to provide for Peter in some way, and the legalresponsibility was no additional burden. To Peter himself, to whosehomeless old age food was more than philosophy, the arrangement seemedentirely satisfactory. 

Colonel French's presence in Clarendon had speedily become known tothe public. Upon his return to the hotel, after leaving Peter to hisown devices for the day, he found several cards in his letter box, left by gentlemen who had called, during his absence, to see him. 

The daily mail had also come in, and the colonel sat down in theoffice to read it. There was a club notice, and several letters thathad been readdressed and forwarded, and a long one from Kirby inreference to some detail of the recent transfer. Before he hadfinished reading these, a gentleman came up and introduced himself. Heproved to be one John McLean, an old schoolmate of the colonel, andlater a comrade-in-arms, though the colonel would never haverecognised a rather natty major in his own regiment in this shabbymiddle-aged man, whose shoes were run down at the heel, whose linenwas doubtful, and spotted with tobacco juice. The major talked aboutthe weather, which was cool for the season; about the Civil War, aboutpolitics, and about the Negroes, who were very trifling, the majorsaid. While they were talking upon this latter theme, there was somecommotion in the street, in front of the hotel, and looking up theysaw that a horse, attached to a loaded wagon, had fallen in theroadway, and having become entangled in the harness, was kickingfuriously. Five or six Negroes were trying to quiet the animal, andrelease him from the shafts, while a dozen white men looked on andmade suggestions. 

"An illustration, " said the major, pointing through the window towardthe scene without, "of what we've got to contend with. Six niggerscan't get one horse up without twice as many white men to tell themhow. That's why the South is behind the No'th. The niggers, in one wayor another, take up most of our time and energy. You folks up therehave half your work done before we get our'n started. "

The horse, pulled this way and that, in obedience to the conflictingadvice of the bystanders, only became more and more intricatelyentangled. He had caught one foot in a manner that threatened, witheach frantic jerk, to result in a broken leg, when the colonel, leaving his visitor without ceremony, ran out into the street, leaneddown, and with a few well-directed movements, released the threatenedlimb. 

"Now, boys, " he said, laying hold of the prostrate animal, "give ahand here. "

The Negroes, and, after some slight hesitation, one or two white men, came to the colonel's aid, and in a moment, the horse, trembling andblowing, was raised to its feet. The driver thanked the colonel andthe others who had befriended him, and proceeded with his load. 

When the flurry of excitement was over, the colonel went back to thehotel and resumed the conversation with his friend. If the newfranchise amendment went through, said the major, the Negro would beeliminated from politics, and the people of the South, relieved of thefear of "nigger domination, " could give their attention to betterthings, and their section would move forward along the path ofprogress by leaps and bounds. Of himself the major said little exceptthat he had been an alternate delegate to the last Democratic NationalNominating Convention, and that he expected to run for coroner at thenext county election. 

"If I can secure the suppo't of Mr. Fetters in the primaries, " hesaid, "my nomination is assured, and a nomination is of co'seequivalent to an election. But I see there are some other gentlementhat would like to talk to you, and I won't take any mo' of yo' timeat present. "

"Mr. Blake, " he said, addressing a gentleman with short side-whiskerswho was approaching them, "have you had the pleasure of meetingColonel French?"

"No, suh, " said the stranger, "I shall be glad to have the honour ofan introduction at your hands. "

"Colonel French, Mr. Blake--Mr. Blake, Colonel French. You gentlemenwill probably like to talk to one another, because you both belong tothe same party, I reckon. Mr. Blake is a new man roun' heah--come downfrom the mountains not mo' than ten yeahs ago, an' fetched hispolitics with him; but since he was born that way we don't entertainany malice against him. Mo'over, he's not a 'Black and TanRepublican, ' but a 'Lily White. '"

"Yes, sir, " said Mr. Blake, taking the colonel's hand, "I believe inwhite supremacy, and the elimination of the nigger vote. If theNational Republican Party would only ignore the coloured politicians, and give all the offices to white men, we'll soon build up a strongwhite Republican party. If I had the post-office here at Clarendon, with the encouragement it would give, and the aid of my clerks andsubo'dinates, I could double the white Republican vote in this countyin six months. "

The major had left them together, and the Lily White, ere he in turnmade way for another caller, suggested delicately, that he wouldappreciate any good word that the colonel might be able to say for himin influential quarters--either personally or through friends whomight have the ear of the executive or those close to him--inreference to the postmastership. Realising that the presentadministration was a business one, in which sentiment played smallpart, he had secured the endorsement of the leading business men ofthe county, even that of Mr. Fetters himself. Mr. Fetters was ofcourse a Democrat, but preferred, since the office must go to aRepublican, that it should go to a Lily White. 

"I hope to see mo' of you, sir, " he said, "and I take pleasure inintroducing the Honourable Henry Clay Appleton, editor of our localnewspaper, the _Anglo-Saxon_. He and I may not agree on free silverand the tariff, but we are entirely in harmony on the subjectindicated by the title of his newspaper. Mr. Appleton not onlyfurnishes all the news that's fit to read, but he represents thiscounty in the Legislature, along with Mr. Fetters, and he will nodoubt be the next candidate for Congress from this district. He cantell you all that's worth knowin' about Clarendon. "

The colonel shook hands with the editor, who had come with a twofoldintent--to make the visitor's acquaintance and to interview him uponhis impressions of the South. Incidentally he gave the colonel a greatdeal of information about local conditions. These were not, headmitted, ideal. The town was backward. It needed capital to developits resources, and it needed to be rid of the fear of Negrodomination. The suffrage in the hands of the Negroes had proved aghastly and expensive joke for all concerned, and the public welfareabsolutely demanded that it be taken away. Even the white Republicanswere coming around to the same point of view. The new franchiseamendment to the State constitution was receiving their unqualifiedsupport. 

"That was a fine, chivalrous deed of yours this morning, sir, " hesaid, "at Squire Reddick's office. It was just what might have beenexpected from a Southern gentleman; for we claim you, colonel, inspite of your long absence. "

"Yes, " returned the colonel, "I don't know what I rescued old Peterfrom. It looked pretty dark for him there for a little while. Ishouldn't have envied his fate had he been bought in by the tallfellow who represented your colleague in the Legislature. The lawseems harsh. "

"Well, " admitted the editor, "I suppose it might seem harsh, incomparison with your milder penal systems up North. But you mustconsider the circumstances, and make allowances for us. We have somany idle, ignorant Negroes that something must be done to make themwork, or else they'll steal, and to keep them in their place, or theywould run over us. The law has been in operation only a year or two, and is already having its effect. I'll be glad to introduce a bill forits repeal, as soon as it is no longer needed. 

"You must bear in mind, too, colonel, that niggers don't look atimprisonment and enforced labour in the same way white people do--theyare not conscious of any disgrace attending stripes or the ball andchain. The State is poor; our white children are suffering for lack ofeducation, and yet we have to spend a large amount of money on theNegro schools. These convict labour contracts are a source ofconsiderable revenue to the State; they make up, in fact, for most ofthe outlay for Negro education--which I approve of, though I'm frankto say that so far I don't see much good that's come from it. Thisconvict labour is humanely treated; Mr. Fetters has the contract forseveral counties, and anybody who knows Mr. Fetters knows that there'sno kinder-hearted man in the South. "

The colonel disclaimed any intention of criticising. He had come backto his old home for a brief visit, to rest and to observe. He waswilling to learn and anxious to please. The editor took copious notesof the interview, and upon his departure shook hands with the colonelcordially. 

The colonel had tactfully let his visitors talk, while he listened, ordropped a word here and there to draw them out. One fact was drivenhome to him by every one to whom he had spoken. Fetters dominated thecounty and the town, and apparently the State. His name was on everylip. His influence was indispensable to every political aspirant. Hisacquaintance was something to boast of, and his good will held apromise of success. And the colonel had once kicked the Honourable Mr. Fetters, then plain Bill, in presence of an admiring audience, all theway down Main Street from the academy to the bank! Bill had been, toall intents and purposes, a poor white boy; who could not have namedwith certainty his own grandfather. The Honourable William wasundoubtedly a man of great ability. Had the colonel remained in hisnative State, would he have been able, he wondered, to impress himselfso deeply upon the community? Would blood have been of any advantage, under the changed conditions, or would it have been a drawback to onewho sought political advancement?

When the colonel was left alone, he went to look for Phil, who wasplaying with the children of the landlord, in the hotel parlour. Commending him to the care of the Negro maid in charge of them, heleft the hotel and called on several gentlemen whose cards he hadfound in his box at the clerk's desk. Their stores and offices werewithin a short radius of the hotel. They were all glad to see him, andif there was any initial stiffness or shyness in the attitude of anyone, it soon became the warmest cordiality under the influence of thecolonel's simple and unostentatious bearing. If he compared the cut oftheir clothes or their beards to his own, to their disadvantage, or ifhe found their views narrow and provincial, he gave no sign--theirhearts were warm and their welcome hearty. 

The colonel was not able to gather, from the conversation of hisfriends, that Clarendon, or any one in the town--always exceptingFetters, who did not live in the town, but merely overshadowed it--wasespecially prosperous. There were no mills or mines in theneighbourhood, except a few grist mills, and a sawmill. The bulk ofthe business consisted in supplying the needs of an agriculturalpopulation, and trading in their products. The cotton was baled andshipped to the North, and re-imported for domestic use, in the shapeof sheeting and other stuffs. The corn was shipped to the North, andcame back in the shape of corn meal and salt pork, the staple articlesof diet. Beefsteak and butter were brought from the North, attwenty-five and fifty cents a pound respectively. There were cottonmerchants, and corn and feed merchants; there were dry-goods andgrocery stores, drug stores and saloons--and more saloons--and theusual proportion of professional men. Since Clarendon was the countyseat, there were of course a court house and a jail. There werechurches enough, if all filled at once, to hold the entire populationof the town, and preachers in proportion. The merchants, of whom anumber were Jewish, periodically went into bankruptcy; the majority oftheir customers did likewise, and thus a fellow-feeling was promoted, and the loss thrown back as far as possible. The lands of the largefarmers were mostly mortgaged, either to Fetters, or to the bank ofwhich he was the chief stockholder, for all that could be borrowed onthem; while the small farmers, many of whom were coloured, werepractically tied to the soil by ropes of debt and chains of contract. 

Every one the colonel met during the afternoon had heard of SquireReddick's good joke of the morning. That he should have sold Peter tothe colonel for life was regarded as extremely clever. Some of themknew old Peter, and none of them had ever known any harm of him, andthey were unanimous in their recognition and applause of the colonel'sgoodheartedness. Moreover, it was an index of the colonel's views. Hewas one of them, by descent and early associations, but he had beenaway a long time, and they hadn't really known how much of a Yankee hemight have become. By his whimsical and kindly purchase of old Peter'stime--or of old Peter, as they smilingly put it, he had shown hisappreciation of the helplessness of the Negroes, and of their properrelations to the whites. 

"What'll you do with him, Colonel?" asked one gentleman. "An olenigger like Peter couldn't live in the col' No'th. You'll have to buya place down here to keep 'im. They wouldn' let you own a nigger atthe No'th. "

The remark, with the genial laugh accompanying it, was sounding in thecolonel's ears, as, on the way back to the hotel, he stepped into thebarber shop. The barber, who had also heard the story, was burstingwith a desire to unbosom himself upon the subject. Knowing fromexperience that white gentlemen, in their intercourse with colouredpeople, were apt to be, in the local phrase; "sometimey, " or uncertainin their moods, he first tested, with a few remarks about the weather, the colonel's amiability, and finding him approachable, proved quitetalkative and confidential. 

"You're Colonel French, ain't you, suh?" he asked as he began applyingthe lather. 

"Yes. "

"Yes, suh; I had heard you wuz in town, an' I wuz hopin' you wouldcome in to get shaved. An' w'en I heard 'bout yo' noble conduc' thismawnin' at Squire Reddick's I wanted you to come in all de mo', suh. Ole Uncle Peter has had a lot er bad luck in his day, but he has fellon his feet dis time, suh, sho's you bawn. I'm right glad to see you, suh. I feels closer to you, suh, than I does to mos' white folks, because you know, colonel, I'm livin' in the same house you wuz bawnin. "

"Oh, you are the Nichols, are you, who bought our old place?"

"Yes, suh, William Nichols, at yo' service, suh. I've own' de olehouse fer twenty yeahs or mo' now, suh, an' we've b'en mightycomfo'table in it, suh. They is a spaciousness, an' a air of elegantsufficiency about the environs and the equipments of the ed'fice, suh, that does credit to the tas'e of the old aristocracy an' of you-all'sfamily, an' teches me in a sof' spot. For I loves the aristocracy; an'I've often tol' my ol' lady, 'Liza, ' says I, 'ef I'd be'n bawn white Isho' would 'a' be'n a 'ristocrat. I feels it in my bones. '"

While the barber babbled on with his shrewd flattery, which wassincere enough to carry a reasonable amount of conviction, the colonellistened with curiously mingled feelings. He recalled each plank, eachpane of glass, every inch of wall, in the old house. No spot waswithout its associations. How many a brilliant scene of gaiety hadtaken place in the spacious parlour where bright eyes had sparkled, merry feet had twinkled, and young hearts beat high with love and hopeand joy of living! And not only joy had passed that way, but sorrow. In the front upper chamber his mother had died. Vividly he recalled, as with closed eyes he lay back under the barber's skilful hand, theirlast parting and his own poignant grief; for she had been not only hismother, but a woman of character, who commanded respect and inspiredaffection; a beautiful woman whom he had loved with a devotion thatbordered on reverence. 

Romance, too, had waved her magic wand over the old homestead. Hismemory smiled indulgently as he recalled one scene. In a corner of thebroad piazza, he had poured out his youthful heart, one summerevening, in strains of passionate devotion, to his first love, abeautiful woman of thirty who was visiting his mother, and who hadtold him between smiles and tears, to be a good boy and wait a littlelonger, until he was sure of his own mind. Even now, he breathed, inmemory, the heavy odour of the magnolia blossoms which overhung thelong wooden porch bench or "jogging board" on which the lady sat, while he knelt on the hard floor before her. He felt very young indeedafter she had spoken, but her caressing touch upon his hair had sostirred his heart that his vanity had suffered no wound. Why, thefamily had owned the house since they had owned the cemetery lot! Itwas hallowed by a hundred memories, and now!----

"Will you have oil on yo' hair, suh, or bay rum?"

"Nichols, " exclaimed the colonel, "I should like to buy back the oldhouse. What do you want for it?"

"Why, colonel, " stammered the barber, somewhat taken aback at thesuddenness of the offer, "I hadn' r'ally thought 'bout sellin' it. Yousee, suh, I've had it now for twenty years, and it suits me, an' mychild'en has growed up in it--an' it kind of has associations, suh. "

In principle the colonel was an ardent democrat; he believed in therights of man, and extended the doctrine to include all who bore thehuman form. But in feeling he was an equally pronounced aristocrat. Aservant's rights he would have defended to the last ditch; familiarityhe would have resented with equal positiveness. Something of thisancestral feeling stirred within him now. While Nichols's position inreference to the house was, in principle, equally as correct as thecolonel's own, and superior in point of time--since impressions, likephotographs, are apt to grow dim with age, and Nichols's were of muchmore recent date--the barber's display of sentiment only jarred thecolonel's sensibilities and strengthened his desire. 

"I should advise you to speak up, Nichols, " said the colonel. "I hadno notion of buying the place when I came in, and I may not be of thesame mind to-morrow. Name your own price, but now's your time. "

The barber caught his breath. Such dispatch was unheard-of inClarendon. But Nichols, a keen-eyed mulatto, was a man of thrift andgood sense. He would have liked to consult his wife and children aboutthe sale, but to lose an opportunity to make a good profit was to flyin the face of Providence. The house was very old. It needed shinglingand painting. The floors creaked; the plaster on the walls was loose;the chimneys needed pointing and the insurance was soon renewable. Heowned a smaller house in which he could live. He had been told to namehis price; it was as much better to make it too high than too low, asit was easier to come down than to go up. The would-be purchaser was arich man; the diamond on the third finger of his left hand alone wouldbuy a small house. 

"I think, suh, " he said, at a bold venture, "that fo' thousand dollarswould be 'bout right. "

"I'll take it, " returned the colonel, taking out his pocket-book. "Here's fifty dollars to bind the bargain. I'll write a receipt foryou to sign. "

The barber brought pen, ink and paper, and restrained his excitementsufficiently to keep silent, while the colonel wrote a receiptembodying the terms of the contract, and signed it with a steady hand. 

"Have the deed drawn up as soon as you like, " said the colonel, as heleft the shop, "and when it is done I'll give you a draft for themoney. "

"Yes, suh; thank you, suh, thank you, colonel. "

The barber had bought the house at a tax sale at a time of greatfinancial distress, twenty years before, for five hundred dollars. Hehad made a very good sale, and he lost no time in having the deeddrawn up. 

When the colonel reached the hotel, he found Phil seated on thedoorstep with a little bow-legged black boy and a little white dog. Phil, who had a large heart, had fraternised with the boy and fallenin love with the dog. 

"Papa, " he said, "I want to buy this dog. His name is Rover; he canshake hands, and I like him very much. This little boy wants ten centsfor him, and I did not have the money. I asked him to wait until youcame. May I buy him?"

"Certainly, Phil. Here, boy!"

The colonel threw the black boy a silver dollar. Phil took the dogunder his arm and followed his father into the house, while the otherboy, his glistening eyes glued to the coin in his hand, scampered offas fast as his limbs would carry him. He was back next morning with apretty white kitten, but the colonel discouraged any further purchasesfor the time being. 

 * * * * *

"My dear Laura, " said the colonel when he saw his friend the sameevening, "I have been in Clarendon two days; and I have already boughta dog, a house and a man. "

Miss Laura was startled. "I don't understand, " she said. 

The colonel proceeded to explain the transaction by which he hadacquired, for life, the services of old Peter. 

"I suppose it is the law, " Miss Laura said, "but it seems hardlyright. I had thought we were well rid of slavery. White men do notwork any too much. Old Peter was not idle. He did odd jobs, when hecould get them; he was polite and respectful; and it was an outrage totreat him so. I am glad you--hired him. "

"Yes--hired him. Moreover, Laura. I have bought a house. "

"A house! Then you are going to stay! I am so glad! we shall all be soglad. What house?"

"The old place. I went into the barber shop. The barber complimentedme on the family taste in architecture, and grew sentimental about_his_ associations with the house. This awoke _my_ associations, andthe collocation jarred--I was selfish enough to want a monopoly of theassociations. I bought the house from him before I left the shop. "

"But what will you do with it?" asked Miss Laura, puzzled. "You couldnever _live_ in it again--after a coloured family?"

"Why not? It is no less the old house because the barber has rearedhis brood beneath its roof. There were always Negroes in it when wewere there--the place swarmed with them. Hammer and plane, soap andwater, paper and paint, can make it new again. The barber, Iunderstand, is a worthy man, and has reared a decent family. Hisdaughter plays the piano, and sings:

 _'I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, With vassals and serfs by my side. '_

I heard her as I passed there yesterday. "

Miss Laura gave an apprehensive start. 

"There were Negroes in the house in the old days, " he went onunnoticing, "and surely a good old house, gone farther astray thanours, might still be redeemed to noble ends. I shall renovate it andlive in it while I am here, and at such times as I may return; or if Ishould tire of it, I can give it to the town for a school, or for ahospital--there is none here. I should like to preserve, so far as Imay, the old associations--_my_ associations. The house might not fallagain into hands as good as those of Nichols, and I should like toknow that it was devoted to some use that would keep the old namealive in the community. "

"I think, Henry, " said Miss Laura, "that if your visit is long enough, you will do more for the town than if you had remained here all yourlife. For you have lived in a wider world, and acquired a broaderview; and you have learned new things without losing your love for theold. "

_Ten_

The deed for the house was executed on Friday, Nichols agreeing togive possession within a week. The lavishness of the purchase pricewas a subject of much remark in the town, and Nichols's good fortunewas congratulated or envied, according to the temper of eachindividual. The colonel's action in old Peter's case had made him aname for generosity. His reputation for wealth was confirmed by thisreckless prodigality. There were some small souls, of course, amongthe lower whites who were heard to express disgust that, so far, only"niggers" had profited by the colonel's visit. The _Anglo-Saxon_, which came out Saturday morning, gave a large amount of space toColonel French and his doings. Indeed, the two compositors hadremained up late the night before, setting up copy, and the pressmanhad not reached home until three o'clock; the kerosene oil in theoffice gave out, and it was necessary to rouse a grocer at midnight toreplenish the supply--so far had the advent of Colonel Frenchaffected the life of the town. 

The _Anglo-Saxon_ announced that Colonel Henry French, formerly ofClarendon, who had won distinction in the Confederate Army, and sincethe war achieved fortune at the North, had returned to visit hisbirthplace and his former friends. The hope was expressed that ColonelFrench, who had recently sold out to a syndicate his bagging mills inConnecticut, might seek investments in the South, whose vastundeveloped resources needed only the fructifying flow of abundantcapital to make it blossom like the rose. The New South, the_Anglo-Saxon_ declared, was happy to welcome capital and enterprise, and hoped that Colonel French might find, in Clarendon, an agreeableresidence, and an attractive opening for his trained businessenergies. That something of the kind was not unlikely, might begathered from the fact that Colonel French had already repurchased, from William Nichols, a worthy negro barber, the old French mansion, and had taken into his service a former servant of the family, thusforeshadowing a renewal of local ties and a prolonged residence. 

The conduct of the colonel in the matter of his old servant was warmlycommended. The romantic circumstances of their meeting in thecemetery, and the incident in the justice's court, which were mattersof public knowledge and interest, showed that in Colonel French, should he decide to resume his residence in Clarendon, his fellowcitizens would find an agreeable neighbour, whose sympathies would bewith the South in those difficult matters upon which North and Southhad so often been at variance, but upon which they were now rapidlybecoming one in sentiment. 

The colonel, whose active mind could not long remain unoccupied, wasbusily engaged during the next week, partly in making plans for therenovation of the old homestead, partly in correspondence with Kirbyconcerning the winding up of the loose ends of their former business. Thus compelled to leave Phil to the care of some one else, he had anexcellent opportunity to utilise Peter's services. When the old man, proud of his new clothes, and relieved of any responsibility for hisown future, first appeared at the hotel, the colonel was ready with acommission. 

"Now, Peter, " he said, "I'm going to prove my confidence in you, andtest your devotion to the family, by giving you charge of Phil. Youmay come and get him in the morning after breakfast--you can get yourmeals in the hotel kitchen--and take him to walk in the streets or thecemetery; but you must be very careful, for he is all I have in theworld. In other words, Peter, you are to take as good care of Phil asyou did of me when I was a little boy. "

"I'll look aftuh 'im, Mars Henry, lak he wuz a lump er pyo' gol'. Mean' him will git along fine, won't we, little Mars Phil?"

"Yes, indeed, " replied the child. "I like you, Uncle Peter, and I'llbe glad to go with you. "

Phil and the old man proved excellent friends, and the colonel, satisfied that the boy would be well cared for, gave his attention tothe business of the hour. As soon as Nichols moved out of the oldhouse, there was a shaking of the dry bones among the mechanics of thetown. A small army of workmen invaded the premises, and repairs andimprovements of all descriptions went rapidly forward--much morerapidly than was usual in Clarendon, for the colonel let all his workby contract, and by a system of forfeits and premiums kept it going athigh pressure. In two weeks the house was shingled, painted inside andout, the fences were renewed, the outhouses renovated, and the groundsput in order. 

The stream of ready money thus put into circulation by the colonel, soon permeated all the channels of local enterprise. The barber, outof his profits, began the erection of a row of small houses forcoloured tenants. This gave employment to masons and carpenters, andinvolved the sale and purchase of considerable building material. General trade felt the influence of the enhanced prosperity. Groceries, dry-goods stores and saloons, did a thriving business. Theease with which the simply organised community responded to so slightan inflow of money and energy, was not without a pronounced influenceupon the colonel's future conduct. 

When his house was finished, Colonel French hired a housekeeper, acoloured maid, a cook and a coachman, bought several horses andcarriages, and, having sent to New York for his books and pictures andseveral articles of furniture which he had stored there, beganhousekeeping in his own establishment. Succumbing willingly to thecharm of old associations, and entering more fully into the sociallife of the town, he began insensibly to think of Clarendon as anestablished residence, where he would look forward to spending acertain portion of each year. The climate was good for Phil, and tobring up the boy safely would be henceforth his chief concern in life. In the atmosphere of the old town the ideas of race and blood attaineda new and larger perspective. It would be too bad for an old family, with a fine history, to die out, and Phil was the latest of the lineand the sole hope of its continuance. 

The colonel was conscious, somewhat guiltily conscious, that he hadneglected the South and all that pertained to it--except the marketfor burlaps and bagging, which several Southern sales agencies hadattended to on behalf of his firm. He was aware, too, that he had felta certain amount of contempt for its poverty, its quixotic devotion tolost causes and vanished ideals, and a certain disgusted impatiencewith a people who persistently lagged behind in the march of progress, and permitted a handful of upstart, blatant, self-seeking demagoguesto misrepresent them, in Congress and before the country, byintemperate language and persistent hostility to a humble but largeand important part of their own constituency. But he was glad to findthat this was the mere froth upon the surface, and that underneath it, deep down in the hearts of the people, the currents of life flowed, ifless swiftly, not less purely than in more favoured places. 

The town needed an element, which he could in a measure supply byresiding there, if for only a few weeks each year. And that elementwas some point of contact with the outer world and its more advancedthought. He might induce some of his Northern friends to follow hisexample; there were many for whom the mild climate in Winter and therestful atmosphere at all seasons of the year, would be a boon whichcorrectly informed people would be eager to enjoy. 

Of the extent to which the influence of the Treadwell household hadcontributed to this frame of mind, the colonel was not conscious. Hehad received the freedom of the town, and many hospitable doors wereopen to him. As a single man, with an interesting little motherlesschild, he did not lack for the smiles of fair ladies, of which thetown boasted not a few. But Mrs. Treadwell's home held the first placein his affections. He had been there first, and first impressions arevivid. They had been kind to Phil, who loved them all, and insisted onPeter's taking him there every day. The colonel found pleasure in MissLaura's sweet simplicity and openness of character; to whichGraciella's vivacity and fresh young beauty formed an attractivecounterpart; and Mrs. Treadwell's plaintive minor note had soothed andsatisfied Colonel French in this emotional Indian Summer which markedhis reaction from a long and arduous business career. 

_Eleven_

In addition to a pronounced attractiveness of form and feature, MissGraciella Treadwell possessed a fine complexion, a clear eye, and anelastic spirit. She was also well endowed with certain othercharacteristics of youth; among them ingenuousness, which, if it be afault, experience is sure to correct; and impulsiveness, which eventhe school of hard knocks is not always able to eradicate, though itmay chasten. To the good points of Graciella, could be added anuntroubled conscience, at least up to that period when Colonel Frenchdawned upon her horizon, and for some time thereafter. If she had putherself foremost in all her thoughts, it had been the unconsciousegotism of youth, with no definite purpose of self-seeking. The thingsfor which she wished most were associated with distant places, and herlonging for them had never taken the form of envy of those around her. Indeed envy is scarcely a vice of youth; it is a weed that flourishesbest after the flower of hope has begun to wither. Graciella's viewsof life, even her youthful romanticism were sane and healthful; butsince she had not been tried in the furnace of experience, it couldonly be said of her that she belonged to the class, always large, butshifting like the sands of the sea, who have never been tempted, andtherefore do not know whether they would sin or not. 

It was inevitable, with such a nature as Graciella's, in such anembodiment, that the time should come, at some important crisis of herlife, when she must choose between different courses; nor was itlikely that she could avoid what comes sometime to all of us, thenecessity of choosing between good and evil. Her liking for ColonelFrench had grown since their first meeting. He knew so many thingsthat Graciella wished to know, that when he came to the house shespent a great deal of time in conversation with him. Her aunt Laurawas often busy with household duties, and Graciella, as the leastemployed member of the family, was able to devote herself to hisentertainment. Colonel French, a comparatively idle man at thisperiod, found her prattle very amusing. 

It was not unnatural for Graciella to think that this acquaintancemight be of future value; she could scarcely have thought otherwise. If she should ever go to New York, a rich and powerful friend would bewell worth having. Should her going there be delayed very long, shewould nevertheless have a tie of friendship in the great city, and asource to which she might at any time apply for information. Herfondness for Colonel French's society was, however, up to a certaintime, entirely spontaneous, and coloured by no ulterior purpose. Herhope that his friendship might prove valuable was an afterthought. 

It was during this happy period that she was standing, one day, by thegarden gate, when Colonel French passed by in his fine new trap, driving a spirited horse; and it was with perfect candour that shewaved her hand to him familiarly. 

"Would you like a drive?" he called. 

"Wouldn't I?" she replied. "Wait till I tell the folks. "

She was back in a moment, and ran out of the gate and down the steps. The colonel gave her his hand and she sprang up beside him. 

They drove through the cemetery, and into the outlying part of thetown, where there were some shaded woodland stretches. It was apleasant afternoon; cloudy enough to hide the sun. Graciella's eyessparkled and her cheek glowed with pleasure, while her light brownhair blown about her face by the breeze of their rapid motion was likean aureole. 

"Colonel French, " she said as they were walking the horse up a hill, "are you going to give a house warming?"

"Why, " he said, "I hadn't thought of it. Ought I to give a housewarming?"

"You surely ought. Everybody will want to see your house while it isnew and bright. You certainly ought to have a house warming. "

"Very well, " said the colonel. "I make it a rule to shirk no plainduty. If I _ought_ to have a house warming, I _will_ have it. And youshall be my social mentor. What sort of a party shall it be?"

"Why not make it, " she said brightly, "just such a party as yourfather would have had. You have the old house, and the old furniture. Give an old-time party. "

 * * * * *

In fitting up his house the colonel had been animated by the samefeeling that had moved him to its purchase. He had endeavoured torestore, as far as possible, the interior as he remembered it in hischildhood. At his father's death the furniture had been sold andscattered. He had been able, through the kindly interest of hisfriends, to recover several of the pieces. Others that were lost pasthope, had been reproduced from their description. Among thoserecovered was a fine pair of brass andirons, and his father'smahogany desk, which had been purchased by Major Treadwell at the saleof the elder French's effects. 

Miss Laura had been the first to speak of the desk. 

"Henry, " she had said, "the house would not be complete without yourfather's desk. It was my father's too, but yours is the prior claim. Take it as a gift from me. "

He protested, and would have paid for it liberally, and, when shewould take nothing, declared he would not accept it on such terms. 

"You are selfish, Henry, " she replied, with a smile. "You have broughta new interest into our lives, and into the town, and you will not letus make you any return. "

"But I am taking from you something you need, " he replied, "and forwhich you paid. When Major Treadwell bought it, it was merelysecond-hand furniture, sold under the hammer. Now it has the value ofan antique--it is a fine piece and could be sold in New York for alarge sum. "

"You must take it for nothing, or not at all, " she replied firmly. 

"It is highway robbery, " he said, and could not make up his mind toyield. 

Next day, when the colonel went home, after having been down town anhour, he found the desk in his library. The Treadwell ladies hadcorrupted Peter, who had told them when the colonel would be out ofthe house and had brought a cart to take the desk away. 

When the house was finished, the interior was simple but beautiful. Itwas furnished in the style that had been prevalent fifty years before. There were some modern additions in the line of comfort andluxury--soft chairs, fine rugs, and a few choice books andpictures--for the colonel had not attempted to conform his own tastesand habits to those of his father. He had some visitors, mostlygentlemen, and there was, as Graciella knew, a lively curiosity amongthe ladies to see the house and its contents. 

The suggestion of a house warming had come originally from Mrs. Treadwell; but Graciella had promptly made it her own and conveyed itto the colonel. 

 * * * * *

"A bright idea, " he replied. "By all means let it be an old-timeparty--say such a party as my father would have given, or mygrandfather. And shall we invite the old people?"

"Well, " replied Graciella judicially, "don't have them so old thatthey can't talk or hear, and must be fed with a spoon. If there weretoo many old, or not enough young people, I shouldn't enjoy myself. "

"I suppose I seem awfully old to you, " said the colonel, parenthetically. 

"Oh, I don't know, " replied Graciella, giving him a frankly criticallook. "When you first came I thought you _were_ rather old--you see, you are older than Aunt Laura; but you seem to have grownyounger--it's curious, but it's true--and now I hardly think of you asold at all. "

The colonel was secretly flattered. The wisest man over forty likes tobe thought young. 

"Very well, " he said, "you shall select the guests. "

"At an old-time party, " continued Graciella, thoughtfully, "the guestsshould wear old-time clothes. In grandmother's time the ladies worelong flowing sleeves----"

"And hoopskirts, " said the colonel. 

"And their hair down over their ears. "

"Or in ringlets. "

"Yes, it is all in grandmother's bound volume of _The Ladies' Book_, "said Graciella. "I was reading it only last week. "

"My mother took it, " returned the colonel. 

"Then you must have read 'Letters from a Pastry Cook, ' by N. P. Williswhen they came out?"

"No, " said the colonel with a sigh, "I missed that. I--I wasn't ableto read then. "

Graciella indulged in a brief mental calculation. 

"Why, of course not, " she laughed, "you weren't even born when theycame out! But they're fine; I'll lend you our copy. You must ask allthe girls to dress as their mothers and grandmothers used to dress. Make the requirement elastic, because some of them may not have justthe things for one particular period. I'm all right. We have a cedarchest in the attic, full of old things. Won't I look funny in a hoopskirt?"

"You'll look charming in anything, " said the colonel. 

It was a pleasure to pay Graciella compliments, she so frankly enjoyedthem; and the colonel loved to make others happy. In his New York firmMr. French was always ready to consider a request for an advance ofsalary; Kirby had often been obliged to play the wicked partner inorder to keep expenses down to a normal level. At parties débutanteshad always expected Mr. French to say something pleasant to them, andhad rarely been disappointed. 

The subject of the party was resumed next day at Mrs. Treadwell's, where the colonel went in the afternoon to call. 

"An old-time party, " declared the colonel, "should have old-timeamusements. We must have a fiddler, a black fiddler, to playquadrilles and the Virginia Reel. "

"I don't know where you'll find one, " said Miss Laura. 

"I'll ask Peter, " replied the colonel. "He ought to know. "

Peter was in the yard with Phil. 

"Lawd, Mars Henry!" said Peter, "fiddlers is mighty sca'ce dese days, but I reckon ole 'Poleon Campbell kin make you shake yo' feet yit, efOle Man Rheumatiz ain' ketched holt er 'im too tight. "

"And I will play a minuet on your new piano, " said Miss Laura, "andteach the girls beforehand how to dance it. There should be cards forthose who do not dance. "

So the party was arranged. Miss Laura, Graciella and the colonel madeout the list of guests. The invitations were duly sent out for anold-time party, with old-time costumes--any period between 1830 and1860 permissible--and old-time entertainment. 

The announcement created some excitement in social circles, and, likeall of Colonel French's enterprises at that happy period of hishome-coming, brought prosperity in its train. Dressmakers were keptbusy making and altering costumes for the ladies. Old ArchieChristmas, the mulatto tailor, sole survivor of a once flourishingcraft--Mr. Cohen's Universal Emporium supplied the general public withready-made clothing, and, twice a year, the travelling salesman of aNew York tailoring firm visited Clarendon with samples of suitings, and took orders and measurements--old Archie Christmas, who had notmade a full suit of clothes for years, was able, by making andaltering men's garments for the colonel's party, to earn enough tokeep himself alive for another twelve months. Old Peter was atArchie's shop one day, and they were talking about old times--good oldtimes--for to old men old times are always good times, though historymay tell another tale. 

"Yo' boss is a godsen' ter dis town, " declared old Archie, "he sho'is. De w'ite folks says de young niggers is triflin' 'cause dey don'larn how to do nothin'. But what is dere fer 'em to do? I kin 'memberwhen dis town was full er black an' yaller carpenters an' 'j'iners, blacksmiths, wagon makers, shoemakers, tinners, saddlers an' cab'netmakers. Now all de fu'nicher, de shoes, de wagons, de buggies, detinware, de hoss shoes, de nails to fasten 'em on wid--yas, an' fo' deLawd! even de clothes dat folks wears on dere backs, is made at deNorf, an' dere ain' nothin' lef' fer de ole niggers ter do, let 'lonede young ones. Yo' boss is de right kin'; I hopes he'll stay 'roun'here till you an' me dies. "

"I hopes wid you, " said Peter fervently, "I sho' does! Yas indeed Idoes. "

Peter was entirely sincere. Never in his life had he worn such goodclothes, eaten such good food, or led so easy a life as in thecolonel's service. Even the old times paled by comparison with thisnew golden age; and the long years of poverty and hard luck thatstretched behind him seemed to the old man like a distant andunpleasant dream. 

 * * * * *

The party came off at the appointed time, and was a distinct success. Graciella had made a raid on the cedar chest, and shone resplendent incrinoline, curls, and a patterned muslin. Together with Miss Laura andBen Dudley, who had come in from Mink Run for the party, she was amongthe first to arrive. Miss Laura's costume, which belonged to anearlier date, was in keeping with her quiet dignity. Ben wore a suitof his uncle's, which the care of old Aunt Viney had preservedwonderfully well from moth and dust through the years. The men worestocks and neckcloths, bell-bottomed trousers with straps under theirshoes, and frock coats very full at the top and buttoned tightly atthe waist. Old Peter, in a long blue coat with brass buttons, acted asbutler, helped by a young Negro who did the heavy work. Miss Laura'sservant Catherine had rallied from her usual gloom and begged theprivilege of acting as lady's maid. 'Poleon Campbell, an old-timeNegro fiddler, whom Peter had resurrected from some obscure cabin, oiled his rheumatic joints, tuned his fiddle and rosined his bow, andunder the inspiration of good food and drink and liberal wage, playedthrough his whole repertory, which included such ancient favouritesas, "Fishers' Hornpipe, " "Soldiers' Joy, " "Chicken in the Bread-tray, "and the "Campbells are Coming. " Miss Laura played a minuet, which theyoung people danced. Major McLean danced the highland fling, and someof the ladies sang old-time songs, and war lyrics, which stirred theheart and moistened the eyes. 

Little Phil, in a child's costume of 1840, copied from _The Ladies'Book_, was petted and made much of for several hours, until he becamesleepy and was put to bed. 

"Graciella, " said the colonel to his young friend, during the evening, "our party is a great success. It was your idea. When it is all over, I want to make you a present in token of my gratitude. You shallselect it yourself; it shall be whatever you say. "

Graciella was very much elated at this mark of the colonel'sfriendship. She did not dream of declining the proffered token, andduring the next dance her mind was busily occupied with the questionof what it should be--a ring, a bracelet, a bicycle, a set of books?She needed a dozen things, and would have liked to possess a dozenothers. 

She had not yet decided, when Ben came up to claim her for a dance. Onhis appearance, she was struck by a sudden idea. Colonel French was aman of affairs. In New York he must have a wide circle of influentialacquaintances. Old Mr. Dudley was in failing health; he might die atany time, and Ben would then be free to seek employment away fromClarendon. What better place for him than New York? With a positionthere, he would be able to marry her, and take her there to live. 

This, she decided, should be her request of the colonel--that heshould help her lover to a place in New York. 

Her conclusion was really magnanimous. She might profit by it in theend, but Ben would be the first beneficiary. It was an act ofself-denial, for she was giving up a definite and certain good for afuture contingency. 

She was therefore in a pleasant glow of self-congratulatory mood whenshe accidentally overheard a conversation not intended for her ears. She had run out to the dining-room to speak to the housekeeper aboutthe refreshments, and was returning through the hall, when she stoppedfor a moment to look into the library, where those who did not care todance were playing cards. 

Beyond the door, with their backs turned toward her, sat two ladiesengaged in conversation. One was a widow, a well-known gossip, and theother a wife known to be unhappily married. They were no longer young, and their views were marked by the cynicism of seasoned experience. 

"Oh, there's no doubt about it, " said the widow. "He came down here tofind a wife. He tried a Yankee wife, and didn't like the breed; andwhen he was ready for number two, he came back South. "

"He showed good taste, " said the other. 

"That depends, " said the widow, "upon whom he chooses. He can probablyhave his pick. "

"No doubt, " rejoined the married lady, with a touch of sarcasm, whichthe widow, who was still under forty, chose to ignore. 

"I wonder which is it?" said the widow. "I suppose it's Laura; hespends a great deal of time there, and she's devoted to his littleboy, or pretends to be. "

"Don't fool yourself, " replied the other earnestly, and not without asubdued pleasure in disabusing the widow's mind. "Don't fool yourself, my dear. A man of his age doesn't marry a woman of Laura Treadwell's. Believe me, it's the little one. "

"But she has a beau. There's that tall nephew of old Mr. Dudley's. He's been hanging around her for a year or two. He looks very handsometo-night. "

"Ah, well, she'll dispose of him fast enough when the time comes. He'sonly a poor stick, the last of a good stock run to seed. Why, she'sbeen pointedly setting her cap at the colonel all the evening. He'sperfectly infatuated; he has danced with her three times to once withLaura. "

"It's sad to see a man make a fool of himself, " sighed the widow, whowas not without some remnants of beauty and a heart still warm andwilling. "Children are very forward nowadays. "

"There's no fool like an old fool, my dear, " replied the other withthe cheerful philosophy of the miserable who love company. "These fairwomen are always selfish and calculating; and she's a bold piece. Myhusband says Colonel French is worth at least a million. A young wife, who understands her business, could get anything from him that moneycan buy. "

"What a pity, my dear, " said the widow, with a spice of malice, seeingher own opportunity, "what a pity that you were older than yourhusband! Well, it will be fortunate for the child if she marries anold man, for beauty of her type fades early. "

Old 'Poleon's fiddle, to which one of the guests was improvising anaccompaniment on the colonel's new piano, had struck up "CamptownRaces, " and the rollicking lilt of the chorus was resounding throughthe house. 

 _"Gwine ter run all night, Gwine ter run all day, I'll bet my money on de bobtail nag, Oh, who's gwine ter bet on de bay?"_

Ben ran out into the hall. Graciella had changed her position and wassitting alone, perturbed in mind. 

"Come on, Graciella, let's get into the Virginia reel; it's the lastone. "

Graciella obeyed mechanically. Ben, on the contrary, was unusuallyanimated. He had enjoyed the party better than any he had everattended. He had not been at many. 

Colonel French, who had entered with zest into the spirit of theoccasion, participated in the reel. Every time Graciella touched hishand, it was with the consciousness of a new element in theirrelations. Until then her friendship for Colonel French had beenperfectly ingenuous. She had liked him because he was interesting, andgood to her in a friendly way. Now she realised that he was amillionaire, eligible for marriage, from whom a young wife, if sheunderstood her business, might secure the gratification of every wish. 

The serpent had entered Eden. Graciella had been tendered the apple. She must choose now whether she would eat. 

When the party broke up, the colonel was congratulated on every hand. He had not only given his guests a delightful evening. He had restoredan ancient landmark; had recalled, to a people whose life lay mostlyin the past, the glory of days gone by, and proved his loyalty totheir cherished traditions. 

Ben Dudley walked home with Graciella. Miss Laura went ahead of themwith Catherine, who was cheerful in the possession of a substantialreward for her services. 

"You're not sayin' much to-night, " said Ben to his sweetheart, as theywalked along under the trees. 

Graciella did not respond. 

"You're not sayin' much to-night, " he repeated. 

"Yes, " returned Graciella abstractedly, "it was a lovely party!"

Ben said no more. The house warming had also given him food forthought. He had noticed the colonel's attentions to Graciella, and hadheard them remarked upon. Colonel French was more than old enough tobe Graciella's father; but he was rich. Graciella was poor andambitious. Ben's only assets were youth and hope, and priority in thefield his only claim. 

Miss Laura and Catherine had gone in, and when the young people cameto the gate, the light still shone through the open door. 

"Graciella, " he said, taking her hand in his as they stood a moment, "will you marry me?"

"Still harping on the same old string, " she said, withdrawing herhand. "I'm tired now, Ben, too tired to talk foolishness. "

"Very well, I'll save it for next time. Good night, sweetheart. "

She had closed the gate between them. He leaned over it to kiss her, but she evaded his caress and ran lightly up the steps. 

"Good night, Ben, " she called. 

"Good night, sweetheart, " he replied, with a pang of foreboding. 

In after years, when the colonel looked back upon his residence inClarendon, this seemed to him the golden moment. There were othertimes that stirred deeper emotions--the lust of battle, the joy ofvictory, the chagrin of defeat--moments that tried his soul with testsalmost too hard. But, thus far, his new career in Clarendon had beenone of pleasant experiences only, and this unclouded hour was itsfitting crown. 

_Twelve_

Whenever the colonel visited the cemetery, or took a walk in thatpleasant quarter of the town, he had to cross the bridge from whichwas visible the site of the old Eureka cotton mill of his boyhood, andit was not difficult to recall that it had been, before the War, abusy hive of industry. On a narrow and obscure street, little morethan an alley, behind the cemetery, there were still several crumblingtenements, built for the mill operatives, but now occupied by ahandful of abjectly poor whites, who kept body and soul togetherthrough the doubtful mercy of God and a small weekly dole from thepoormaster. The mill pond, while not wide-spreading, had extended backsome distance between the sloping banks, and had furnished swimmingholes, fishing holes, and what was more to the point at present, avery fine head of water, which, as it struck the colonel more forciblyeach time he saw it, offered an opportunity that the town could illafford to waste. Shrewd minds in the cotton industry had long agoconceived the idea that the South, by reason of its nearness to thesource of raw material, its abundant water power, and its cheaperlabour, partly due to the smaller cost of living in a mild climate, and the absence of labour agitation, was destined in time to rival andperhaps displace New England in cotton manufacturing. Many Southernmills were already in successful operation. But from lack of capital, or lack of enterprise, nothing of the kind had ever been undertaken inClarendon although the town was the centre of a cotton-raisingdistrict, and there was a mill in an adjoining county. Men who ownedland mortgaged it for money to raise cotton; men who rented land fromothers mortgaged their crops for the same purpose. 

It was easy to borrow money in Clarendon--on adequate security--at tenper cent. , and Mr. Fetters, the magnate of the county, was alwaysready, the colonel had learned, to accommodate the needy who couldgive such security. He had also discovered that Fetters was acquiringthe greater part of the land. Many a farmer imagined that he owned afarm, when he was, actually, merely a tenant of Fetters. OccasionallyFetters foreclosed a mortgage, when there was plainly no more to behad from it, and bought in the land, which he added to his ownholdings in fee. But as a rule, he found it more profitable to let theborrower retain possession and pay the interest as nearly as he could;the estate would ultimately be good for the debt, if the debtor didnot live too long--worry might be counted upon to shorten hisdays--and the loan, with interest, could be more convenientlycollected at his death. To bankrupt an estate was less personal thanto break an individual; and widows, and orphans still in theirminority, did not vote and knew little about business methods. 

To a man of action, like the colonel, the frequent contemplation ofthe unused water power, which might so easily be harnessed to the carof progress, gave birth, in time, to a wish to see it thus utilised, and the further wish to stir to labour the idle inhabitants of theneighbourhood. In all work the shiftless methods of an oldergeneration still survived. No one could do anything in a quarter of anhour. Nearly all tasks were done by Negroes who had forgotten how towork, or by white people who had never learned. But the colonel hadalready seen the reviving effect of a little money, directed by alittle energy. And so he planned to build a new and larger cotton millwhere the old had stood; to shake up this lethargic community; to putits people to work, and to teach them habits of industry, efficiencyand thrift. This, he imagined, would be pleasant occupation for hisvacation, as well as a true missionary enterprise--a contribution tohuman progress. Such a cotton mill would require only aninconsiderable portion of his capital, the body of which would be leftintact for investment elsewhere; it would not interfere at all withhis freedom of movement; for, once built, equipped and put inoperation under a competent manager, it would no more require hispersonal oversight than had the New England bagging mills which hisfirm had conducted for so many years. 

From impulse to action was, for the colonel's temperament, an easystep, and he had scarcely moved into his house, before he quietly setabout investigating the title to the old mill site. It had beenforfeited many years before, he found, to the State, for non-paymentof taxes. There having been no demand for the property at any timesince, it had never been sold, but held as a sort of lapsed asset, subject to sale, but open also, so long as it remained unsold, toredemption upon the payment of back taxes and certain fees. The amountof these was ascertained; it was considerably less than the fair valueof the property, which was therefore redeemable at a profit. 

The owners, however, were widely scattered, for the mill had belongedto a joint-stock company composed of a dozen or more members. ColonelFrench was pleasantly surprised, upon looking up certain musty publicrecords in the court house, to find that he himself was the owner, byinheritance, of several shares of stock which had been overlooked inthe sale of his father's property. Retaining the services of JudgeBullard, the leading member of the Clarendon bar, he set out quietlyto secure options upon the other shares. This involved an extensivecorrespondence, which occupied several weeks. For it was necessaryfirst to find, and then to deal with the scattered representatives ofthe former owners. 

_Thirteen_

In engaging Judge Bullard, the colonel had merely stated to the lawyerthat he thought of building a cotton-mill, but had said nothing abouthis broader plan. It was very likely, he recognised, that the peopleof Clarendon might not relish the thought that they were regarded asfit subjects for reform. He knew that they were sensitive, and quickto resent criticism. If some of them might admit, now and then, amongthemselves, that the town was unprogressive, or declining, there wasalways some extraneous reason given--the War, the carpetbaggers, theFifteenth Amendment, the Negroes. Perhaps not one of them had everquite realised the awful handicap of excuses under which theylaboured. Effort was paralysed where failure was so easily explained. 

That the condition of the town might be due to causes withinitself--to the general ignorance, self-satisfaction and lack ofenterprise, had occurred to only a favoured few; the younger of thesehad moved away, seeking a broader outlook elsewhere; while those whoremained were not yet strong enough nor brave enough to break with thepast and urge new standards of thought and feeling. 

So the colonel kept his larger purpose to himself until a time whengreater openness would serve to advance it. Thus Judge Bullard, notbeing able to read his client's mind, assumed very naturally that thecontemplated enterprise was to be of a purely commercial nature, directed to making the most money in the shortest time. 

"Some day, Colonel, " he said, with this thought in mind, "you mightget a few pointers by running over to Carthage and looking through theExcelsior Mills. They get more work there for less money than anywhereelse in the South. Last year they declared a forty per cent. Dividend. I know the superintendent, and will give you a letter of introduction, whenever you like. "

The colonel bore the matter in mind, and one morning, a day or twoafter his party, set out by train, about eight o'clock in the morning, for Carthage, armed with a letter from the lawyer to thesuperintendent of the mills. 

The town was only forty miles away; but a cow had been caught in atrestle across a ditch, and some time was required for the train crewto release her. Another stop was made in the middle of a swamp, to putoff a light mulatto who had presumed on his complexion to ride in thewhite people's car. He had been successfully spotted, but hadimpudently refused to go into the stuffy little closet provided at theend of the car for people of his class. He was therefore given anopportunity to reflect, during a walk along the ties, upon his truerelation to society. Another stop was made for a gentleman who hadsent a Negro boy ahead to flag the train and notify the conductor thathe would be along in fifteen or twenty minutes with a couple of ladypassengers. A hot journal caused a further delay. These interruptionsmade it eleven o'clock, a three-hours' run, before the train reachedCarthage. 

The town was much smaller than Clarendon. It comprised a public squareof several acres in extent, on one side of which was the railroadstation, and on another the court house. One of the remaining sideswas occupied by a row of shops; the fourth straggled off in variousdirections. The whole wore a neglected air. Bales of cotton goods werepiled on the platform, apparently just unloaded from wagons standingnear. Several white men and Negroes stood around and stared listlesslyat the train and the few who alighted from it. 

Inquiring its whereabouts from one of the bystanders, the colonelfound the nearest hotel--a two-story frame structure, with a piazzaacross the front, extending to the street line. There was a buggystanding in front, its horse hitched to one of the piazza posts. Stepsled up from the street, but one might step from the buggy to the floorof the piazza, which was without a railing. 

The colonel mounted the steps and passed through the door into a smallroom, which he took for the hotel office, since there were chairsstanding against the walls, and at one side a table on which aregister lay open. The only person in the room, beside himself, was ayoung man seated near the door, with his feet elevated to the back ofanother chair, reading a newspaper from which he did not look up. 

The colonel, who wished to make some inquiries and to register for thedinner which he might return to take, looked around him for the clerk, or some one in authority, but no one was visible. While waiting, hewalked over to the desk and turned over the leaves of the dog-earedregister. He recognised only one name--that of Mr. William Fetters, who had registered there only a day or two before. 

No one had yet appeared. The young man in the chair was evidently notconnected with the establishment. His expression was so forbidding, not to say arrogant, and his absorption in the newspaper so complete, that the colonel, not caring to address him, turned to the right andcrossed a narrow hall to a room beyond, evidently a parlour, since itwas fitted up with a faded ingrain carpet, a centre table with a redplush photograph album, and several enlarged crayon portraits hungnear the ceiling--of the kind made free of charge in Chicago fromphotographs, provided the owner orders a frame from the company. Noone was in the room, and the colonel had turned to leave it, when hecame face to face with a lady passing through the hall. 

"Are you looking for some one?" she asked amiably, having noted hisair of inquiry. 

"Why, yes, madam, " replied the colonel, removing his hat, "I waslooking for the proprietor--or the clerk. "

"Why, " she replied, smiling, "that's the proprietor sitting there inthe office. I'm going in to speak to him, and you can get hisattention at the same time. "

Their entrance did not disturb the young man's reposeful attitude, which remained as unchanged as that of a graven image; nor did heexhibit any consciousness at their presence. 

"I want a clean towel, Mr. Dickson, " said the lady sharply. 

The proprietor looked up with an annoyed expression. 

"Huh?" he demanded, in a tone of resentment mingled with surprise. 

"A clean towel, if you please. "

The proprietor said nothing more to the lady, nor deigned to noticethe colonel at all, but lifted his legs down from the back of thechair, rose with a sigh, left the room and returned in a few minuteswith a towel, which he handed ungraciously to the lady. Then, stillpaying no attention to the colonel, he resumed his former attitude, and returned to the perusal of his newspaper--certainly the mostunconcerned of hotel keepers, thought the colonel, as a vision ofspacious lobbies, liveried porters, and obsequious clerks rose beforehis vision. He made no audible comment, however, but merely stared atthe young man curiously, left the hotel, and inquired of a passingNegro the whereabouts of the livery stable. A few minutes later hefound the place without difficulty, and hired a horse and buggy. 

While the stable boy was putting the harness on the horse, the colonelrelated to the liveryman, whose manner was energetic andbusiness-like, and who possessed an open countenance and a sympatheticeye, his experience at the hotel. 

"Oh, yes, " was the reply, "that's Lee Dickson all over. That hotelused to be kep' by his mother. She was a widow woman, an' ever sinceshe died, a couple of months ago, Lee's been playin' the big man, spendin' the old lady's money, and enjoyin' himself. Did you see thathoss'n'-buggy hitched in front of the ho-tel?"

"Yes. "

"Well, that's Lee's buggy. He hires it from us. We send it up everymornin' at nine o'clock, when Lee gits up. When he's had his breakfas'he comes out an' gits in the buggy, an' drives to the barber-shop nex'door, gits out, goes in an' gits shaved, comes out, climbs in thebuggy, an' drives back to the ho-tel. Then he talks to the cook, comesout an' gits in the buggy, an' drives half-way 'long that side of thesquare, about two hund'ed feet, to the grocery sto', and orders half apound of coffee or a pound of lard, or whatever the ho-tel needs forthe day, then comes out, climbs in the buggy and drives back. When themail comes in, if he's expectin' any mail, he drives 'cross the squareto the post-office, an' then drives back to the ho-tel. There's otherlazy men roun' here, but Lee Dickson takes the cake. However, it'smoney in our pocket, as long as it keeps up. "

"I shouldn't think it would keep up long, " returned the colonel. "Howcan such a hotel prosper?"

"It don't!" replied the liveryman, "but it's the best in town. "

"I don't see how there could be a worse, " said the colonel. 

"There couldn't--it's reached bed rock. "

The buggy was ready by this time, and the colonel set out, with ablack driver, to find the Excelsior Cotton Mills. They proved to besituated in a desolate sandhill region several miles out of town. Theday was hot; the weather had been dry, and the road was deep with ayielding white sand into which the buggy tires sank. The horse soonpanted with the heat and the exertion, and the colonel, dressed inbrown linen, took off his hat and mopped his brow with hishandkerchief. The driver, a taciturn Negro--most of the loquacious, fun-loving Negroes of the colonel's youth seemed to havedisappeared--flicked a horsefly now and then, with his whip, from thehorse's sweating back. 

The first sign of the mill was a straggling group of small framehouses, built of unpainted pine lumber. The barren soil, which wouldnot have supported a firm lawn, was dotted with scraggy bunches ofwiregrass. In the open doorways, through which the flies swarmed inand out, grown men, some old, some still in the prime of life, werelounging, pipe in mouth, while old women pottered about the yards, orpushed back their sunbonnets to stare vacantly at the advancing buggy. Dirty babies were tumbling about the cabins. There was a lean andlistless yellow dog or two for every baby; and several slatternlyblack women were washing clothes on the shady sides of the houses. Ageneral air of shiftlessness and squalor pervaded the settlement. There was no sign of joyous childhood or of happy youth. 

A turn in the road brought them to the mill, the distant hum of whichhad already been audible. It was a two-story brick structure with manywindows, altogether of the cheapest construction, but situated on thebank of a stream and backed by a noble water power. 

They drew up before an open door at one corner of the building. Thecolonel alighted, entered, and presented his letter of introduction. The superintendent glanced at him keenly, but, after reading theletter, greeted him with a show of cordiality, and called a young manto conduct the visitor through the mill. 

The guide seemed in somewhat of a hurry, and reticent of speech; norwas the noise of the machinery conducive to conversation. Some of thecolonel's questions seemed unheard, and others were imperfectlyanswered. Yet the conditions disclosed by even such an inspectionwere, to the colonel, a revelation. Through air thick with flyingparticles of cotton, pale, anæmic young women glanced at himcuriously, with lack-luster eyes, or eyes in which the gleam was notthat of health, or hope, or holiness. Wizened children, who had neverknown the joys of childhood, worked side by side at long rows ofspools to which they must give unremitting attention. Most of thewomen were using snuff, the odour of which was mingled with the flyingparticles of cotton, while the floor was thickly covered withunsightly brown splotches. 

When they had completed the tour of the mills and returned to theoffice, the colonel asked some questions of the manager about theequipment, the output, and the market, which were very promptly andcourteously answered. To those concerning hours and wages the replieswere less definite, and the colonel went away impressed as much bywhat he had not learned as by what he had seen. 

While settling his bill at the livery stable, he made furtherinquiries. 

"Lord, yes, " said the liveryman in answer to one of them, "I can tellyou all you want to know about that mill. Talk about niggerslavery--the niggers never were worked like white women and childrenare in them mills. They work 'em from twelve to sixteen hours a dayfor from fifteen to fifty cents. Them triflin' old pinelanders outthere jus' lay aroun' and raise children for the mills, and then setdown and chaw tobacco an' live on their children's wages. It's a sinan' a shame, an' there ought to be a law ag'inst it. "

The conversation brought out the further fact that vice was rampantamong the millhands. 

"An' it ain't surprisin', " said the liveryman, with indignationtempered by the easy philosophy of hot climates. "Shut up in jail allday, an' half the night, never breathin' the pyo' air, or baskin' inGod's bright sunshine; with no books to read an' no chance to learn, who can blame the po'r things if they have a little joy in the onlyway they know?"

"Who owns the mill?" asked the colonel. 

"It belongs to a company, " was the reply, "but Old Bill Fetters owns amajority of the stock--durn, him!"

The colonel felt a thrill of pleasure--he had met a man after his ownheart. 

"You are not one of Fetters's admirers then?" he asked. 

"Not by a durn sight, " returned the liveryman promptly. "When I lookat them white gals, that ought to be rosy-cheeked an' bright-eyed an'plump an' hearty an' happy, an' them po' little child'en that neverget a chance to go fishin' or swimmin' or to learn anything, I allow Iwouldn' mind if the durned old mill would catch fire an' burn down. They work children there from six years old up, an' half of 'em die ofconsumption before they're grown. It's a durned outrage, an' if I evergo to the Legislatur', for which I mean to run, I'll try to have itstopped. "

"I hope you will be elected, " said the colonel. "What time does thetrain go back to Clarendon?"

"Four o'clock, if she's on time--but it may be five. "

"Do you suppose I can get dinner at the hotel?"

"Oh, yes! I sent word up that I 'lowed you might be back, so they'llbe expectin' you. "

The proprietor was at the desk when the colonel went in. He wrote hisname on the book, and was served with an execrable dinner. He paid hisbill of half a dollar to the taciturn proprietor, and sat down on theshady porch to smoke a cigar. The proprietor, having put the money inhis pocket, came out and stepped into his buggy, which was stillstanding alongside the piazza. The colonel watched him drive a stone'sthrow to a barroom down the street, get down, go in, come out a fewminutes later, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, climb intothe buggy, drive back, step out and re-enter the hotel. 

It was yet an hour to train time, and the colonel, to satisfy animpulse of curiosity, strolled over to the court house, which could beseen across the square, through the trees. Requesting leave of theClerk in the county recorder's office to look at the records ofmortgages, he turned the leaves over and found that a large proportionof the mortgages recently recorded--among them one on the hotelproperty--had been given to Fetters. 

The whistle of the train was heard in the distance as the colonelrecrossed the square. Glancing toward the hotel, he saw the landlordcome out, drive across the square to the station, and sit there untilthe passengers had alighted. To a drummer with a sample case, hepointed carelessly across the square to the hotel, but made nomovement to take the baggage; and as the train moved off, the colonel, looking back, saw him driving back to the hotel. 

Fetters had begun to worry the colonel. He had never seen the man, andyet his influence was everywhere. He seemed to brood over the countryround about like a great vampire bat, sucking the life-blood of thepeople. His touch meant blight. As soon as a Fetters mortgage restedon a place, the property began to run down; for why should the nominalowner keep up a place which was destined in the end to go to Fetters?The colonel had heard grewsome tales of Fetters's convict labourplantation; he had seen the operation of Fetters's cotton-mill, wherewhite humanity, in its fairest and tenderest form, was stunted andblighted and destroyed; and he had not forgotten the scene in thejustice's office. 

The fighting blood of the old Frenches was stirred. The colonel'smeans were abundant; he did not lack the sinews of war. Clarendonoffered a field for profitable investment. He would like to dosomething for humanity, something to offset Fetters and his kind, whowere preying upon the weaknesses of the people, enslaving white andblack alike. In a great city, what he could give away would have beenbut a slender stream, scarcely felt in the rivers of charity pouredinto the ocean of want; and even his considerable wealth would havemade him only a small stockholder in some great aggregation ofcapital. In this backward old town, away from the great centres ofcommerce, and scarcely feeling their distant pulsebeat, except whensome daring speculator tried for a brief period to corner the cottonmarket, he could mark with his own eyes the good he might accomplish. It required no great stretch of imagination to see the town, a fewyears hence, a busy hive of industry, where no man, and no womanobliged to work, need be without employment at fair wages; where thetrinity of peace, prosperity and progress would reign supreme; wheremen like Fetters and methods like his would no longer be tolerated. The forces of enlightenment, set in motion by his aid, and supportedby just laws, should engage the retrograde forces represented byFetters. Communities, like men, must either grow or decay, advance ordecline; they could not stand still. Clarendon was decaying. Fetterswas the parasite which, by sending out its roots toward rich and pooralike, struck at both extremes of society, and was choking the life ofthe town like a rank and deadly vine. 

The colonel could, if need be, spare the year or two of continuousresidence needed to rescue Clarendon from the grasp of Fetters. Theclimate agreed with Phil, who was growing like a weed; and the colonelcould easily defer for a little while his scheme of travel, and thefurther disposition of his future. 

So, when he reached home that night, he wrote an answer to a long andgossipy letter received from Kirby about that time, in which thelatter gave a detailed account of what was going on in the colonel'sfavourite club and among their mutual friends, and reported progressin the search for some venture worthy of their mettle. The colonelreplied that Phil and he were well, that he was interesting himself ina local enterprise which would certainly occupy him for some months, and that he would not visit New York during the summer, unless it wereto drop in for a day or two on business and return immediately. 

A letter from Mrs. Jerviss, received about the same time, was lesseasily disposed of. She had learned, from Kirby, of the chivalrousmanner in which Mr. French had protected her interests and spared herfeelings in the fight with Consolidated Bagging. She had not beenable, she said, to thank him adequately before he went away, becauseshe had not known how much she owed him; nor could she fittinglyexpress herself on paper. She could only renew her invitation to himto join her house party at Newport in July. The guests would befriends of his--she would be glad to invite any others that he mightsuggest. She would then have the opportunity to thank him in person. 

The colonel was not unmoved by this frank and grateful letter, and heknew perfectly well what reward he might claim from her gratitude. Hadthe letter come a few weeks sooner, it might have had a differentanswer. But, now, after the first pang of regret, his only problem washow to refuse gracefully her offered hospitality. He was sorry, hereplied, not to be able to join her house party that summer, butduring the greater part of it he would be detained in the South bycertain matters into which he had been insensibly drawn. As for herthanks, she owed him none; he had only done his duty, and had alreadybeen thanked too much. 

So thoroughly had Colonel French entered into the spirit of his yetundefined contest with Fetters, that his life in New York, save whenthese friendly communications recalled it, seemed far away, and ofslight retrospective interest. Every one knows of the "blind spot" inthe field of vision. New York was for the time being the colonel'sblind spot. That it might reassert its influence was always possible, but for the present New York was of no more interest to him thanCanton or Bogota. Having revelled for a few pleasant weeks in memoriesof a remoter past, the reaction had projected his thoughts forwardinto the future. His life in New York, and in the Clarendon of thepresent--these were mere transitory embodiments; he lived in theClarendon yet to be, a Clarendon rescued from Fetters, purified, rehabilitated; and no compassionate angel warned him how tenacious oflife that which Fetters stood for might be--that survival of thespirit of slavery, under which the land still groaned andtravailed--the growth of generations, which it would take more thanone generation to destroy. 

In describing to Judge Bullard his visit to the cotton mill, thecolonel was not sparing of his indignation. 

"The men, " he declared with emphasis, "who are responsible for thatsort of thing, are enemies of mankind. I've been in business fortwenty years, but I have never sought to make money by trading on thesouls and bodies of women and children. I saw the little darkiesrunning about the streets down there at Carthage; they were poor andragged and dirty, but they were out in the air and the sunshine; theyhave a chance to get their growth; to go to school and learnsomething. The white children are worked worse than slaves, and aregrowing up dulled and stunted, physically and mentally. Our folks downhere are mighty short-sighted, judge. We'll wake them up. We'll builda model cotton mill, and run it with decent hours and decent wages, and treat the operatives like human beings with bodies to nourish, minds to develop; and souls to save. Fetters and his crowd will haveto come up to our standard, or else we'll take their hands away. "

Judge Bullard had looked surprised when the colonel began hisdenunciation; and though he said little, his expression, when thecolonel had finished, was very thoughtful and not altogether happy. 

_Fourteen_

It was the week after the colonel's house warming. 

Graciella was not happy. She was sitting, erect and graceful, as shealways sat, on the top step of the piazza. Ben Dudley occupied theother end of the step. His model stood neglected beside him, and hewas looking straight at Graciella, whose eyes, avoiding his, were bentupon a copy of "Jane Eyre, " held open in her hand. There was anunwonted silence between them, which Ben was the first to break. 

"Will you go for a walk with me?" he asked. 

"I'm sorry, Ben, " she replied, "but I have an engagement to go drivingwith Colonel French. "

Ben's dark cheek grew darker, and he damned Colonel French softlybeneath his breath. He could not ask Graciella to drive, for their oldbuggy was not fit to be seen, and he had no money to hire a betterone. The only reason why he ever had wanted money was because of her. If she must have money, or the things that money alone would buy, hemust get money, or lose her. As long as he had no rival there washope. But could he expect to hold his own against a millionaire, whohad the garments and the manners of the great outside world?

"I suppose the colonel's here every night, as well as every day, " hesaid, "and that you talk to him all the time. "

"No, Ben, he isn't here every night, nor every day. His old darky, Peter, brings Phil over every day; but when the colonel comes he talksto grandmother and Aunt Laura, as well as to me. "

Graciella had risen from the step, and was now enthroned in asplint-bottomed armchair, an attitude more in keeping with the air ofdignity which she felt constrained to assume as a cloak for an uneasyconscience. 

Graciella was not happy. She had reached the parting of the ways, andrealised that she must choose between them. And yet she hesitated. Every consideration of prudence dictated that she choose ColonelFrench rather than Ben. The colonel was rich and could gratify all herambitions. There could be no reasonable doubt that he was fond of her;and she had heard it said, by those more experienced than she andtherefore better qualified to judge, that he was infatuated with her. Certainly he had shown her a great deal of attention. He had taken herdriving; he had lent her books and music; he had brought or sent theNew York paper every day for her to read. 

He had been kind to her Aunt Laura, too, probably for her niece'ssake; for the colonel was kind by nature, and wished to make everyoneabout him happy. It was fortunate that her Aunt Laura was fond ofPhilip. If she should decide to marry the colonel, she would have herAunt Laura come and make her home with them: she could give Philip theattention with which his stepmother's social duties might interfere. It was hardly likely that her aunt entertained any hope of marriage;indeed, Miss Laura had long since professed herself resigned to oldmaidenhood. 

But in spite of these rosy dreams, Graciella was not happy. To marrythe colonel she must give up Ben; and Ben, discarded, loomed up largerthan Ben, accepted. She liked Ben; she was accustomed to Ben. Ben wasyoung, and youth attracted youth. Other things being equal, she wouldhave preferred him to the colonel. But Ben was poor; he had nothingand his prospects for the future were not alluring. He would inheritlittle, and that little not until his uncle's death. He had noprofession. He was not even a good farmer, and trifled away, with hisuseless models and mechanical toys, the time he might have spent inmaking his uncle's plantation productive. Graciella did not know thatFetters had a mortgage on the plantation, or Ben's prospects wouldhave seemed even more hopeless. 

She felt sorry not only for herself, but for Ben as well--sorry thathe should lose her--for she knew that he loved her sincerely. But herfirst duty was to herself. Conscious that she possessed talents, social and otherwise, it was not her view of creative wisdom that itshould implant in the mind tastes and in the heart longings destinednever to be realised. She must discourage Ben--gently and gradually, for of course he would suffer; and humanity, as well as friendship, counselled kindness. A gradual breaking off, too, would be lessharrowing to her own feelings. 

"I suppose you admire Colonel French immensely, " said Ben, withassumed impartiality. 

"Oh, I like him reasonably well, " she said with an equal lack ofcandour. "His conversation is improving. He has lived in themetropolis, and has seen so much of the world that he can scarcelyspeak without saying something interesting. It's a liberal educationto converse with people who have had opportunities. It helps toprepare my mind for life at the North. "

"You set a great deal of store by the North, Graciella. Anybody wouldallow, to listen to you, that you didn't love your own country. "

"I love the South, Ben, as I loved Aunt Lou, my old black mammy. I'velaid in her arms many a day, and I 'most cried my eyes out when shedied. But that didn't mean that I never wanted to see any one else. Nor am I going to live in the South a minute longer than I can help, because it's too slow. And New York isn't all--I want to travel andsee the world. The South is away behind. "

She had said much the same thing weeks before; but then it had beenspontaneous. Now she was purposely trying to make Ben see howunreasonable was his hope. 

Ben stood, as he obscurely felt, upon delicate ground. Graciella hadnot been the only person to overhear remarks about the probability ofthe colonel's seeking a wife in Clarendon, and jealousy had sharpenedBen's perceptions while it increased his fears. He had little to offerGraciella. He was not well educated; he had nothing to recommend himbut his youth and his love for her. He could not take her to Europe, or even to New York--at least not yet. 

"And at home, " Graciella went on seriously, "at home I should wantseveral houses--a town house, a country place, a seaside cottage. Whenwe were tired of one we could go to another, or live in hotels--in thewinter in Florida, at Atlantic City in the spring, at Newport in thesummer. They say Long Branch has gone out entirely. "

Ben had a vague idea that Long Branch was by the seaside, and exposedto storms. "Gone out to sea?" he asked absently. He was sick for loveof her, and she was dreaming of watering places. 

"No, Ben, " said Graciella, compassionately. Poor Ben had so littleopportunity for schooling! He was not to blame for his want ofknowledge; but could she throw herself away upon an ignoramus? "It'sstill there, but has gone out of fashion. "

"Oh, excuse me! I'm not posted on these fashionable things. "

Ben relapsed into gloom. The model remained untouched. He could notgive Graciella a house; he would not have a house until his uncledied. Graciella had never seemed so beautiful as to-day, as she sat, dressed in the cool white gown which Miss Laura's slender fingers haddone up, and with her hair dressed after the daintiest and latestfashion chronicled in the _Ladies' Fireside Journal_. No wonder, hethought, that a jaded old man of the world like Colonel French shoulddelight in her fresh young beauty!

But he would not give her up without a struggle. She had loved him;she must love him still; and she would yet be his, if he could keepher true to him or free from any promise to another, until her deeperfeelings could resume their sway. It could not be possible, after allthat had passed between them, that she meant to throw him over, norwas he a man that she could afford to treat in such a fashion. Therewas more in him than Graciella imagined; he was conscious of latentpower of some kind, though he knew not what, and something wouldsurely happen, sometime, somehow, to improve his fortunes. And therewas always the hope, the possibility of finding the lost money. 

He had brought his great-uncle Ralph's letter with him, as he hadpromised Graciella. When she read it, she would see the reasonablenessof his hope, and might be willing to wait, at least a little while. Any delay would be a point gained. He shuddered to think that he mightlose her, and then, the day after the irrevocable vows had been taken, the treasure might come to light, and all their life be spent in vainregrets. Graciella was skeptical about the lost money. Even Mrs. Treadwell, whose faith had been firm for years, had ceased toencourage his hope; while Miss Laura, who at one time had smiled atany mention of the matter, now looked grave if by any chance he letslip a word in reference to it. But he had in his pocket the outwardand visible sign of his inward belief, and he would try its effect onGraciella. He would risk ridicule or anything else for her sake. 

"Graciella, " he said, "I have brought my uncle Malcolm's letter along, to convince you that uncle is not as crazy as he seems, and thatthere's some foundation for the hope that I may yet be able to giveyou all you want. I don't want to relinquish the hope, and I want youto share it with me. "

He produced an envelope, once white, now yellow with time, on whichwas endorsed in ink once black but faded to a pale brown, and hardlylegible, the name of "Malcolm Dudley, Esq. , Mink Run, " and in thelower left-hand corner, "By hand of Viney. "

The sheet which Ben drew from this wrapper was worn at the folds, andrequired careful handling. Graciella, moved by curiosity, had comedown from her throne to a seat beside Ben upon the porch. She hadnever had any faith in the mythical gold of old Ralph Dudley. Thepeople of an earlier generation--her Aunt Laura perhaps--may once havebelieved in it, but they had long since ceased to do more than smilepityingly and shake their heads at the mention of old Malcolm'sdelusion. But there was in it the element of romance. Strange thingshad happened, and why might they not happen again? And if they shouldhappen, why not to Ben, dear old, shiftless Ben! She moved a porchpillow close beside him, and, as they bent their heads over the paperher hair mingled with his, and soon her hand rested, unconsciously, upon his shoulder. 

"It was a voice from the grave, " said Ben, "for my great-uncle Ralphwas dead when the letter reached Uncle Malcolm. I'll read italoud--the writing is sometimes hard to make out, and I know it byheart:

 _My Dear Malcolm:

 I have in my hands fifty thousand dollars of government money, in gold, which I am leaving here at the house for a few days. Since you are not at home, and I cannot wait, I have confided in our girl Viney, whom I can trust. She will tell you, when she gives you this, where I have put the money--I do not write it, lest the letter should fall into the wrong hands; there are many to whom it would be a great temptation. I shall return in a few days, and relieve you of the responsibility. Should anything happen to me, write to the Secretary of State at Richmond for instructions what to do with the money. In great haste_, _Your affectionate uncle, _ RALPH DUDLEY"

Graciella was momentarily impressed by the letter; of its realitythere could be no doubt--it was there in black and white, or ratherbrown and yellow. 

"It sounds like a letter in a novel, " she said, thoughtfully. "Theremust have been something. "

"There must _be_ something, Graciella, for Uncle Ralph was killed thenext day, and never came back for the money. But Uncle Malcolm, because he don't know where to look, can't find it; and old AuntViney, because she can't talk, can't tell him where it is. "

"Why has she never shown him?" asked Graciella. 

"There is some mystery, " he said, "which she seems unable to explainwithout speech. And then, she is queer--as queer, in her own way, asuncle is in his. Now, if you'd only marry me, Graciella, and go outthere to live, with your uncommonly fine mind, _you'd_ find it--youcouldn't help but find it. It would just come at your call, like mydog when I whistle to him. "

Graciella was touched by the compliment, or by the serious feelingwhich underlay it. And that was very funny, about calling the moneyand having it come! She had often heard of people whistling for theirmoney, but had never heard that it came--that was Ben's idea. Therereally was a good deal in Ben, and perhaps, after all----

But at that moment there was a sound of wheels, and whateverGraciella's thought may have been, it was not completed. As ColonelFrench lifted the latch of the garden gate and came up the walk towardthem, any glamour of the past, any rosy hope of the future, vanishedin the solid brilliancy of the present moment. Old Ralph was dead, oldMalcolm nearly so; the money had never been found, would never come tolight. There on the doorstep was a young man shabbily attired, withoutmeans or prospects. There at the gate was a fine horse, in a handsometrap, and coming up the walk an agreeable, well-dressed gentleman ofwealth and position. No dead romance could, in the heart of a girl ofseventeen, hold its own against so vital and brilliant a reality. 

"Thank you, Ben, " she said, adjusting a stray lock of hair which hadescaped from her radiant crop, "I am not clever enough for that. It isa dream. Your great-uncle Ralph had ridden too long and too far in thesun, and imagined the treasure, which has driven your Uncle Malcolmcrazy, and his housekeeper dumb, and has benumbed you so that you sitaround waiting, waiting, when you ought to be working, working! No, Ben, I like you ever so much, but you will never take me to New Yorkwith your Uncle Ralph's money, nor will you ever earn enough to takeme with your own. You must excuse me now, for here comes my cavalier. Don't hurry away; Aunt Laura will be out in a minute. You can stay andwork on your model; I'll not be here to interrupt you. Good evening, Colonel French! Did you bring me a _Herald_? I want to look at theadvertisements. "

"Yes, my dear young lady, there is Wednesday's--it is only two daysold. How are you, Mr. Dudley?"

"Tol'able, sir, thank you. " Ben was a gentleman by instinct, thoughhis heart was heavy and the colonel a favoured rival. 

"By the way, " said the colonel, "I wish to have an interview with youruncle, about the old mill site. He seems to have been a stockholder inthe company, and we should like his signature, if he is in conditionto give it. If not, it may be necessary to appoint you his guardian, with power to act in his place. "

"He's all right, sir, in the morning, if you come early enough, "replied Ben, courteously. "You can tell what is best to do afteryou've seen him. "

"Thank you, " replied the colonel, "I'll have my man drive me outto-morrow about ten, say; if you'll be at home? You ought to be there, you know. "

"Very well, sir, I'll be there all day, and shall expect you. "

Graciella threw back one compassionate glance, as they drove awaybehind the colonel's high-stepping brown horse, and did not quiteescape a pang at the sight of her young lover, still sitting on thesteps in a dejected attitude; and for a moment longer his reproachfuleyes haunted her. But Graciella prided herself on being, above allthings, practical, and, having come out for a good time, resolutelyput all unpleasant thoughts aside. 

There was good horse-flesh in the neighbourhood of Clarendon, and thecolonel's was of the best. Some of the roads about the town weregood--not very well kept roads, but the soil was a sandy loam and wasself-draining, so that driving was pleasant in good weather. Thecolonel had several times invited Miss Laura to drive with him, andhad taken her once; but she was often obliged to stay with her mother. Graciella could always be had, and the colonel, who did not like todrive alone, found her a vivacious companion, whose naïve commentsupon life were very amusing to a seasoned man of the world. She was aspretty, too, as a picture, and the colonel had always admiredbeauty--with a tempered admiration. 

At Graciella's request they drove first down Main Street, past thepost-office, where she wished to mail a letter. They attracted muchattention as they drove through the street in the colonel's new trap. Graciella's billowy white gown added a needed touch of maturity to herslender youthfulness. A big straw hat shaded her brown hair, and shesat erect, and held her head high, with a vivid consciousness that shewas the central feature of a very attractive whole. The colonel sharedher thought, and looked at her with frank admiration. 

"You are the cynosure of all eyes, " he declared. "I suppose I'm anobject of envy to every young fellow in town. "

Graciella blushed and bridled with pleasure. "I am not interested inthe young men of Clarendon, " she replied loftily; "they are not worththe trouble. "

"Not even--Ben?" asked the colonel slyly. 

"Oh, " she replied, with studied indifference, "Mr. Dudley is really acousin, and only a friend. He comes to see the family. "

The colonel's attentions could have but one meaning, and it wasimportant to disabuse his mind concerning Ben. Nor was she the onlyone in the family who entertained that thought. Of late hergrandmother had often addressed her in an unusual way, more as a womanthan as a child; and, only the night before, had retold the old storyof her own sister Mary, who, many years before, had married a man offifty. He had worshipped her, and had died, after a decent interval, leaving her a large fortune. From which the old lady had deduced that, on the whole, it was better to be an old man's darling than a youngman's slave. She had made no application of the story, but Graciellawas astute enough to draw her own conclusions. 

Her Aunt Laura, too, had been unusually kind; she had done up thewhite gown twice a week, had trimmed her hat for her, and had wornold gloves that she might buy her niece a new pair. And her aunt hadlooked at her wistfully and remarked, with a sigh, that youth was aglorious season and beauty a great responsibility. Poor dear, good oldAunt Laura! When the expected happened, she would be very kind to AuntLaura, and repay her, so far as possible, for all her care andsacrifice. 

_Fifteen_

It was only a short time after his visit to the Excelsior Mills thatColonel French noticed a falling off in the progress made by hislawyer, Judge Bullard, in procuring the signatures of those interestedin the old mill site, and after the passing of several weeks he beganto suspect that some adverse influence was at work. This suspicion wasconfirmed when Judge Bullard told him one day, with someembarrassment, that he could no longer act for him in the matter. 

"I'm right sorry, Colonel, " he said. "I should like to help you putthe thing through, but I simply can't afford it. Other clients, whosebusiness I have transacted for years, and to whom I am under heavyobligations, have intimated that they would consider any furtheractivity of mine in your interest unfriendly to theirs. "

"I suppose, " said the colonel, "your clients wish to secure the millsite for themselves. Nothing imparts so much value to a thing as thenotion that somebody else wants it. Of course, I can't ask you to actfor me further, and if you'll make out your bill, I'll hand you acheck. "

"I hope, " said Judge Bullard, "there'll be no ill-feeling about ourseparation. "

"Oh, no, " responded the colonel, politely, "not at all. Business isbusiness, and a man's own interests are his first concern. "

"I'm glad you feel that way, " replied the lawyer, much relieved. Hehad feared that the colonel might view the matter differently. 

"Some men, you know, " he said, "might have kept on, and worked againstyou, while accepting your retainer; there are such skunks at the bar. "

"There are black sheep in every fold, " returned the colonel with acold smile. "It would be unprofessional, I suppose, to name yourclient, so I'll not ask you. "

The judge did not volunteer the information, but the colonel knewinstinctively whence came opposition to his plan, and investigationconfirmed his intuition. Judge Bullard was counsel for Fetters in allmatters where skill and knowledge were important, and Fetters held hisnote, secured by mortgage, for money loaned. For dirty work Fettersused tools of baser metal, but, like a wise man, he knew when thesewere useless, and was shrewd enough to keep the best lawyers under hiscontrol. 

The colonel, after careful inquiry, engaged to take Judge Bullard'splace, one Albert Caxton, a member of a good old family, a young man, and a capable lawyer, who had no ascertainable connection withFetters, and who, in common with a small fraction of the best people, regarded Fetters with distrust, and ascribed his wealth to usury andto what, in more recent years, has come to be known as "graft. "

To a man of Colonel French's business training, opposition was merelya spur to effort. He had not run a race of twenty years in thecommercial field, to be worsted in the first heat by the petty boss ofa Southern backwoods county. Why Fetters opposed him he did not know. Perhaps he wished to defeat a possible rival, or merely to keep outprinciples and ideals which would conflict with his own methods andinjure his prestige. But if Fetters wanted a fight, Fetters shouldhave a fight. 

Colonel French spent much of his time at young Caxton's office, instructing the new lawyer in the details of the mill affair. Caxtonproved intelligent, zealous, and singularly sympathetic with hisclient's views and plans. They had not been together a week before thecolonel realised that he had gained immensely by the change. 

The colonel took a personal part in the effort to procure signatures, among others that of old Malcolm Dudley and on the morning followingthe drive with Graciella, he drove out to Mink Run to see the oldgentleman in person and discover whether or not he was in a conditionto transact business. 

Before setting out, he went to his desk--his father's desk, which MissLaura had sent to him--to get certain papers for old Mr. Dudley'ssignature, if the latter should prove capable of a legal act. He hadlaid the papers on top of some others which had nearly filled one ofthe numerous small drawers in the desk. Upon opening the drawer hefound that one of the papers was missing. 

The colonel knew quite well that he had placed the paper in the drawerthe night before; he remembered the circumstance very distinctly, forthe event was so near that it scarcely required an exercise, not tosay an effort, of memory. An examination of the drawer disclosed thatthe piece forming the back of it was a little lower than the sides. Possibly, thought the colonel, the paper had slipped off and fallenbehind the drawer. 

He drew the drawer entirely out, and slipped his hand into the cavity. At the back of it he felt the corner of a piece of paper projectingupward from below. The paper had evidently slipped off the top of theothers and fallen into a crevice, due to the shrinkage of the wood orsome defect of construction. 

The opening for the drawer was so shallow that though he could feelthe end of the paper, he was unable to get such a grasp of it as wouldpermit him to secure it easily. But it was imperative that he have thepaper; and since it bore already several signatures obtained with somedifficulty, he did not wish to run the risk of tearing it. 

He examined the compartment below to see if perchance the paper couldbe reached from there, but found that it could not. There wasevidently a lining to the desk, and the paper had doubtless slippeddown between this and the finished panels forming the back of thedesk. To reach it, the colonel procured a screw driver, and turningthe desk around, loosened, with some difficulty, the screws thatfastened the proper panel, and soon recovered the paper. With it, however, he found a couple of yellow, time-stained envelopes, addressed on the outside to Major John Treadwell. 

The envelopes were unsealed. He glanced into one of them, and seeingthat it contained a sheet, folded small, presumably a letter, hethrust the two of them into the breast pocket of his coat, intendingto hand them to Miss Laura at their next meeting. They were probablyold letters and of no consequence, but they should of course bereturned to the owners. 

In putting the desk back in its place, after returning the panel andclosing the crevice against future accidents, the colonel caught hiscoat on a projecting point and tore a long rent in the sleeve. It wasan old coat, and worn only about the house; and when he changed itbefore leaving to pay his call upon old Malcolm Dudley, he hung it ina back corner in his clothes closet, and did not put it on again for along time. Since he was very busily occupied in the meantime, the twoold letters to which he had attached no importance, escaped his memoryaltogether. 

The colonel's coachman, a young coloured man by the name of Tom, hadcomplained of illness early in the morning, and the colonel tookPeter along to drive him to Mink Run, as well as to keep him company. On their way through the town they stopped at Mrs. Treadwell's, wherethey left Phil, who had, he declared, some important engagement withGraciella. 

The distance was not long, scarcely more than five miles. Ben Dudleywas in the habit of traversing it on horseback, twice a day. When theyhad passed the last straggling cabin of the town, their way lay alonga sandy road, flanked by fields green with corn and cotton, broken bystretches of scraggy pine and oak, growing upon land once undercultivation, but impoverished by the wasteful methods of slavery; landthat had never been regenerated, and was now no longer tilled. Negroeswere working in the fields, birds were singing in the trees. Buzzardscircled lazily against the distant sky. Although it was only earlysummer, a languor in the air possessed the colonel's senses, andsuggested a certain charity toward those of his neighbours--and theywere most of them--who showed no marked zeal for labour. 

"Work, " he murmured, "is best for happiness, but in this climateidleness has its compensations. What, in the end, do we get for allour labour?"

"Fifty cents a day, an' fin' yo'se'f, suh, " said Peter, supposing thesoliloquy addressed to himself. "Dat's w'at dey pays roun' hyuh. "

When they reached a large clearing, which Peter pointed out as theirdestination, the old man dismounted with considerable agility, andopened a rickety gate that was held in place by loops of rope. Evidently the entrance had once possessed some pretensions toelegance, for the huge hewn posts had originally been faced withdressed lumber and finished with ornamental capitals, some fragmentsof which remained; and the one massive hinge, hanging by a slenderrust-eaten nail, had been wrought into a fantastic shape. As theydrove through the gateway, a green lizard scampered down from the topof one of the posts, where he had been sunning himself, and arattlesnake lying in the path lazily uncoiled his motley brownlength, and sounding his rattle, wriggled slowly off into the rankgrass and weeds that bordered the carriage track. 

The house stood well back from the road, amid great oaks and elms andunpruned evergreens. The lane by which it was approached was partlyovergrown with weeds and grass, from which the mare's fetlocks sweptthe dew, yet undried by the morning sun. 

The old Dudley "mansion, " as it was called, was a large two-storyframe house, built in the colonial style, with a low-pitched roof, anda broad piazza along the front, running the full length of bothstories and supported by thick round columns, each a solid piece ofpine timber, gray with age and lack of paint, seamed with fissures bythe sun and rain of many years. The roof swayed downward on one side;the shingles were old and cracked and moss-grown; several of thesecond story windows were boarded up, and others filled with sashesfrom which most of the glass had disappeared. 

About the house, for a space of several rods on each side of it, theground was bare of grass and shrubbery, rough and uneven, lying inlittle hillocks and hollows, as though recently dug over at haphazard, or explored by some vagrant drove of hogs. At one side, beyond thisbarren area, lay a kitchen garden, enclosed by a paling fence. Thecolonel had never thought of young Dudley as being at all energetic, but so ill-kept a place argued shiftlessness in a marked degree. 

When the carriage had drawn up in front of the house, the colonelbecame aware of two figures on the long piazza. At one end, in amassive oaken armchair, sat an old man--seemingly a very old man, forhe was bent and wrinkled, with thin white hair hanging down upon hisshoulders. His face, of a highbred and strongly marked type, emphasised by age, had the hawk-like contour, that is supposed tobetoken extreme acquisitiveness. His faded eyes were turned toward awoman, dressed in a homespun frock and a muslin cap, who sat boltupright, in a straight-backed chair, at the other end of the piazza, with her hands folded on her lap, looking fixedly toward her_vis-à-vis_. Neither of them paid the slightest attention to thecolonel, and when the old man rose, it was not to step forward andwelcome his visitor, but to approach and halt in front of the woman. 

"Viney, " he said, sharply, "I am tired of this nonsense. I insist uponknowing, immediately, where my uncle left the money. "

The woman made no reply, but her faded eyes glowed for a moment, likethe ashes of a dying fire, and her figure stiffened perceptibly as sheleaned slightly toward him. 

"Show me at once, you hussy, " he said, shaking his fist, "or you'llhave reason to regret it. I'll have you whipped. " His cracked voicerose to a shrill shriek as he uttered the threat. 

The slumbrous fire in the woman's eyes flamed up for a moment. Sherose, and drawing herself up to her full height, which was greaterthan the old man's, made some incoherent sounds, and bent upon him alook beneath which he quailed. 

"Yes, Viney, good Viney, " he said, soothingly, "I know it was wrong, and I've always regretted it, always, from the very moment. But youshouldn't bear malice. Servants, the Bible says, should obey theirmasters, and you should bless them that curse you, and do good to themthat despitefully use you. But I was good to you before, Viney, and Iwas kind to you afterwards, and I know you've forgiven me, good Viney, noble-hearted Viney, and you're going to tell me, aren't you?" hepleaded, laying his hand caressingly upon her arm. 

She drew herself away, but, seemingly mollified, moved her lips asthough in speech. The old man put his hand to his ear and listenedwith an air of strained eagerness, well-nigh breathless in itsintensity. 

"Try again, Viney, " he said, "that's a good girl. Your old masterthinks a great deal of you, Viney. He is your best friend!"

Again she made an inarticulate response, which he nevertheless seemedto comprehend, for, brightening up immediately, he turned from her, came down the steps with tremulous haste, muttering to himselfmeanwhile, seized a spade that stood leaning against the steps, passedby the carriage without a glance, and began digging furiously at oneside of the yard. The old woman watched him for a while, with aself-absorption that was entirely oblivious of the visitors, and thenentered the house. 

The colonel had been completely absorbed in this curious drama. Therewas an air of weirdness and unreality about it all. Old Peter was assilent as if he had been turned into stone. Something in theatmosphere conduced to somnolence, for even the horses stood still, with no signs of restlessness. The colonel was the first to break thespell. 

"What's the matter with them, Peter? Do you know?"

"Dey's bofe plumb 'stracted, suh--clean out'n dey min's--dey be'n datway fer yeahs an' yeahs an' yeahs. "

"That's Mr. Dudley, I suppose?"

"Yas, suh, dat's ole Mars Ma'com Dudley, de uncle er young Mistah BenDudley w'at hangs 'roun Miss Grac'ella so much. "

"And who is the woman?"

"She's a bright mulattah 'oman, suh, w'at use' ter b'long ter defamily befo' de wah, an' has kep' house fer ole Mars' Ma'com eversense. He 'lows dat she knows whar old Mars' Rafe Dudley, _his_ uncle, hid a million dollahs endyoin' de wah, an' huh tongue's paralyse' soshe can't tell 'im--an' he's be'n tryin' ter fin' out fer de las'twenty-five years. I wo'ked out hyuh one summer on plantation, an' Iseen 'em gwine on like dat many 'n' many a time. Dey don' nobody roun'hyuh pay no 'tention to 'em no mo', ev'ybody's so use' ter seein''em. "

The conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Ben Dudley, whocame around the house, and, advancing to the carriage, nodded toPeter, and greeted the colonel respectfully. 

"Won't you 'light and come in?" he asked. 

The colonel followed him into the house, to a plainly furnishedparlour. There was a wide fireplace, with a fine old pair of brassandirons, and a few pieces of old mahogany furniture, incongruouslyassorted with half a dozen splint-bottomed chairs. The floor was bare, and on the walls half a dozen of the old Dudleys looked out from asmany oil paintings, with the smooth glaze that marked the touch of thetravelling artist, in the days before portrait painting was supersededby photography and crayon enlargements. 

Ben returned in a few minutes with his uncle. Old Malcolm seemed tohave shaken off his aberration, and greeted the colonel with gravepoliteness. 

"I am glad, sir, " he said, giving the visitor his hand, "to make youracquaintance. I have been working in the garden--the flower-garden--forthe sake of the exercise. We have negroes enough, though they are verytrifling nowadays, but the exercise is good for my health. I havetrouble, at times, with my rheumatism, and with my--my memory. " Hepassed his hand over his brow as though brushing away an imaginarycobweb. 

"Ben tells me you have a business matter to present to me?"

The colonel, somewhat mystified, after what he had witnessed, by thissudden change of manner, but glad to find the old man seeminglyrational, stated the situation in regard to the mill site. Old Malcolmseemed to understand perfectly, and accepted with willingness thecolonel's proposition to give him a certain amount of stock in the newcompany for the release of such rights as he might possess under theold incorporation. The colonel had brought with him a contract, properly drawn, which was executed by old Malcolm, and witnessed bythe colonel and Ben. 

"I trust, sir, " said Mr. Dudley, "that you will not ascribe it to anydiscourtesy that I have not called to see you. I knew your father andyour grandfather. But the cares of my estate absorb me so completelythat I never leave home. I shall send my regards to you now and thenby my nephew. I expect, in a very short time, when certain mattersare adjusted, to be able to give up, to a great extent, my arduouscares, and lead a life of greater leisure, which will enable me totravel and cultivate a wider acquaintance. When that time comes, sir, I shall hope to see more of you. "

The old gentleman stood courteously on the steps while Ben accompaniedthe colonel to the carriage. It had scarcely turned into the lane whenthe colonel, looking back, saw the old man digging furiously. Thecondition of the yard was explained; he had been unjust in ascribingit to Ben's neglect. 

"I reckon, suh, " remarked Peter, "dat w'en he fin' dat milliondollahs, Mistah Ben'll marry Miss Grac'ella an' take huh ter NewYo'k. "

"Perhaps--and perhaps not, " said the colonel. To himself he added, musingly, "Old Malcolm will start on a long journey before he findsthe--million dollars. The watched pot never boils. Buried treasure isnever found by those who seek it, but always accidentally, if at all. "

On the way back they stopped at the Treadwells' for Phil. Phil was notready to go home. He was intensely interested in a long-earedmechanical mule, constructed by Ben Dudley out of bits of wood andleather and controlled by certain springs made of rubber bands, bymanipulating which the mule could be made to kick furiously. Since thecolonel had affairs to engage his attention, and Phil seemed perfectlycontented, he was allowed to remain, with the understanding that Petershould come for him in the afternoon. 

_Sixteen_

Little Phil had grown very fond of old Peter, who seemed to lavishupon the child all of his love and devotion for the dead generationsof the French family. The colonel had taught Phil to call the old man"Uncle Peter, " after the kindly Southern fashion of slavery days, which, denying to negroes the forms of address applied to whitepeople, found in the affectionate terms of relationship--Mammy, Auntieand Uncle--designations that recognised the respect due to age, andyet lost, when applied to slaves, their conventional significance. There was a strong, sympathy between the intelligent child and theundeveloped old negro; they were more nearly on a mental level, leaving out, of course, the factor of Peter's experience, than couldhave been the case with one more generously endowed than Peter, who, though by nature faithful, had never been unduly bright. Little Philbecame so attached to his old attendant that, between Peter and theTreadwell ladies, the colonel's housekeeper had to give him verylittle care. 

On Sunday afternoons the colonel and Phil and Peter would sometimeswalk over to the cemetery. The family lot was now kept in perfectorder. The low fence around it had been repaired, and several leaningheadstones straightened up. But, guided by a sense of fitness, andhaving before him the awful example for which Fetters was responsible, the colonel had added no gaudy monument nor made any alterations whichwould disturb the quiet beauty of the spot or its harmony with thesurroundings. In the Northern cemetery where his young wife wasburied, he had erected to her memory a stately mausoleum, in keepingwith similar memorials on every hand. But here, in this quietgraveyard, where his ancestors slept their last sleep under the elmsand the willows, display would have been out of place. He had, however, placed a wrought-iron bench underneath the trees, where hewould sit and read his paper, while little Phil questioned old Peterabout his grandfather and his great-grandfather, their prowess on thehunting field, and the wars they fought in; and the old man woulddelight in detailing, in his rambling and disconnected manner, thepast glories of the French family. It was always a new story to Phil, and never grew stale to the old man. If Peter could be believed, therewere never white folks so brave, so learned, so wise, so handsome, sokind to their servants, so just to all with whom they had dealings. Phil developed a very great fondness for these dead ancestors, whosegraves and histories he soon knew as well as Peter himself. With hislively imagination he found pleasure, as children often do, in lookinginto the future. The unoccupied space in the large cemetery lotfurnished him food for much speculation. 

"Papa, " he said, upon one of these peaceful afternoons, "there's roomenough here for all of us, isn't there--you, and me and Uncle Peter?"

"Yes, Phil, " said his father, "there's room for several generations ofFrenches yet to sleep with their fathers. "

Little Phil then proceeded to greater detail. "Here, " he said, "nextto grandfather, will be your place, and here next to that, will bemine, and here, next to me will be--but no, " he said, pausingreflectively, "that ought to be saved for my little boy when he growsup and dies, that is, when I grow up and have a little boy and hegrows up and grows old and dies and leaves a little boy and--but wherewill Uncle Peter be?"

"Nem mine me, honey, " said the old man, "dey can put me somewhar e'se. Hit doan' mattuh 'bout me. "

"No, Uncle Peter, you must be here with the rest of us. For you know, Uncle Peter, I'm so used to you now, that I should want you to be nearme then. "

Old Peter thought to humour the lad. "Put me down hyuh at de foot erde lot, little Mars' Phil, unner dis ellum tree. "

"Oh, papa, " exclaimed Phil, demanding the colonel's attention, "UnclePeter and I have arranged everything. You know Uncle Peter is to staywith me as long as I live, and when he dies, he is to be buried hereat the foot of the lot, under the elm tree, where he'll be near me allthe time, and near the folks that he knows and that know him. "

"All right, Phil. You see to it; you'll live longer. "

"But, papa, if I should die first, and then Uncle Peter, and you lastof all, you'll put Uncle Peter near me, won't you, papa?"

"Why, bless your little heart, Phil, of course your daddy will dowhatever you want, if he's here to do it. But you'll live, Phil, please God, until I am old and bent and white-haired, and you are agrown man, with a beard, and a little boy of your own. "

"Yas, suh, " echoed the old servant, "an' till ole Peter's bones islong sence crumble' inter dus'. None er de Frenches' ain' never diedtill dey was done growed up. "

On the afternoon following the colonel's visit to Mink Run, old Peter, when he came for Phil, was obliged to stay long enough to see theantics of the mechanical mule; and had not that artificial animalsuddenly refused to kick, and lapsed into a characteristic balkinessfor which there was no apparent remedy, it might have proved difficultto get Phil away. 

"There, Philip dear, never mind, " said Miss Laura, "we'll have Benmend it for you when he comes, next time, and then you can play withit again. "

Peter had brought with him some hooks and lines, and, he and Phil, after leaving the house, followed the bank of the creek, climbing afence now and then, until they reached the old mill site, upon whichwork had not yet begun. They found a shady spot, and seatingthemselves upon the bank, baited their lines, and dropped them into aquiet pool. For quite a while their patience was unrewarded byanything more than a nibble. By and by a black cat came down from theruined mill, and sat down upon the bank at a short distance from them. 

"I reckon we'll haf ter move, honey, " said the old man. "We ain'tgwine ter have no luck fishin' 'g'ins' no ole black cat. "

"But cats don't fish, Uncle Peter, do they?"

"Law', chile, you'll never know w'at dem critters _kin_ do, 'tel you'swatched 'em long ez I has! Keep yo' eye on dat one now. "

The cat stood by the stream, in a watchful attitude. Suddenly shedarted her paw into the shallow water and with a lightning-likemovement drew out a small fish, which she took in her mouth, andretired with it a few yards up the bank. 

"Jes' look at dat ole devil, " said Peter, "playin' wid dat fish jes'lack it wuz a mouse! She'll be comin' down heah terreckly tellin' uster go 'way fum her fishin' groun's. "

"Why, Uncle Peter, " said Phil incredulously, "cats can't talk!"

"Can't dey? Hoo said dey couldn'? Ain't Miss Grac'ella an' me be'ntellin' you right along 'bout Bre'r Rabbit and Bre'r Fox an de yuthercreturs talkin' an' gwine on jes' lak folks?"

"Yes, Uncle Peter, but those were just stories; they didn't reallytalk, did they?"

"Law', honey, " said the old man, with a sly twinkle in his rheumy eye, "you is de sma'tes' little white boy I ever knowed, but you is got amonst'us heap ter l'arn yit, chile. Nobody ain' done tol' you 'bout deBlack Cat an' de Ha'nted House, is dey?"

"No, Uncle Peter--you tell me. "

"I didn' knowed but Miss Grac'ella mought a tole you--she knows mos'all de tales. "

"No, she hasn't. You tell me about it, Uncle Peter. "

"Well, " said Peter, "does you 'member dat coal-black man dat drives delumber wagon?"

"Yes, he goes by our house every day, on the way to the sawmill. "

"Well, it all happen' 'long er him. He 'uz gwine long de street oneday, w'en he heared two gent'emen--one of 'em was ole Mars' TomSellers an' I fuhgot de yuther--but dey 'uz talkin' 'bout dat oleha'nted house down by de creek, 'bout a mile from hyuh, on de yutherside er town, whar we went fishin' las' week. Does you 'member deplace?"

"Yes, I remember the house. "

"Well, as dis yer Jeff--dat's de lumber-wagon driver's name--as disyer Jeff come up ter dese yer two gentlemen, one of 'em was sayin, 'I'll bet five dollahs dey ain' narry a man in his town would stay indat ha'nted house all night. ' Dis yer Jeff, he up 'n sez, sezee, 'Scuse me, suh, but ef you'll 'low me ter speak, suh, I knows a manwat'll stay in dat ole ha'nted house all night. '"

"What is a ha'nted house, Uncle Peter?" asked Phil. 

"W'y. Law, ' chile, a ha'nted house is a house whar dey's ha'nts!"

"And what are ha'nts, Uncle Peter?"

"Ha'nts, honey, is sperrits er dead folks, dat comes back an' hangsroun' whar dey use' ter lib. "

"Do all spirits come back, Uncle Peter?"

"No, chile, bress de Lawd, no. Only de bad ones, w'at has be'n sowicked dey can't rest in dey graves. Folks lack yo' gran'daddy and yo'gran'mammy--an' all de Frenches--dey don' none er _dem_ come back, ferdey wuz all good people an' is all gone ter hebben. But I'm fergittin'de tale. 

"'Well, hoo's de man--hoo's de man?' ax Mistah Sellers, w'en Jeff tol''im dey wuz somebody wat 'ud stay in de ole ha'nted house all night. 

"'I'm de man, ' sez Jeff. 'I ain't skeered er no ha'nt dat evuh walked, an' I sleeps in graveya'ds by pref'ence; fac', I jes nach'ly lacks tertalk ter ha'nts. You pay me de five dollahs, an' I'll 'gree ter stayin de ole house f'm nine er clock 'tel daybreak. '

"Dey talk' ter Jeff a w'ile, an' dey made a bahgin wid 'im; dey give'im one dollah down, an' promus' 'im fo' mo' in de mawnin' ef hestayed 'tel den. 

"So w'en he got de dollah he went uptown an' spent it, an' 'long 'boutnine er clock he tuk a lamp, an' went down ter de ole house, an' wentinside an' shet de do'. 

"Dey wuz a rickety ole table settin' in de middle er de flo'. He sotde lamp on de table. Den he look 'roun' de room, in all de cawners an'up de chimbly, ter see dat dey wan't nobody ner nuthin' hid in deroom. Den he tried all de winders an' fastened de do', so dey couldn'nobody ner nuthin' git in. Den he fotch a' ole rickety chair f'm onecawner, and set it by de table, and sot down. He wuz settin' dere, noddin' his head, studyin' 'bout dem other fo' dollahs, an' w'at hewuz gwine buy wid 'em, w'en bimeby he kinder dozed off, an' befo' heknowed it he wuz settin' dere fast asleep. "

"W'en he woke up, 'long 'bout 'leven erclock, de lamp had bu'n' downkinder low. He heared a little noise behind him an' look 'roun', an'dere settin' in de middle er de flo' wuz a big black tomcat, wid histail quirled up over his back, lookin' up at Jeff wid bofe his two bigyaller eyes. 

"Jeff rub' 'is eyes, ter see ef he wuz 'wake, an w'iles he sot derewond'rin' whar de hole wuz dat dat ole cat come in at, fus' thing heknowed, de ole cat wuz settin' right up 'side of 'im, on de table, widhis tail quirled up roun' de lamp chimbly. 

"Jeff look' at de black cat, an' de black cat look' at Jeff. Den deblack cat open his mouf an' showed 'is teef, an' sezee----"

"'Good evenin'!'

"'Good evenin' suh, ' 'spon' Jeff, trimblin' in de knees, an' kind'eredgin' 'way fum de table. 

"'Dey ain' nobody hyuh but you an' me, is dey?' sez de black cat, winkin' one eye. 

"'No, suh, ' sez Jeff, as he made fer de do', _'an' quick ez I kin gitout er hyuh, dey ain' gwine ter be nobody hyuh but you!_'"

"Is that all, Uncle Peter?" asked Phil, when the old man came to ahalt with a prolonged chuckle. 

"Huh?"

"Is that all?"

"No, dey's mo' er de tale, but dat's ernuff ter prove dat black catskin do mo' dan little w'ite boys 'low dey kin. "

"Did Jeff go away?"

"Did he go 'way! Why, chile, he jes' flew away! Befo' he got ter dedo', howsomevuh, he 'membered he had locked it, so he didn' stop tertry ter open it, but went straight out'n a winder, quicker'nlightnin', an' kyared de sash 'long wid 'im. An' he'd be'n in sechpow'ful has'e dat he knock' de lamp over an' lack ter sot de houseafire. He nevuh got de yuther fo' dollahs of co'se, 'ca'se he didn'tstay in de ole ha'nted house all night, but he 'lowed he'd sho'ly'arned de one dollah he'd had a'ready. "

"Why didn't he want to talk to the black cat, Uncle Peter?"

"Why didn' he wan' ter talk ter de black cat? Whoever heared er sich aqueshtun! He didn' wan' ter talk wid no black cat, 'ca'se he wuzskeered. Black cats brings 'nuff bad luck w'en dey doan' talk, let'lone w'en dey does. "

"I should like, " said Phil, reflectively, "to talk to a black cat. Ithink it would be great fun. "

"Keep away f'm 'em, chile, keep away f'm 'em. Dey is some things toodeep fer little boys ter projec' wid, an' black cats is one of 'em. "

They moved down the stream and were soon having better luck. 

"Uncle Peter, " said Phil, while they were on their way home, "therecouldn't be any ha'nts at all in the graveyard where my grandfather isburied, could there? Graciella read a lot of the tombstones to me oneday, and they all said that all the people were good, and were restingin peace, and had gone to heaven. Tombstones always tell the truth, don't they, Uncle Peter?"

"Happen so, honey, happen so! De French tombstones does; an' as ter deres', I ain' gwine to 'spute 'em, nohow, fer ef I did, de folks under'em mought come back an' ha'nt me, jes' fer spite. "

_Seventeen_

By considerable effort, and a moderate outlay, the colonel at lengthsecured a majority of interest in the Eureka mill site and madeapplication to the State, through Caxton, for the redemption of thetitle. The opposition had either ceased or had proved ineffective. There would be some little further delay, but the outcome seemedpractically certain, and the colonel did not wait longer to set inmotion his plans for the benefit of Clarendon. 

"I'm told that Fetters says he'll get the mill anyway, " said Caxton, "and make more money buying it under foreclosure than by building anew one. He's ready to lend on it now. "

"Oh, damn Fetters!" exclaimed the colonel, elated with his victory. Hehad never been a profane man, but strong language came so easy inClarendon that one dropped into it unconsciously. "The mill will berunning on full time when Fetters has been put out of business. We'vewon our first fight, and I've never really seen the fellow yet. "

As soon as the title was reasonably secure, the colonel began hispreparations for building the cotton mill. The first step was to sendfor a New England architect who made a specialty of mills, to comedown and look the site over, and make plans for the dam, the millbuildings and a number of model cottages for the operatives. As soonas the estimates were prepared, he looked the ground over to see howfar he could draw upon local resources for material. 

There was good brick clay on the outskirts of the town, where brickshad once been made; but for most of the period since the war such aswere used in the town had been procured from the ruins of oldbuildings--it was cheaper to clean bricks than to make them. Since theconstruction of the railroad branch to Clarendon the few that wereneeded from time to time were brought in by train. Not since thebuilding of the Opera House block had there been a kiln of brick madein the town. Inquiry brought out the fact that in case of a demand forbricks there were brickmakers thereabouts; and in accordance with hisgeneral plan to employ local labour, the colonel looked up the ownerof the brickyard, and asked if he were prepared to take a largecontract. 

The gentleman was palpably troubled by the question. 

"Well, colonel, " he said, "I don't know. I'd s'posed you were goin' toimpo't yo' bricks from Philadelphia. "

"No, Mr. Barnes, " returned the colonel, "I want to spend the moneyhere in Clarendon. There seems to be plenty of unemployed labour. "

"Yes, there does, till you want somethin' done; then there ain't somuch. I s'pose I might find half a dozen niggers round here that knowhow to make brick; and there's several more that have moved away thatI can get back if I send for them. If you r'al'y think you want yo'rbrick made here, I'll try to get them out for you. They'll cost you, though, as much, if not more than, you'd have to pay for machine-madebricks from the No'th. "

The colonel declared that he preferred the local product. 

"Well, I'm shore I don't see why, " said the brickmaker. "They'll notbe as smooth or as uniform in colour. "

"They'll be Clarendon brick, " returned the colonel, "and I want thisto be a Clarendon enterprise, from the ground up. "

"Well, " said Barnes resignedly, "if you must have home-made brick, Isuppose I'll have to make 'em. I'll see what I can do. "

Colonel French then turned the brick matter over to Caxton, who, inthe course of a week, worried Barnes into a contract to supply so manythousand brick within a given time. 

"I don't like that there time limit, " said the brickmaker, "but Ireckon I can make them brick as fast as you can get anybody roun' hereto lay 'em. "

When in the course of another week the colonel saw signs of activityabout the old brickyard, he proceeded with the next step, which was tohave the ruins of the old factory cleared away. 

"Well, colonel, " said Major McLean one day when the colonel droppedinto the hotel, where the Major hung out a good part of the time, "Is'pose you're goin' to hire white folks to do the work over there. "

"Why, " replied the colonel, "I hadn't thought about the colour of theworkmen. There'll be plenty, I guess, for all who apply, so long as itlasts. "

"You'll have trouble if you hire niggers, " said the major. "You'llfind that they won't work when you want 'em to. They're not reliable, they have no sense of responsibility. As soon as they get a dollarthey'll lay off to spend it, and leave yo' work at the mos' criticalpoint. "

"Well, now, major, " replied the colonel, "I haven't noticed anyunnatural activity among the white men of the town. The Negroes haveto live, or seem to think they have, and I'll give 'em a chance toturn an honest penny. By the way, major, I need a superintendent tolook after the work. It don't require an expert, but merely a goodman--gentleman preferred--whom I can trust to see that my ideas arecarried out. Perhaps you can recommend such a person?"

The major turned the matter over in his mind before answering. Hemight, of course, offer his own services. The pay would doubtless begood. But he had not done any real work for years. His wife ownedtheir home. His daughter taught in the academy. He was drawn on jurynearly every term; was tax assessor now and then, and a judge or clerkof elections upon occasion. Nor did he think that steady employmentwould agree with his health, while it would certainly interfere withhis pleasant visits with the drummers at the hotel. 

"I'd be glad to take the position myself, colonel, " he said, "but Ir'aly won't have the time. The campaign will be hummin' in a month orso, an' my political duties will occupy all my leisure. But I'll bearthe matter in mind, an' see if I can think of any suitable person. "

The colonel thanked him. He had hardly expected the major to offer hisservices, but had merely wished, for the fun of the thing, to try theexperiment. What the colonel really needed was a good foreman--he hadused the word "superintendent" merely on the major's account, as lesssuggestive of work. He found a poor white man, however, Green by name, who seemed capable and energetic, and a gang of labourers under hischarge was soon busily engaged in clearing the mill site and preparingfor the foundations of a new dam. When it was learned that the colonelwas paying his labourers a dollar and a half a day, there wasconsiderable criticism, on the ground that such lavishness woulddemoralise the labour market, the usual daily wage of the Negrolabourer being from fifty to seventy-five cents. But since most of thecolonel's money soon found its way, through the channels of trade, into the pockets of the white people, the criticism soon died anatural death. 

_Eighteen_

Once started in his career of active benevolence, the colonel'snatural love of thoroughness, combined with a philanthropic zeal aspleasant as it was novel, sought out new reforms. They were easilyfound. He had begun, with wise foresight, at the foundations ofprosperity, by planning an industry in which the people could findemployment. But there were subtler needs, mental and spiritual, to bemet. Education, for instance, so important to real development, languished in Clarendon. There was a select private school for youngladies, attended by the daughters of those who could not send theirchildren away to school. A few of the town boys went away to militaryschools. The remainder of the white youth attended the academy, whichwas a thoroughly democratic institution, deriving its support partlyfrom the public school fund and partly from private subscriptions. There was a coloured public school taught by a Negro teacher. Neitherschool had, so far as the colonel could learn, attained any very highdegree of efficiency. At one time the colonel had contemplatedbuilding a schoolhouse for the children of the mill hands, but uponsecond thought decided that the expenditure would be more widelyuseful if made through the channels already established. If the oldacademy building were repaired, and a wing constructed, for whichthere was ample room upon the grounds, it would furnish any neededadditional accommodation for the children of the operatives, and avoidthe drawing of any line that might seem to put these in a class apart. There were already lines enough in the town--the deep and distinctcolour line, theoretically all-pervasive, but with occasional curiousexceptions; the old line between the "rich white folks" oraristocrats--no longer rich, most of them, but retaining some of theirformer wealth and clinging tenaciously to a waning prestige--and the"poor whites, " still at a social disadvantage, but gradually evolvinga solid middle class, with reinforcements from the decayingaristocracy, and producing now and then some ambitious and successfulman like Fetters. To emphasise these distinctions was no part of thecolonel's plan. To eradicate them entirely in any stated time was ofcourse impossible, human nature being what it was, but he would donothing to accentuate them. His mill hands should become, like themill hands in New England towns, an intelligent, self-respecting andtherefore respected element of an enlightened population; and thewhole town should share equally in anything he might spend for theirbenefit. 

He found much pleasure in talking over these fine plans of his withLaura Treadwell. Caxton had entered into them with the enthusiasm ofan impressionable young man, brought into close contact with aforceful personality. But in Miss Laura the colonel found a sympathythat was more than intellectual--that reached down to sources ofspiritual strength and inspiration which the colonel could not touchbut of which he was conscious and of which he did not hesitate toavail himself at second hand. Little Phil had made the house almost asecond home; and the frequent visits of his father had onlystrengthened the colonel's admiration of Laura's character. He hadlearned, not from the lady herself, how active in good works she was. A Lady Bountiful in any large sense she could not be, for her means, as she had so frankly said upon his first visit, were small. But alittle went a long way among the poor of Clarendon, and the life afterall is more than meat, and the body more than raiment, and advice andsympathy were as often needed as other kinds of help. He had offeredto assist her charities in a substantial way, and she had permitted itnow and then, but had felt obliged at last to cease mentioning themaltogether. He was able to circumvent this delicacy now and thenthrough the agency of Graciella, whose theory was that money was madeto spend. 

"Laura, " he said one evening when at the house, "will you go with meto-morrow to visit the academy? I wish to see with your eyes as wellas with mine what it needs and what can be done with it. It shall beour secret until we are ready to surprise the town. "

They went next morning, without notice to the principal. The schoolwas well ordered, but the equipment poor. The building was old andsadly in need of repair. The teacher was an ex-Confederate officer, past middle life, well taught by the methods in vogue fifty yearsbefore, but scarcely in harmony with modern ideals of education. Inspite of his perfect manners and unimpeachable character, theProfessor, as he was called, was generally understood to hold hisposition more by virtue of his need and his influence than of hisfitness to instruct. He had several young lady assistants who found inteaching the only career open, in Clarendon, to white women of goodfamily. 

The recess hour arrived while they were still at school. When thepupils marched out, in orderly array, the colonel, seizing a momentwhen Miss Treadwell and the professor were speaking about some of thechildren whom the colonel did not know, went to the rear of one of theschoolrooms and found, without much difficulty, high up on one of thewalls, the faint but still distinguishable outline of a pencilcaricature he had made there thirty years before. If the wall had beenwhitewashed in the meantime, the lime had scaled down to the originalplaster. Only the name, which had been written underneath, wasillegible, though he could reconstruct with his mind's eye and the aidof a few shadowy strokes--"Bill Fetters, Sneak"--in angular letters inthe printed form. 

The colonel smiled at this survival of youthful bigotry. Yet even thenhis instinct had been a healthy one; his boyish characterisation ofFetters, schoolboy, was not an inapt description of Fetters, man--mortgage shark, labour contractor and political boss. Bill, seeking official favour, had reported to the Professor of that datesome boyish escapade in which his schoolfellows had taken part, and itwas in revenge for this meanness that the colonel had chased himignominiously down Main Street and pilloried him upon the schoolhousewall. Fetters the man, a Goliath whom no David had yet opposed, hadfastened himself upon a weak and disorganised community, during aperiod of great distress and had succeeded by devious ways in makinghimself its master. And as the colonel stood looking at the picture hewas conscious of a faint echo of his boyish indignation and sense ofoutraged honour. Already Fetters and he had clashed upon the subjectof the cotton mill, and Fetters had retired from the field. If it werewritten that they should meet in a life-and-death struggle for thesoul of Clarendon, he would not shirk the conflict. 

"Laura, " he said, when they went away, "I should like to visit thecoloured school. Will you come with me?"

She hesitated, and he could see with half an eye that her answer wasdictated by a fine courage. 

"Why, certainly, I will go. Why not? It is a place where a good workis carried on. "

"No, Laura, " said the colonel smiling, "you need not go. On secondthought, I should prefer to go alone. "

She insisted, but he was firm. He had no desire to go counter to herinstincts, or induce her to do anything that might provoke adversecomment. Miss Laura had all the fine glow of courage, but was secretlyrelieved at being excused from a trip so unconventional. 

So the colonel found his way alone to the schoolhouse, an unpaintedframe structure in a barren, sandy lot upon a street somewhat removedfrom the centre of the town and given over mainly to the humble homesof Negroes. That his unannounced appearance created some embarrassmentwas quite evident, but his friendliness toward the Negroes had alreadybeen noised abroad, and he was welcomed with warmth, not to sayeffusion, by the principal of the school, a tall, stalwart and darkman with an intelligent expression, a deferential manner, and shrewdbut guarded eyes--the eyes of the jungle, the colonel had heard themcalled; and the thought came to him, was it some ancestral jungle onthe distant coast of savage Africa, or the wilderness of another sortin which the black people had wandered and were wandering still infree America? The attendance was not large; at a glance the colonelsaw that there were but twenty-five pupils present. 

"What is your total enrolment?" he asked the teacher. 

"Well, sir, " was the reply, "we have seventy-five or eighty on theroll, but it threatened rain this morning, and as a great many of themhaven't got good shoes, they stayed at home for fear of getting theirfeet wet. "

The colonel had often noticed the black children paddling aroundbarefoot in the puddles on rainy days, but there was evidently somepoint of etiquette connected with attending school barefoot. He hadpassed more than twenty-five children on the streets, on his way tothe schoolhouse. 

The building was even worse than that of the academy, and theequipment poorer still. Upon the colonel asking to hear a recitation, the teacher made some excuse and shrewdly requested him to make a fewremarks. They could recite, he said, at any time, but an opportunityto hear Colonel French was a privilege not to be neglected. 

The colonel, consenting good-humouredly, was introduced to the schoolin very flowery language. The pupils were sitting, the teacherinformed them, in the shadow of a great man. A distinguished member ofthe grand old aristocracy of their grand old native State had gone tothe great North and grown rich and famous. He had returned to his oldhome to scatter his vast wealth where it was most needed, and to givehis fellow townsmen an opportunity to add their applause to hisworld-wide fame. He was present to express his sympathy with theirfeeble efforts to rise in the world, and he wanted the scholars all tolisten with the most respectful attention. 

Colonel French made a few simple remarks in which he spoke of theadvantages of education as a means of forming character and of fittingboys and girls for the work of men and women. In former years hispeople had been charged with direct responsibility for the care ofmany coloured children, and in a larger and indirect way they werestill responsible for their descendants. He urged them to make thebest of their opportunities and try to fit themselves for usefulcitizenship. They would meet with the difficulties that all men must, and with some peculiarly their own. But they must look up and notdown, forward and not back, seeking always incentives to hope ratherthan excuses for failure. Before leaving, he arranged with theteacher, whose name was Taylor, to meet several of the leadingcoloured men, with whom he wished to discuss some method of improvingtheir school and directing their education to more definite ends. Themeeting was subsequently held. 

"What your people need, " said the colonel to the little gathering atthe schoolhouse one evening, "is to learn not only how to read andwrite and think, but to do these things to some definite end. We livein an age of specialists. To make yourselves valuable members ofsociety, you must learn to do well some particular thing, by whichyou may reasonably expect to earn a comfortable living in your ownhome, among your neighbours, and save something for old age and theeducation of your children. Get together. Take advice from some ofyour own capable leaders in other places. Find out what you can do foryourselves, and I will give you three dollars for every one you cangather, for an industrial school or some similar institution. Takeyour time, and when you're ready to report, come and see me, or writeto me, if I am not here. "

The result was the setting in motion of a stagnant pool. Who canmeasure the force of hope? The town had been neglected by missionboards. No able or ambitious Negro had risen from its midst to foundan institution and find a career. The coloured school received agrudging dole from the public funds, and was left entirely to thesupervision of the coloured people. It would have been surprising hadthe money always been expended to the best advantage. 

The fact that a white man, in some sense a local man, who had yet comefrom the far North, the land of plenty, with feelings friendly totheir advancement, had taken a personal interest in their welfare andproved it by his presence among them, gave them hope and inspirationfor the future. They had long been familiar with the friendship thatcurbed, restricted and restrained, and concerned itself mainly withtheir limitations. They were almost hysterically eager to welcome theco-operation of a friend who, in seeking to lift them up, was obsessedby no fear of pulling himself down or of narrowing in some degree thegulf that separated them--who was willing not only to help them, butto help them to a condition in which they might be in less need ofhelp. The colonel touched the reserves of loyalty in the Negro nature, exemplified in old Peter and such as he. Who knows, had these reservesbeen reached sooner by strict justice and patient kindness, that theymight not long since have helped to heal the wounds of slavery?

"And now, Laura, " said the colonel, "when we have improved the schoolsand educated the people, we must give them something to occupy theirminds. We must have a library, a public library. "

"That will be splendid!" she replied with enthusiasm. 

"A public library, " continued the colonel, "housed in a beautifulbuilding, in a conspicuous place, and decorated in an artisticmanner--a shrine of intellect and taste, at which all the people, richand poor, black and white, may worship. "

Miss Laura was silent for a moment, and thoughtful. 

"But, Henry, " she said with some hesitation, "do you mean thatcoloured people should use the library?"

"Why not?" he asked. "Do they not need it most? Perhaps not many ofthem might wish to use it; but to those who do, should we deny theopportunity? Consider their teachers--if the blind lead the blind, shall they not both fall into the ditch?"

"Yes, Henry, that is the truth; but I am afraid the white peoplewouldn't wish to handle the same books. "

"Very well, then we will give the coloured folks a library of theirown, at some place convenient for their use. We need not strain ourideal by going too fast. Where shall I build the library?"

"The vacant lot, " she said, "between the post-office and the bank. "

"The very place, " he replied. "It belonged to our family once, and Ishall be acquiring some more ancestral property. The cows will need tofind a new pasture. "

The announcement of the colonel's plan concerning the academy and thelibrary evoked a hearty response on the part of the public, and the_Anglo-Saxon_ hailed it as the dawning of a new era. With regard tothe colonel's friendly plans for the Negroes, there was lessenthusiasm and some difference of opinion. Some commended thecolonel's course. There were others, good men and patriotic, men whowould have died for liberty, in the abstract, men who sought to walkuprightly, and to live peaceably with all, but who, by much broodingover the conditions surrounding their life, had grown hopelesslypessimistic concerning the Negro. 

The subject came up in a little company of gentlemen who were gatheredaround the colonel's table one evening, after the coffee had beenserved, and the Havanas passed around. 

"Your zeal for humanity does you infinite credit, Colonel French, "said Dr. Mackenzie, minister of the Presbyterian Church, who was oneof these prophetic souls, "but I fear your time and money and effortwill be wasted. The Negroes are hopelessly degraded. They havedegenerated rapidly since the war. "

"How do you know, doctor? You came here from the North long after thewar. What is your standard of comparison?"

"I voice the unanimous opinion of those who have known them at bothperiods. "

"_I_ don't agree with you; and I lived here before the war. There iscertainly one smart Negro in town. Nichols, the coloured barber, ownsfive houses, and overreached me in a bargain. Before the war he was achattel. And Taylor, the teacher, seems to be a very sensible fellow. "

"Yes, " said Dr. Price, who was one of the company, "Taylor is a veryintelligent Negro. Nichols and he have learned how to live and prosperamong the white people. "

"They are exceptions, " said the preacher, "who only prove the rule. No, Colonel French, for a long time _I_ hoped that there was a futurefor these poor, helpless blacks. But of late I have become profoundlyconvinced that there is no place in this nation for the Negro, exceptunder the sod. We will not assimilate him, we cannot deport him----"

"And therefore, O man of God, must we exterminate him?"

"It is God's will. We need not stain our hands with innocent blood. Ifwe but sit passive, and leave their fate to time, they will die awayin discouragement and despair. Already disease is sapping theirvitals. Like other weak races, they will vanish from the pathway ofthe strong, and there is no place for them to flee. When they gohence, it is to go forever. It is the law of life, which God has givento the earth. To coddle them, to delude them with false hopes of anunnatural equality which not all the power of the Government has beenable to maintain, is only to increase their unhappiness. To a doomedrace, ignorance is euthanasia, and knowledge is but pain and sorrow. It is His will that the fittest should survive, and that those shallinherit the earth who are best prepared to utilise its forces andgather its fruits. "

"My dear doctor, what you say may all be true, but, with all duerespect, I don't believe a word of it. I am rather inclined to thinkthat these people have a future; that there is a place for them here;that they have made fair progress under discouraging circumstances;that they will not disappear from our midst for many generations, ifever; and that in the meantime, as we make or mar them, we shall makeor mar our civilisation. No society can be greater or wiser or betterthan the average of all its elements. Our ancestors brought thesepeople here, and lived in luxury, some of them--or went intobankruptcy, more of them--on their labour. After three hundred yearsof toil they might be fairly said to have earned their liberty. At anyrate, they are here. They constitute the bulk of our labouring class. To teach them is to make their labour more effective and thereforemore profitable; to increase their needs is to increase our profits insupplying them. I'll take my chances on the Golden Rule. I am no loverof the Negro, _as_ Negro--I do not know but I should rather see himelsewhere. I think our land would have been far happier had none butwhite men ever set foot upon it after the red men were driven back. But they are here, through no fault of theirs, as we are. They wereborn here. We have given them our language--which they speak more orless corruptly; our religion--which they practise certainly no betterthan we; and our blood--which our laws make a badge of disgrace. Perhaps we could not do them strict justice, without a great sacrificeupon our own part. But they are men, and they should have theirchance--at least _some_ chance. "

"I shall pray for your success, " sighed the preacher. "With God allthings are possible, if He will them. But I can only anticipate yourfailure. "

"The colonel is growing so popular, with his ready money and hischeerful optimism, " said old General Thornton, another of the guests, "that we'll have to run him for Congress, as soon as he is reconvertedto the faith of his fathers. "

Colonel French had more than once smiled at the assumption that a merechange of residence would alter his matured political convictions. Hisfriends seemed to look upon them, so far as they differed from theirown, as a mere veneer, which would scale off in time, as had themultiplied coats of whitewash over the pencil drawing made on theschool-house wall in his callow youth. 

"You see, " the old general went on, "it's a social matter down here, rather than a political one. With this ignorant black flood sweepingup against us, the race question assumes an importance whichovershadows the tariff and the currency and everything else. Forinstance, I had fully made up my mind to vote the other ticket in thelast election. I didn't like our candidate nor our platform. There wasa clean-cut issue between sound money and financial repudiation, and_I_ was tired of the domination of populists and demagogues. All mybetter instincts led me toward a change of attitude, and I boldlyproclaimed the fact. I declared my political and intellectualindependence, at the cost of many friends; even my own son-in-lawscarcely spoke to me for a month. When I went to the polls, old SamBrown, the triflingest nigger in town, whom I had seen sentenced tojail more than once for stealing--old Sam Brown was next to me in theline. 

"'Well, Gin'l, ' he said, 'I'm glad you is got on de right side atlas', an' is gwine to vote _our_ ticket. '"

"This was too much! I could stand the other party in the abstract, butnot in the concrete. I voted the ticket of my neighbours and myfriends. We had to preserve our institutions, if our finances went tosmash. Call it prejudice--call it what you like--it's human nature, and you'll come to it, colonel, you'll come to it--and then we'll sendyou to Congress. "

"I might not care to go, " returned the colonel, smiling. 

"You could not resist, sir, the unanimous demand of a determinedconstituency. Upon the rare occasions when, in this State, the officehas had a chance to seek the man, it has never sought in vain. "

_Nineteen_

Time slipped rapidly by, and the colonel had been in Clarendon acouple of months when he went home one afternoon, and not finding Philand Peter, went around to the Treadwells' as the most likely place toseek them. 

"Henry, " said Miss Laura, "Philip does not seem quite well to-day. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he has been coughing alittle. "

The colonel was startled. Had his growing absorption in other thingsled him to neglect his child? Phil needed a mother. This dear, thoughtful woman, whom nature had made for motherhood, had seen thingsabout his child, that he, the child's father, had not perceived. To amind like Colonel French's, this juxtaposition of a motherly heart anda motherless child seemed very pleasing. 

He despatched a messenger on horseback immediately for Dr. Price. Thecolonel had made the doctor's acquaintance soon after coming toClarendon, and out of abundant precaution, had engaged him to callonce a week to see Phil. A physician of skill and experience, agentleman by birth and breeding, a thoughtful student of men andmanners, and a good story teller, he had proved excellent company andthe colonel soon numbered him among his intimate friends. He had seenPhil a few days before, but it was yet several days before his nextvisit. 

Dr. Price owned a place in the country, several miles away, on theroad to Mink Run, and thither the messenger went to find him. He wasin his town office only at stated hours. The colonel was waiting athome, an hour later, when the doctor drove up to the gate with BenDudley, in the shabby old buggy to which Ben sometimes drove his onegood horse on his trips to town. 

"I broke one of my buggy wheels going out home this morning, "explained the doctor, "and had just sent it to the shop when yourmessenger came. I would have ridden your horse back, and let the manwalk in, but Mr. Dudley fortunately came along and gave me a lift. "

He looked at Phil, left some tablets, with directions for their use, and said that it was nothing serious and the child would be all rightin a day or two. 

"What he needs, colonel, at his age, is a woman's care. But for thatmatter none of us ever get too old to need that. "

"I'll have Tom hitch up and take you home, " said the colonel, when thedoctor had finished with Phil, "unless you'll stay to dinner. "

"No, thank you, " said the doctor, "I'm much obliged, but I told mywife I'd be back to dinner. I'll just sit here and wait for youngDudley, who's going to call for me in an hour. There's a fine mind, colonel, that's never had a proper opportunity for development. Ifhe'd had half the chance that your boy will, he would make his mark. Did you ever see his uncle Malcolm?"

The colonel described his visit to Mink Run, the scene on the piazza, the interview with Mr. Dudley, and Peter's story about the hiddentreasure. 

"Is the old man sane?" he asked. 

"His mind is warped, undoubtedly, " said the doctor, "but I'll leave itto you whether it was the result of an insane delusion or not--if youcare to hear his story--or perhaps you've heard it?"

"No, I have not, " returned the colonel, "but I should like to hearit. "

This was the story that the doctor told:

 * * * * *

When the last century had passed the half-way mark, and had startedupon its decline, the Dudleys had already owned land on Mink Run for ahundred years or more, and were one of the richest and mostconspicuous families in the State. The first great man of the family, General Arthur Dudley, an ardent patriot, had won distinction in theWar of Independence, and held high place in the councils of the infantnation. His son became a distinguished jurist, whose name is still asynonym for legal learning and juridical wisdom. In Ralph Dudley, theson of Judge Dudley, and the immediate predecessor of the demented oldman in whom now rested the title to the remnant of the estate, thefamily began to decline from its eminence. Ralph did not marry, butled a life of ease and pleasure, wasting what his friends thought raregifts, and leaving his property to the management of his nephewMalcolm, the orphan son of a younger brother and his uncle'sprospective heir. Malcolm Dudley proved so capable a manager that foryear after year the large estate was left almost entirely in hischarge, the owner looking to it merely for revenue to lead his ownlife in other places. 

The Civil War gave Ralph Dudley a career, not upon the field, forwhich he had no taste, but in administrative work, which suited histalents, and imposed more arduous tasks than those of actual warfare. Valour was of small account without arms and ammunition. Acommissariat might be improvised, but gunpowder must be manufacturedor purchased. 

Ralph's nephew Malcolm kept bachelor's hall in the great house. Theonly women in the household were an old black cook, and thehousekeeper, known as "Viney"--a Negro corruption of Lavinia--a tall, comely young light mulattress, with a dash of Cherokee blood, whichgave her straighter, blacker and more glossy hair than most women ofmixed race have, and perhaps a somewhat different temperamentalendowment. Her duties were not onerous; compared with the toilingfield hands she led an easy life. The household had been thusconstituted for ten years and more, when Malcolm Dudley began payingcourt to a wealthy widow. 

This lady, a Mrs. Todd, was a war widow, who had lost her husband inthe early years of the struggle. War, while it took many lives, didnot stop the currents of life, and weeping widows sometimes foundconsolation. Mrs. Todd was of Clarendon extraction, and had returnedto the town to pass the period of her mourning. Men were scarce inthose days, and Mrs. Todd was no longer young, Malcolm Dudley courtedher, proposed marriage, and was accepted. 

He broke the news to his housekeeper by telling her to prepare thehouse for a mistress. It was not a pleasant task, but he was aresolute man. The woman had been in power too long to yieldgracefully. Some passionate strain of the mixed blood in her veinsbroke out in a scene of hysterical violence. Her pleadings, remonstrances, rages, were all in vain. Mrs. Todd was rich, and he waspoor; should his uncle see fit to marry--always a possibility--hewould have nothing. He would carry out his purpose. 

The day after this announcement Viney went to town, sought out theobject of Dudley's attentions, and told her something; just what, noone but herself and the lady ever knew. When Dudley called in theevening, the widow refused to see him, and sent instead, a curt notecancelling their engagement. 

Dudley went home puzzled and angry. On the way thither a suspicionflashed into his mind. In the morning he made investigations, afterwhich he rode round by the residence of his overseer. Returning to thehouse at noon, he ate his dinner in an ominous silence, which struckterror to the heart of the woman who waited on him and had alreadyrepented of her temerity. When she would have addressed him, with alook he froze the words upon her lips. When he had eaten he looked athis watch, and ordered a boy to bring his horse round to the door. Hewaited until he saw his overseer coming toward the house, then spranginto the saddle and rode down the lane, passing the overseer with anod. 

Ten minutes later Dudley galloped back up the lane and sprang from hispanting horse. As he dashed up the steps he met the overseer comingout of the house. 

"You have not----"

"I have, sir, and well! The she-devil bit my hand to the bone, andwould have stabbed me if I hadn't got the knife away from her. You'dbetter have the niggers look after her; she's shamming a fit. "

Dudley was remorseful, and finding Viney unconscious, sent hastily fora doctor. 

"The woman has had a stroke, " said that gentleman curtly, after anexamination, "brought on by brutal treatment. By G--d, Dudley, Iwouldn't have thought this of you! I own Negroes, but I treat themlike human beings. And such a woman! I'm ashamed of my own race, Iswear I am! If we are whipped in this war and the slaves are freed, asLincoln threatens, it will be God's judgment!"

Many a man has been shot by Southern gentlemen for language lessoffensive; but Dudley's conscience made him meek as Moses. 

"It was a mistake, " he faltered, "and I shall discharge the overseerwho did it. "

"You had better shoot him, " returned the doctor. "He has no soul--andwhat is worse, no discrimination. "

Dudley gave orders that Viney should receive the best of care. Nextday he found, behind the clock, where she had laid it, the letterwhich Ben Dudley, many years after, had read to Graciella on Mrs. Treadwell's piazza. It was dated the morning of the previous day. 

An hour later he learned of the death of his uncle, who had beenthrown from a fractious horse, not far from Mink Run, and had brokenhis neck in the fall. A hasty search of the premises did not disclosethe concealed treasure. The secret lay in the mind of the strickenwoman. As soon as Dudley learned that Viney had eaten and drunk andwas apparently conscious, he went to her bedside and took her limphand in his own. 

"I'm sorry, Viney, mighty sorry, I assure you. Martin went furtherthan I intended, and I have discharged him for his brutality. You'llbe sorry, Viney, to learn that your old Master Ralph is dead; he waskilled by an accident within ten miles of here. His body will bebrought home to-day and buried to-morrow. "

Dudley thought he detected in her expressionless face a shade ofsorrow. Old Ralph, high liver and genial soul, had been so indulgent amaster, that his nephew suffered by the comparison. 

"I found the letter he left with you, " he continued softly, "and musttake charge of the money immediately. Can you tell me where it is?"

One side of Viney's face was perfectly inert, as the result of herdisorder, and any movement of the other produced a slight distortionthat spoiled the face as the index of the mind. But her eyes were notdimmed, and into their sombre depths there leaped a sudden fire--onlya momentary flash, for almost instantly she closed her lids, and whenshe opened them a moment later, they exhibited no trace of emotion. 

"You will tell me where it is?" he repeated. A request came awkwardlyto his lips; he was accustomed to command. 

Viney pointed to her mouth with her right hand, which was notaffected. 

"To be sure, " he said hastily, "you cannot speak--not yet. "

He reflected for a moment. The times were unsettled. Should a wave ofconflict sweep over Clarendon, the money might be found by the enemy. Should Viney take a turn for the worse and die, it would be impossibleto learn anything from her at all. There was another thought, whichhad rapidly taken shape in his mind. No one but Viney knew that hisuncle had been at Mink Run. The estate had been seriously embarrassedby Roger's extravagant patriotism, following upon the heels of otherand earlier extravagances. The fifty thousand dollars would in partmake good the loss; as his uncle's heir, he had at least a moral claimupon it, and possession was nine points of the law. 

"Is it in the house?" he asked. 

She made a negative sign. 

"In the barn?"

The same answer. 

"In the yard? the garden? the spring house? the quarters?"

No question he could put brought a different answer. Dudley waspuzzled. The woman was in her right mind; she was no liar--of thisservile vice at least she was free. Surely there was some mystery. 

"You saw my uncle?" he asked thoughtfully. 

She nodded affirmatively. 

"And he had the money, in gold?"

Yes. 

"He left it here?"

Yes, positively. 

"Do you know where he hid it?"

She indicated that she did, and pointed again to her silent tongue. 

"You mean that you must regain your speech before you can explain?"

She nodded yes, and then, as if in pain, turned her face away fromhim. 

Viney was carefully nursed. The doctor came to see her regularly. Shewas fed with dainty food, and no expense was spared to effect hercure. In due time she recovered from the paralytic stroke, in allexcept the power of speech, which did not seem to return. All ofDudley's attempts to learn from her the whereabouts of the money wereequally futile. She seemed willing enough, but, though she made theeffort, was never able to articulate; and there was plainly somemystery about the hidden gold which only words could unravel. 

If she could but write, a few strokes of the pen would give him hisheart's desire! But, alas! Viney may as well have been without hands, for any use she could make of a pen. Slaves were not taught to read orwrite, nor was Viney one of the rare exceptions. But Dudley was a manof resource--he would have her taught. He employed a teacher for her, a free coloured man who knew the rudiments. But Viney, handicapped byher loss of speech, made wretched progress. From whatever cause, shemanifested a remarkable stupidity, while seemingly anxious to learn. Dudley himself took a hand in her instruction, but with no betterresults, and, in the end, the attempt to teach her was abandoned ashopeless. 

Years rolled by. The fall of the Confederacy left the slaves free andcompleted the ruin of the Dudley estate. Part of the land went, atruinous prices, to meet mortgages at ruinous rates; part lay fallow, given up to scrub oak and short-leaf pine; merely enough wascultivated, or let out on shares to Negro tenants, to provide a livingfor old Malcolm and a few servants. Absorbed in dreams of the hiddengold and in the search for it, he neglected his business and fell yetdeeper into debt. He worried himself into a lingering fever, throughwhich Viney nursed him with every sign of devotion, and from which herose with his mind visibly weakened. 

When the slaves were freed, Viney had manifested no desire to leaveher old place. After the tragic episode which had led to their mutualundoing, there had been no relation between them but that of masterand servant. But some gloomy attraction, or it may have been habit, held her to the scene of her power and of her fall. She had no kithnor kin, and her affliction separated her from the rest of mankind. Nor would Dudley have been willing to let her go, for in her lay thesecret of the treasure; and, since all other traces of her ailment haddisappeared, so her speech might return. The fruitless search wasnever relinquished, and in time absorbed all of Malcolm Dudley'sinterest. The crops were left to the servants, who neglected them. Theyard had been dug over many times. Every foot of ground for rodsaround had been sounded with a pointed iron bar. The house hadsuffered in the search. No crack or cranny had been left unexplored. The spaces between the walls, beneath the floors, under thehearths--every possible hiding place had been searched, with littlecare for any resulting injury. 

 * * * * *

Into this household Ben Dudley, left alone in the world, had come whena boy of fifteen. He had no special turn for farming, but such work aswas done upon the old plantation was conducted under his supervision. In the decaying old house, on the neglected farm, he had grown up inharmony with his surroundings. The example of his old uncle, wreckedin mind by a hopeless quest, had never been brought home to him as awarning; use had dulled its force. He had never joined in the search, except casually, but the legend was in his mind. Unconsciously hisstandards of life grew around it. Some day he would be rich, and inorder to be sure of it, he must remain with his uncle, whose heir hewas. For the money was there, without a doubt. His great-uncle had hidthe gold and left the letter--Ben had read it. 

The neighbours knew the story, or at least some vague version of it, and for a time joined in the search--surreptitiously, as occasionoffered, and each on his own account. It was the common understandingthat old Malcolm was mentally unbalanced. The neighbouring Negroes, with generous imagination, fixed his mythical and elusive treasure ata million dollars. Not one of them had the faintest conception of thebulk or purchasing power of one million dollars in gold; but when onebuilds a castle in the air, why not make it lofty and spacious?

From this unwholesome atmosphere Ben Dudley found relief, as he grewolder, in frequent visits to Clarendon, which invariably ended at theTreadwells', who were, indeed, distant relatives. He had one goodhorse, and in an hour or less could leave behind him the shabby oldhouse, falling into ruin, the demented old man, digging in thedisordered yard, the dumb old woman watching him from her inscrutableeyes; and by a change as abrupt as that of coming from a dark roominto the brightness of midday, find himself in a lovely garden, besidea beautiful girl, whom he loved devotedly, but who kept him on theragged edge of an uncertainty that was stimulating enough, but verywearing. 

_Twenty_

The summer following Colonel French's return to Clarendon wasunusually cool, so cool that the colonel, pleasantly occupied with hisvarious plans and projects, scarcely found the heat less bearable thanthat of New York at the same season. During a brief torrid spell hetook Phil to a Southern mountain resort for a couple of weeks, andupon another occasion ran up to New York for a day or two on businessin reference to the machinery for the cotton mill, which was to beready for installation some time during the fall. But these were briefinterludes, and did not interrupt the current of his life, which wasflowing very smoothly and pleasantly in its new channel, if not veryswiftly, for even the colonel was not able to make things move swiftlyin Clarendon during the summer time, and he was well enough pleased tosee them move at all. 

Kirby was out of town when the colonel was in New York, and thereforehe did not see him. His mail was being sent from his club to Denver, where he was presumably looking into some mining proposition. Mrs. Jerviss, the colonel supposed, was at the seaside, but he had almostcome face to face with her one day on Broadway. She had run down tothe city on business of some sort. Moved by the instinct of defense, the colonel, by a quick movement, avoided the meeting, and felt saferwhen the lady was well out of sight. He did not wish, at this time, tobe diverted from his Southern interests, and the image of anotherwoman was uppermost in his mind. 

One moonlight evening, a day or two after his return from this briefNorthern trip, the colonel called at Mrs. Treadwells'. Caroline openedthe door. Mrs. Treadwell, she said, was lying down. Miss Graciella hadgone over to a neighbour's, but would soon return. Miss Laura waspaying a call, but would not be long. Would the colonel wait? No, hesaid, he would take a walk, and come back later. 

The streets were shady, and the moonlight bathed with a silvery glowthat part of the town which the shadows did not cover. Strollingaimlessly along the quiet, unpaved streets, the colonel, upon turninga corner, saw a lady walking a short distance ahead of him. He thoughthe recognised the figure, and hurried forward; but ere he caught upwith her, she turned and went into one of a row of small houses whichhe knew belonged to Nichols, the coloured barber, and were occupied bycoloured people. Thinking he had been mistaken in the woman'sidentity, he slackened his pace, and ere he had passed out of hearing, caught the tones of a piano, accompanying the words, _"I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, With vassals and serfs at my s-i-i-de. "_

It was doubtless the barber's daughter. The barber's was the onlycoloured family in town that owned a piano. In the moonlight, and at adistance of some rods, the song sounded well enough, and the colonellingered until it ceased, and the player began to practise scales, when he continued his walk. He had smoked a couple of cigars, and wasreturning toward Mrs. Treadwells', when he met, face to face, MissLaura Treadwell coming out of the barber's house. He lifted his hatand put out his hand. 

"I called at the house a while ago, and you were all out. I was justgoing back. I'll walk along with you. "

Miss Laura was visibly embarrassed at the meeting. The colonel gave nosign that he noticed her emotion, but went on talking. 

"It is a delightful evening, " he said. 

"Yes, " she replied, and then went on, "you must wonder what I wasdoing there. "

"I suppose, " he said, "that you were looking for a servant, or on somemission of kindness and good will. "

Miss Laura was silent for a moment and he could feel her hand trembleon the arm he offered her. 

"No, Henry, " she said, "why should I deceive you? I did not go to finda servant, but to serve. I have told you we were poor, but not howpoor. I can tell you what I could not say to others, for you havelived away from here, and I know how differently from most of us youlook at things. I went to the barber's house to give the barber'sdaughter music lessons--for money. "

The colonel laughed contagiously. 

"You taught her to sing--

 _'I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls?'_"

"Yes, but you must not judge my work too soon, " she replied. "It isnot finished yet. "

"You shall let me know when it is done, " he said, "and I will walk byand hear the finished product. Your pupil has improved wonderfully. Iheard her singing the song the day I came back--the first time Iwalked by the old house. She sings it much better now. You are a goodteacher, as well as a good woman. "

Miss Laura laughed somewhat excitedly, but was bent upon herexplanation. 

"The girl used to come to the house, " she said. "Her mother belongedto us before the war, and we have been such friends as white and blackcan be. And she wanted to learn to play, and offered to pay me wellfor lessons, and I gave them to her. We never speak about the money atthe house; mother knows it, but feigns that I do it out of merekindness, and tells me that I am spoiling the coloured people. Ourfriends are not supposed to know it, and if any of them do, they arekind and never speak of it. Since you have been coming to the house, it has not been convenient to teach her there, and I have been goingto her home in the evening. "

"My dear Laura, " said the colonel, remorsefully, "I have driven youaway from your own home, and all unwittingly. I applaud yourenterprise and your public spirit. It is a long way from the banjo tothe piano--it marks the progress of a family and foreshadows theevolution of a race. And what higher work than to elevate humanity?"

They had reached the house. Mrs. Treadwell had not come down, nor hadGraciella returned. They went into the parlour. Miss Laura turned upthe lamp. 

 * * * * *

Graciella had run over to a neighbour's to meet a young lady who wasvisiting a young lady who was a friend of Graciella's. She hadremained a little longer than she had meant to, for among those whohad called to see her friend's friend was young Mr. Fetters, the sonof the magnate, lately returned home from college. Barclay Fetters washandsome, well-dressed and well-mannered. He had started at onecollege, and had already changed to two others. Stories of hisdissipated habits and reckless extravagance had been bruited about. Graciella knew his family history, and had imbibed the old-fashionednotions of her grandmother's household, so that her acknowledgment ofthe introduction was somewhat cold, not to say distant. But as shefelt the charm of his manner, and saw that the other girls were vieingwith one another for his notice, she felt a certain triumph that heexhibited a marked preference for her conversation. Her reservegradually broke down, and she was talking with animation and listeningwith pleasure, when she suddenly recollected that Colonel French wouldprobably call, and that she ought to be there to entertain him, forwhich purpose she had dressed herself very carefully. He had notspoken yet, but might be expected to speak at any time; such markedattentions as his could have but one meaning; and for several days shehad had a premonition that before the week was out he would seek toknow his fate; and Graciella meant to be kind. 

Anticipating this event, she had politely but pointedly discouragedBen Dudley's attentions, until Ben's pride, of which he had plenty inreserve, had awaked to activity. At their last meeting he had demandeda definite answer to his oft-repeated question. 

"Graciella, " he had said, "are you going to marry me? Yes or no. I'llnot be played with any longer. You must marry me for myself, or not atall. Yes or no. "

"Then no, Mr. Dudley, " she had replied with spirit, and without amoment's hesitation, "I will not marry you. I will never marry you, not if I should die an old maid. "

She was sorry they had not parted friends, but she was not to blame. After her marriage, she would avoid the embarrassment of meeting him, by making the colonel take her away. Sometime she might, through herhusband, be of service to Ben, and thus make up, in part at least, forhis disappointment. 

As she ran up through the garden and stepped upon the porch--herslippers were thin and made no sound--she heard Colonel French's voicein the darkened parlour. Some unusual intonation struck her, and shemoved lightly and almost mechanically forward, in the shadow, toward apoint where she could see through the window and remain screened fromobservation. So intense was her interest in what she heard, that shestood with her hand on her heart, not even conscious that she wasdoing a shameful thing. 

 * * * * *

Her aunt was seated and Colonel French was standing near her. An openBible lay upon the table. The colonel had taken it up and was reading:

"'Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her. She will do himgood and not evil all the days of her life. Strength and honour areher clothing, and she shall rejoice in time to come. '

"Laura, " he said, "the proverb maker was a prophet as well. In thesewords, written four thousand years ago, he has described you, line forline. "

The glow which warmed her cheek, still smooth, the light which cameinto her clear eyes, the joy that filled her heart at these kindwords, put the years to flight, and for the moment Laura was youngagain. 

"You have been good to Phil, " the colonel went on, "and I should likehim to be always near you and have your care. And you have been kindto me, and made me welcome and at home in what might otherwise haveseemed, after so long an absence, a strange land. You bring back to methe best of my youth, and in you I find the inspiration for gooddeeds. Be my wife, dear Laura, and a mother to my boy, and we will tryto make you happy. "

"Oh, Henry, " she cried with fluttering heart, "I am not worthy to beyour wife. I know nothing of the world where you have lived, norwhether I would fit into it. "

"You are worthy of any place, " he declared, "and if one please youmore than another, I shall make your wishes mine. "

"But, Henry, how could I leave my mother? And Graciella needs mycare. "

"You need not leave your mother--she shall be mine as well as yours. Graciella is a dear, bright child; she has in her the making of anoble woman; she should be sent away to a good school, and I will seeto it. No, dear Laura, there are no difficulties, no giants in thepathway that will not fly or fall when we confront them. "

He had put his arm around her and lifted her face to his. He read hisanswer in her swimming eyes, and when he had reached down and kissedher cheek, she buried her head on his shoulder and shed some tears ofhappiness. For this was her secret: she was sweet and good; she wouldhave made any man happy, who had been worthy of her, but no man hadever before asked her to be his wife. She had lived upon a plane sosimple, yet so high, that men not equally high-minded had neverventured to address her, and there were few such men, and chance hadnot led them her way. As to the others--perhaps there were women morebeautiful, and certainly more enterprising. She had not repined; shehad been busy and contented. Now this great happiness was vouchsafedher, to find in the love of the man whom she admired above all othersa woman's true career. 

"Henry, " she said, when they had sat down on the old hair-cloth sofa, side by side, "you have made me very happy; so happy that I wish tokeep my happiness all to myself--for a little while. Will you let mekeep our engagement secret until I--am accustomed to it? It may besilly or childish, but it seems like a happy dream, and I wish toassure myself of its reality before I tell it to anyone else. "

"To me, " said the colonel, smiling tenderly into her eyes, "it is therealisation of an ideal. Since we met that day in the cemetery youhave seemed to me the embodiment of all that is best of my memories ofthe old South; and your gentleness, your kindness, your tender grace, your self-sacrifice and devotion to duty, mark you a queen amongwomen, and my heart shall be your throne. As to the announcement, haveit as you will--it is the lady's privilege. "

"You are very good, " she said tremulously. "This hour repays me forall I have ever tried to do for others. "

 * * * * *

Graciella felt very young indeed--somewhere in the neighbourhood often, she put it afterward, when she reviewed the situation in a calmerframe of mind--as she crept softly away from the window and around thehouse to the back door, and up the stairs and into her own chamber, where, all oblivious of danger to her clothes or her complexion, shethrew herself down upon her own bed and burst into a passion of tears. She had been cruelly humiliated. Colonel French, whom she had imaginedin love with her, had regarded her merely as a child, who ought to besent to school--to acquire what, she asked herself, good sense ordeportment? Perhaps she might acquire more good sense--she hadcertainly made a fool of herself in this case--but she had pridedherself upon her manners. Colonel French had been merely playing withher, like one would with a pet monkey; and he had been in love, allthe time, with her Aunt Laura, whom the girls had referred tocompassionately, only that same evening, as a hopeless old maid. 

It is fortunate that youth and hope go generally hand in hand. Graciella possessed a buoyant spirit to breast the waves ofdisappointment. She had her cry out, a good, long cry; and when muchweeping had dulled the edge of her discomfiture she began to reflectthat all was not yet lost. The colonel would not marry her, but hewould still marry in the family. When her Aunt Laura became Mrs. French, she would doubtless go often to New York, if she would notlive there always. She would invite Graciella to go with her, perhapsto live with her there. As for going to school, that was a matterwhich her own views should control; at present she had no wish toreturn to school. She might take lessons in music, or art; her auntwould hardly care for her to learn stenography now, or go intomagazine work. Her aunt would surely not go to Europe without invitingher, and Colonel French was very liberal with his money, and woulddeny his wife nothing, though Graciella could hardly imagine that anyman would be infatuated with her Aunt Laura. 

But this was not the end of Graciella's troubles. Graciella had aheart, although she had suppressed its promptings, under the influenceof a selfish ambition. She had thrown Ben Dudley over for the colonel;the colonel did not want her, and now she would have neither. Ben hadbeen very angry, unreasonably angry, she had thought at the time, andobjectionably rude in his manner. He had sworn never to speak to heragain. If he should keep his word, she might be very unhappy. Thesereflections brought on another rush of tears, and a very penitent, contrite, humble-minded young woman cried herself to sleep before MissLaura, with a heart bursting with happiness, bade the colonelgood-night at the gate, and went upstairs to lie awake in her bed in aturmoil of pleasant emotions. 

Miss Laura's happiness lay not alone in the prospect that ColonelFrench would marry her, nor in any sordid thought of what she wouldgain by becoming the wife of a rich man. It rested in the fact thatthis man, whom she admired, and who had come back from the outer worldto bring fresh ideas, new and larger ideals to lift and broaden andrevivify the town, had passed by youth and beauty and vivacity, andhad chosen her to share this task, to form the heart and mind andmanners of his child, and to be the tie which would bind him moststrongly to her dear South. For she was a true child of the soil; thepeople about her, white and black, were her people, and this marriage, with its larger opportunities for usefulness, would help her to dothat for which hitherto she had only been able to pray and to hope. To the boy she would be a mother indeed; to lead him in the paths oftruth and loyalty and manliness and the fear of God--it was apriceless privilege, and already her mother-heart yearned to begin thetask. 

And then after the flow came the ebb. Why had he chosen her? Was it_merely_ as an abstraction--the embodiment of an ideal, a survivalfrom a host of pleasant memories, and as a mother for his child, whoneeded care which no one else could give, and as a helpmate incarrying out his schemes of benevolence? Were these his only motives;and, if so, were they sufficient to ensure her happiness? Was hemarrying her through a mere sentimental impulse, or for calculatedconvenience, or from both? She must be certain; for his views mightchange. He was yet in the full flow of philanthropic enthusiasm. Sheshared his faith in human nature and the triumph of right ideas; butonce or twice she had feared he was underrating the power ofconservative forces; that he had been away from Clarendon so long asto lose the perspective of actual conditions, and that he wascherishing expectations which might be disappointed. Should this everprove true, his disillusion might be as far-reaching and as sudden ashis enthusiasm. Then, if he had not loved her for herself, she mightbe very unhappy. She would have rejoiced to bring him youth andbeauty, and the things for which other women were preferred; she wouldhave loved to be the perfect mate, one in heart, mind, soul and body, with the man with whom she was to share the journey of life. 

But this was a passing thought, born of weakness and self-distrust, and she brushed it away with the tear that had come with it, andsmiled at its absurdity. Her youth was past; with nothing to expectbut an old age filled with the small expedients of genteel poverty, there had opened up to her, suddenly and unexpectedly, a great avenuefor happiness and usefulness. It was foolish, with so much to begrateful for, to sigh for the unattainable. His love must be all thestronger since it took no thought of things which others would havefound of controlling importance. In choosing her to share hisintellectual life he had paid her a higher compliment than had hepraised the glow of her cheek or the contour of her throat. Inconfiding Phil to her care he had given her a sacred trust andconfidence, for she knew how much he loved the child. 

_Twenty-one_

The colonel's schemes for the improvement of Clarendon went forward, with occasional setbacks. Several kilns of brick turned out badly, sothat the brickyard fell behind with its orders, thus delaying the worka few weeks. The foundations of the old cotton mill had beensubstantially laid, and could be used, so far as their positionpermitted for the new walls. When the bricks were ready, a gang ofmasons was put to work. White men and coloured were employed, under awhite foreman. So great was the demand for labour and so stimulatingthe colonel's liberal wage, that even the drowsy Negroes around themarket house were all at work, and the pigs who had slept near themwere obliged to bestir themselves to keep from being run over by thewagons that were hauling brick and lime and lumber through thestreets. Even the cows in the vacant lot between the post-office andthe bank occasionally lifted up their gentle eyes as though wonderingwhat strange fever possessed the two-legged creatures around them, urging them to such unnatural activity. 

The work went on smoothly for a week or two, when the colonel had somewords with Jim Green, the white foreman of the masons. The cause ofthe dispute was not important, but the colonel, as the master, insisted that certain work should be done in a certain way. Greenwished to argue the point. The colonel brought the discussion to aclose with a peremptory command. The foreman took offense, declaredthat he was no nigger to be ordered around, and quit. The colonelpromoted to the vacancy George Brown, a coloured man, who was the nextbest workman in the gang. 

On the day when Brown took charge of the job the white bricklayers, ofwhom there were two at work, laid down their tools. 

"What's the matter?" asked the colonel, when they reported for theirpay. "Aren't you satisfied with the wages?"

"Yes, we've got no fault to find with the wages. "

"Well?"

"We won't work under George Brown. We don't mind working _with_niggers, but we won't work _under_ a nigger. "

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I must hire my own men. Here is yourmoney. "

They would have preferred to argue their grievance, and since thecolonel had shut off discussion they went down to Clay Jackson'ssaloon and argued the case with all comers, with the usual distortionattending one-sided argument. Jim Green had been superseded by anigger--this was the burden of their grievance. 

Thus came the thin entering wedge that was to separate the colonelfrom a measure of his popularity. There had been no objection to thecolonel's employing Negroes, no objection to his helping theirschool--if he chose to waste his money that way; but there were manywho took offense when a Negro was preferred to a white man. 

Through Caxton the colonel learned of this criticism. The colonelshowed no surprise, and no annoyance, but in his usual good-humouredway replied:

"We'll go right along and pay no attention to him. There were only twowhite men in the gang, and they have never worked under the Negro;they quit as soon as I promoted him. I have hired many men in my timeand have made it an unvarying rule to manage my own business in my ownway. If anybody says anything to you about it, you tell them justthat. These people have got to learn that we live in an industrialage, and success demands of an employer that he utilise the mostavailable labour. After Green was discharged, George Brown was thebest mason left. He gets more work out of the men than Green did--evenin the old slave times Negroes made the best of overseers; they knewtheir own people better than white men could and got more out of them. When the mill is completed it will give employment to five hundredwhite women and fifty white men. But every dog must have his day, sogive the Negro his. "

The colonel attached no great importance to the incident; the placesof the workmen were filled, and the work went forward. He knew theSouthern sensitiveness, and viewed it with a good-natured tolerance, which, however, stopped at injustice to himself or others. The veryroot of his reform was involved in the proposition to discharge acompetent foreman because of an unreasonable prejudice. Matters offeeling were all well enough in some respects--no one valued morehighly than the colonel the right to choose his own associates--butthe right to work and to do one's best work, was fundamental, as wasthe right to have one's work done by those who could do it best. Evena healthy social instinct might be perverted into an unhealthy andunjust prejudice; most things evil were the perversion of good. 

The feeling with which the colonel thus came for the first timedirectly in contact, a smouldering fire capable always of being fannedinto flame, had been greatly excited by the political campaign whichbegan about the third month after his arrival in Clarendon. Anambitious politician in a neighbouring State had led a successfulcampaign on the issue of Negro disfranchisement. Plainlyunconstitutional, it was declared to be as plainly necessary for thepreservation of the white race and white civilisation. The example hadproved contagious, and Fetters and his crowd, who dominated theirState, had raised the issue there. At first the pronouncement met withslight response. The sister State had possessed a Negro majority, which, in view of reconstruction history was theoretically capable ofinjuring the State. Such was not the case here. The State had survivedreconstruction with small injury. White supremacy existed, in themain, by virtue of white efficiency as compared with efficiency of alower grade; there had been places, and instances, where other methodshad been occasionally employed to suppress the Negro vote, but, takenas a whole, the supremacy of the white man was secure. No Negro hadheld a State office for twenty years. In Clarendon they had evenceased to be summoned as jurors, and when a Negro met a white man, hegave him the wall, even if it were necessary to take the gutter to doso. But this was not enough; this supremacy must be made permanent. Negroes must be taught that they need never look for any differentstate of things. New definitions were given to old words, new picturesset in old frames, new wine poured into old bottles. 

"So long, " said the candidate for governor, when he spoke at Clarendonduring the canvas, at a meeting presided over by the editor of the_Anglo-Saxon_, "so long as one Negro votes in the State, so long arewe face to face with the nightmare of Negro domination. For example, suppose a difference of opinion among white men so radical as todivide their vote equally, the ballot of one Negro would determine theissue. Can such a possibility be contemplated without a shudder? Ourduty to ourselves, to our children, and their unborn descendants, andto our great and favoured race, impels us to protest, by word, byvote, by arms if need be, against the enforced equality of an inferiorrace. Equality anywhere, means ultimately, equality everywhere. Equality at the polls means social equality; social equality meansintermarriage and corruption of blood, and degeneration and decay. What gentleman here would want his daughter to marry a blubber-lipped, cocoanut-headed, kidney-footed, etc. , etc. , nigger?"

There could be but one answer to the question, and it came in thundersof applause. Colonel French heard the speech, smiled at the oldarguments, but felt a sudden gravity at the deep-seated feeling whichthey evoked. He remembered hearing, when a boy, the same arguments. They had served their purpose once before, with other issues, toplunge the South into war and consequent disaster. Had the lesson beenin vain? He did not see the justice nor the expediency of the proposedanti-Negro agitation. But he was not in politics, and confined hisprotests to argument with his friends, who listened but were notconvinced. 

Behind closed doors, more than one of the prominent citizens admittedthat the campaign was all wrong; that the issues were unjust andreactionary, and that the best interests of the State lay in upliftingevery element of the people rather than selecting some one class fordiscouragement and degradation, and that the white race could hold itsown, with the Negroes or against them, in any conceivable state ofpolitical equality. They listened to the colonel's quiet argument thatno State could be freer or greater or more enlightened than theaverage of its citizenship, and that any restriction of rights thatrested upon anything but impartial justice, was bound to re-act, asslavery had done, upon the prosperity and progress of the State. Theylistened, which the colonel regarded as a great point gained, and theyagreed in part, and he could almost understand why they let theirfeelings govern their reason and their judgment, and said no word toprevent an unfair and unconstitutional scheme from going forward to asuccessful issue. He knew that for a white man to declare, in such acommunity, for equal rights or equal justice for the Negro, or to takethe Negro's side in any case where the race issue was raised, was tocourt social ostracism and political death, or, if the feelingprovoked were strong enough, an even more complete form of extinction. 

So the colonel was patient, and meant to be prudent. His own argumentsavoided the stirring up of prejudice, and were directed to the highermotives and deeper principles which underlie society, in the light ofwhich humanity is more than race, and the welfare of the State abovethat of any man or set of men within it; it being an axiom as true instatesmanship as in mathematics, that the whole is greater than anyone of its parts. Content to await the uplifting power of industry andenlightenment, and supremely confident of the result, the colonel wentserenely forward in his work of sowing that others might reap. 

_Twenty-two_

The atmosphere of the Treadwell home was charged, for the next fewdays, with electric currents. Graciella knew that her aunt was engagedto Colonel French. But she had not waited, the night before, to hearher aunt express the wish that the engagement should be kept secret. She was therefore bursting with information of which she couldmanifest no consciousness without confessing that she had beeneavesdropping--a thing which she knew Miss Laura regarded asdetestably immoral. She wondered at her aunt's silence. Except acertain subdued air of happiness there was nothing to distinguish MissLaura's calm demeanor from that of any other day. Graciella haddetermined upon her own attitude toward her aunt. She would kiss her, and wish her happiness, and give no sign that any thought of ColonelFrench had ever entered her own mind. But this little drama, rehearsed in the privacy of her own room, went unacted, since thecurtain did not rise upon the stage. 

The colonel came and went as usual. Some dissimulation was required onGraciella's part to preserve her usual light-hearted manner towardhim. She may have been to blame in taking the colonel's attentions asintended for herself; she would not soon forgive his slightingreference to her. In his eyes she had been only a child, who ought togo to school. He had been good enough to say that she had the makingof a fine woman. Thanks! She had had a lover for at least two years, and a proposal of marriage before Colonel French's shadow had fallenathwart her life. She wished her Aunt Laura happiness; no one coulddeserve it more, but was it possible to be happy with a man so lackingin taste and judgment?

Her aunt's secret began to weigh upon her mind, and she effacedherself as much as possible when the colonel came. Her grandmother hadbegun to notice this and comment upon it, when the happening of acertain social event created a diversion. This was the annualentertainment known as the Assembly Ball. It was usually held later inthe year, but owing to the presence of several young lady visitors inthe town, it had been decided to give it early in the fall. 

The affair was in the hands of a committee, by whom invitations weresent to most people in the county who had any claims to gentility. Thegentlemen accepting were expected to subscribe to the funds for hallrent, music and refreshments. These were always the best the townafforded. The ball was held in the Opera House, a rather euphemistictitle for the large hall above Barstow's cotton warehouse, wherethird-class theatrical companies played one-night stands several timesduring the winter, and where an occasional lecturer or conjurer heldforth. An amateur performance of "Pinafore" had once been given there. Henry W. Grady had lectured there upon White Supremacy; the ReverendSam Small had preached there on Hell. It was also distinguished ashaving been refused, even at the request of the State Commissioner ofEducation, as a place for Booker T. Washington to deliver an address, which had been given at the town hall instead. The Assembly Balls hadalways been held in the Opera House. In former years the music hadbeen furnished by local Negro musicians, but there were no longer anyof these, and a band of string music was brought in from another town. So far as mere wealth was concerned, the subscribers touched suchextremes as Ben Dudley on the one hand and Colonel French on theother, and included Barclay Fetters, whom Graciella had met on theevening before her disappointment. 

The Treadwell ladies were of course invited, and the question of waysand means became paramount. New gowns and other accessories wereimperative. Miss Laura's one party dress had done service until it waspast redemption, and this was Graciella's first Assembly Ball. MissLaura took stock of the family's resources, and found that she couldafford only one gown. This, of course, must be Graciella's. Her ownmarriage would entail certain expenses which demanded some presentself-denial. She had played wall-flower for several years, but nowthat she was sure of a partner, it was a real sacrifice not to attendthe ball. But Graciella was young, and in such matters youth has aprior right; for she had yet to find her mate. 

Graciella magnanimously offered to remain at home, but was easilyprevailed upon to go. She was not entirely happy, for the humiliatingfailure of her hopes had left her for the moment without a recognisedadmirer, and the fear of old maidenhood had again laid hold of herheart. Her Aunt Laura's case was no consoling example. Not one man ina hundred would choose a wife for Colonel French's reasons. Most menmarried for beauty, and Graciella had been told that beauty thatmatured early, like her own, was likely to fade early. 

One humiliation she was spared. She had been as silent about her hopesas Miss Laura was about her engagement. Whether this was due to mereprudence or to vanity--the hope of astonishing her little world bythe unexpected announcement--did not change the comforting fact thatshe had nothing to explain and nothing for which to be pitied. If herfriends, after the manner of young ladies, had hinted at the subjectand sought to find a meaning in Colonel French's friendship, she hadsmiled enigmatically. For this self-restraint, whatever had been itsmotive, she now reaped her reward. The announcement of her aunt'sengagement would account for the colonel's attentions to Graciella asa mere courtesy to a young relative of his affianced. 

With regard to Ben, Graciella was quite uneasy. She had met him onlyonce since their quarrel, and had meant to bow to him politely, butwith dignity, to show that she bore no malice; but he hadostentatiously avoided her glance. If he chose to be ill-natured, shehad thought, and preferred her enmity to her friendship, herconscience was at least clear. She had been willing to forget hisrudeness and be a friend to him. She could have been his true friend, if nothing more; and he would need friends, unless he changed a greatdeal. 

When her mental atmosphere was cleared by the fading of her dream, Benassumed larger proportions. Perhaps he had had cause for complaint; atleast it was only just to admit that he thought so. Nor had hesuffered in her estimation by his display of spirit in not waiting tobe jilted but in forcing her hand before she was quite ready to playit. She could scarcely expect him to attend her to the ball; but hewas among the subscribers, and could hardly avoid meeting her, ordancing with her, without pointed rudeness. If he did not ask her todance, then either the Virginia reel, or the lancers, or quadrilles, would surely bring them together; and though Graciella sighed, she didnot despair. She could, of course, allay his jealousy at once bytelling him of her Aunt Laura's engagement, but this was not yetpracticable. She must find some other way of placating him. 

Ben Dudley also had a problem to face in reference to the ball--aproblem which has troubled impecunious youth since balls wereinvented--the problem of clothes. He was not obliged to go to theball. Graciella's outrageous conduct relieved him of any obligation toinvite her, and there was no other woman with whom he would have caredto go, or who would have cared, so far as he knew, to go with him. Forhe was not a lady's man, and but for his distant relationship wouldprobably never have gone to the Treadwells'. He was looked upon byyoung women as slow, and he knew that Graciella had often beenimpatient at his lack of sprightliness. He could pay his subscription, which was really a sort of gentility tax, the failure to meet whichwould merely forfeit future invitations, and remain at home. He didnot own a dress suit, nor had he the money to spare for one. He, orthey, for he and his uncle were one in such matters, were in debtalready, up to the limit of their credit, and he had sold the lastbale of old cotton to pay the last month's expenses, while the newcrop, already partly mortgaged, was not yet picked. He knew that someyoung fellows in town rented dress suits from Solomon Cohen, who, though he kept only four suits in stock at a time, would send to NewYork for others to rent out on this occasion, and return themafterwards. But Ben would not wear another man's clothes. He had borneinsults from Graciella that he never would have borne from any oneelse, and that he would never bear again; but there were things atwhich his soul protested. Nor would Cohen's suits have fitted him. Hewas so much taller than the average man for whom store clothes weremade. 

He remained in a state of indecision until the day of the ball. Latein the evening he put on his black cutaway coat, which was getting alittle small, trousers to match, and a white waistcoat, and started totown on horseback so as to arrive in time for the ball, in case heshould decide, at the last moment, to take part. 

_Twenty-three_

The Opera House was brilliantly lighted on the night of the AssemblyBall. The dancers gathered at an earlier hour than is the rule in thelarge cities. Many of the guests came in from the country, andreturned home after the ball, since the hotel could accommodate only apart of them. 

When Ben Dudley, having left his horse at a livery stable, walked upMain Street toward the hall, carriages were arriving and dischargingtheir freight. The ladies were prettily gowned, their faces werebright and animated, and Ben observed that most of the gentlemen woredress suits; but also, much to his relief, that a number, sufficientto make at least a respectable minority, did not. He was rapidlymaking up his mind to enter, when Colonel French's carriage, drawn bya pair of dashing bays and driven by a Negro in livery, dashed up tothe door and discharged Miss Graciella Treadwell, radiantly beautifulin a new low-cut pink gown, with pink flowers in her hair, a thingold chain with a gold locket at the end around her slender throat, white slippers on her feet and long white gloves upon her shapelyhands and wrists. 

Ben shrank back into the shadow. He had never been of an enviousdisposition; he had always looked upon envy as a mean vice, unworthyof a gentleman; but for a moment something very like envy pulled athis heartstrings. Graciella worshipped the golden calf. _He_worshipped Graciella. But he had no money; he could not have taken herto the ball in a closed carriage, drawn by blooded horses and drivenby a darky in livery. 

Graciella's cavalier wore, with the ease and grace of long habit, anevening suit of some fine black stuff that almost shone in the lightfrom the open door. At the sight of him the waist of Ben's own coatshrunk up to the arm-pits, and he felt a sinking of the heart as theypassed out of his range of vision. He would not appear to advantage bythe side of Colonel French, and he would not care to appear otherwisethan to advantage in Graciella's eyes. He would not like to make morepalpable, by contrast, the difference between Colonel French andhimself; nor could he be haughty, distant, reproachful, or anythingbut painfully self-conscious, in a coat that was not of the propercut, too short in the sleeves, and too tight under the arms. 

While he stood thus communing with his own bitter thoughts, anothercarriage, drawn by a pair of beautiful black horses, drew up to thecurb in front of him. The horses were restive, and not inclined tostand still. Some one from the inside of the carriage called to thecoachman through the open window. 

"Ransom, " said the voice, "stay on the box. Here, you, open thiscarriage door!"

Ben looked around for the person addressed, but saw no one near buthimself. 

"You boy there, by the curb, open this door, will you, or hold thehorses, so my coachman can!"

"Are you speaking to me?" demanded Ben angrily. 

Just then one of the side-lights of the carriage flashed on Ben'sface. 

"Oh, I beg pardon, " said the man in the carriage, carelessly, "I tookyou for a nigger. "

There could be no more deadly insult, though the mistake was notunnatural. Ben was dark, and the shadow made him darker. 

Ben was furious. The stranger had uttered words of apology, but histone had been insolent, and his apology was more offensive than hisoriginal blunder. Had it not been for Ben's reluctance to make adisturbance, he would have struck the offender in the mouth. If he hadhad a pistol, he could have shot him; his great uncle Ralph, forinstance, would not have let him live an hour. 

While these thoughts were surging through his heated brain, the youngman, as immaculately clad as Colonel French had been, left thecarriage, from which he helped a lady, and with her upon his arm, entered the hall. In the light that streamed from the doorway, Benrecognised him as Barclay Fetters, who, having finished a checkeredscholastic career, had been at home at Sycamore for several months. Much of this time he had spent in Clarendon, where his father's wealthand influence gave him entrance to good society, in spite of anancestry which mere character would not have offset. He knew youngFetters very well by sight, since the latter had to pass Mink Runwhenever he came to town from Sycamore. Fetters may not have knownhim, since he had been away for much of the time in recent years, buthe ought to have been able to distinguish between a white man--agentleman--and a Negro. It was the insolence of an upstart. Old JoshFetters had been, in his younger days, his uncle's overseer. Anoverseer's grandson treated him, Ben Dudley, like dirt under his feet!Perhaps he had judged him by his clothes. He would like to showBarclay Fetters, if they ever stood face to face, that clothes didnot make the man, nor the gentleman. 

Ben decided after this encounter that he would not go on the floor ofthe ballroom; but unable to tear himself away, he waited untileverybody seemed to have gone in; then went up the stairs and gainedaccess, by a back way, to a dark gallery in the rear of the hall, which the ushers had deserted for the ballroom, from which he could, without discovery, look down upon the scene below. His eyes flew toGraciella as the needle to the pole. She was dancing with ColonelFrench. 

The music stopped, and a crowd of young fellows surrounded her. Whenthe next dance, which was a waltz, began, she moved out upon the floorin the arms of Barclay Fetters. 

Ben swore beneath his breath. He had heard tales of Barclay Fetterswhich, if true, made him unfit to touch a decent woman. He left thehall, walked a short distance down a street and around the corner tothe bar in the rear of the hotel, where he ordered a glass of whiskey. He had never been drunk in his life, and detested the taste of liquor;but he was desperate and had to do something; he would drink till hewas drunk, and forget his troubles. Having never been intoxicated, hehad no idea whatever of the effect liquor would have upon him. 

With each succeeding drink, the sense of his wrongs broadened anddeepened. At one stage his intoxication took the form of an intenseself-pity. There was something rotten in the whole scheme of things. Why should he be poor, while others were rich, and while fiftythousand dollars in gold were hidden in or around the house where helived? Why should Colonel French, an old man, who was of no betterblood than himself, be rich enough to rob him of the woman whom heloved? And why, above all, should Barclay Fetters have education andmoney and every kind of opportunity, which he did not appreciate, while he, who would have made good use of them, had nothing? With thissense of wrong, which grew as his brain clouded more and more, therecame, side by side, a vague zeal to right these wrongs. As he grewdrunker still, his thoughts grew less coherent; he lost sight of hisspecial grievance, and merely retained the combative instinct. 

He had reached this dangerous stage, and had, fortunately, passed itone step farther along the road to unconsciousness--fortunately, because had he been sober, the result of that which was to followmight have been more serious--when two young men, who had come downfrom the ballroom for some refreshment, entered the barroom and askedfor cocktails. While the barkeeper was compounding the liquor, theyoung men spoke of the ball. 

"That little Treadwell girl is a peach, " said one. "I could tote abunch of beauty like that around the ballroom all night. "

The remark was not exactly respectful, nor yet exactly disrespectful. Ben looked up from his seat. The speaker was Barclay Fetters, and hiscompanion one Tom McRae, another dissolute young man of the town. Bengot up unsteadily and walked over to where they stood. 

"I want you to un'erstan', " he said thickly, "that no gen'l'man wouldmensh'n a lady's name in a place like this, or shpeak dissuspeckerly'bout a lady 'n any place; an' I want you to unerstan' fu'thermo' thatyou're no gen'l'man, an' that I'm goin' t' lick you, by G--d!"

"The hell you are!" returned Fetters. A scowl of surprise rose on hishandsome face, and he sprang to an attitude of defence. 

Ben suited the action to the word, and struck at Fetters. But Ben wasdrunk and the other two were sober, and in three minutes Ben lay onthe floor with a sore head and a black eye. His nose was bleedingcopiously, and the crimson stream had run down upon his white shirtand vest. Taken all in all, his appearance was most disreputable. Bythis time the liquor he had drunk had its full effect, and completeunconsciousness supervened to save him, for a little while, from therealisation of his disgrace. 

"Who is the mucker, anyway?" asked Barclay Fetters, readjusting hiscuffs, which had slipped down in the melee. 

"He's a chap by the name of Dudley, " answered McRae; "lives at MinkRun, between here and Sycamore, you know. "

"Oh, yes, I've seen him--the 'po' white' chap that lives with the oldlunatic that's always digging for buried treasure----

 _'For my name was Captain Kidd, As I sailed, as I sailed. '_

But let's hurry back, Tom, or we'll lose the next dance. "

Fetters and his companion returned to the ball. The barkeeper called aservant of the hotel, with whose aid, Ben was carried upstairs and putto bed, bruised in body and damaged in reputation. 

_Twenty-four_

Ben's fight with young Fetters became a matter of public comment thenext day after the ball. His conduct was cited as sad proof of thedegeneracy of a once fine old family. He had been considered shiftlessand not well educated, but no one had suspected that he was a drunkardand a rowdy. Other young men in the town, high-spirited young fellowswith plenty of money, sometimes drank a little too much, andoccasionally, for a point of honour, gentlemen were obliged to attackor defend themselves, but when they did, they used pistols, agentleman's weapon. Here, however, was an unprovoked and brutal attackwith fists, upon two gentlemen in evening dress and without weapons todefend themselves, "one of them, " said the _Anglo-Saxon_, "the son ofour distinguished fellow citizen and colleague in the legislature, theHonourable William Fetters. "

When Colonel French called to see Miss Laura, the afternoon of nextday after the ball, the ladies were much concerned about the affair. 

"Oh, Henry, " exclaimed Miss Laura, "what is this dreadful story aboutBen Dudley? They say he was drinking at the hotel, and becameintoxicated, and that when Barclay Fetters and Tom McRae went into thehotel, he said something insulting about Graciella, and when theyrebuked him for his freedom he attacked them violently, and that whenfinally subdued he was put to bed unconscious and disgracefullyintoxicated. Graciella is very angry, and we all feel ashamed enoughto sink into the ground. What can be the matter with Ben? He hasn'tbeen around lately, and he has quarrelled with Graciella. I neverwould have expected anything like this from Ben. "

"It came from his great-uncle Ralph, " said Mrs. Treadwell. "Ralph wasvery wild when he was young, but settled down into a very polishedgentleman. I danced with him once when he was drunk, and I never knewit--it was my first ball, and I was intoxicated myself, withexcitement. Mother was scandalised, but father laughed and said boyswould be boys. But poor Ben hasn't had his uncle's chances, and whilehe has always behaved well here, he could hardly be expected to carryhis liquor like a gentleman of the old school. "

"My dear ladies, " said the colonel, "we have heard only one side ofthe story. I guess there's no doubt Ben was intoxicated, but we knowhe isn't a drinking man, and one drink--or even one drunk--doesn'tmake a drunkard, nor one fight a rowdy. Barclay Fetters and Tom McRaeare not immaculate, and perhaps Ben can exonerate himself. "

"I certainly hope so, " said Miss Laura earnestly. "I am sorry for Ben, but I could not permit a drunken rowdy to come to the house, or let myniece be seen upon the street with him. "

"It would only be fair, " said the colonel, "to give him a chance toexplain, when he comes in again. I rather like Ben. He has some finemechanical ideas, and the making of a man in him, unless I ammistaken. I have been hoping to find a place for him in the new cottonmill, when it is ready to run. "

They were still speaking of Ben, when there was an irresolute knock atthe rear door of the parlour, in which they were seated. 

"Miss Laura, O Miss Laura, " came a muffled voice. "Kin I speak to youa minute. It's mighty pertickler, Miss Laura, fo' God it is!"

"Laura, " said the colonel, "bring Catharine in. I saw that you weretroubled once before when you were compelled to refuse her something. Henceforth your burdens shall be mine. Come in, Catharine, " he called, "and tell us what's the matter. What's your trouble? What's it allabout?"

The woman, red-eyed from weeping, came in, wringing her apron. 

"Miss Laura, " she sobbed, "an' Colonel French, my husban' Bud is donegone and got inter mo' trouble. He's run away f'm Mistah Fettuhs, w'athe wuz sol' back to in de spring, an' he's done be'n fine' fiftydollahs mo', an' he's gwine ter be sol' back ter Mistah Fettuhs in demawnin', fer ter finish out de ole fine and wo'k out de new one. I'sbe'n ter see 'im in de gyard house, an' he say Mistah Haines, w'atuse' ter be de constable and is a gyard fer Mistah Fettuhs now, beatan' 'bused him so he couldn' stan' it; an' 'ceptin' I could pay alldem fines, he'll be tuck back dere; an'he say ef dey evah beats himag'in, dey'll eithuh haf ter kill him, er he'll kill some er dem. An'Bud is a rash man, Miss Laura, an' I'm feared dat he'll do w'at hesay, an' ef dey kills him er he kills any er dem, it'll be all de sameter me--I'll never see 'm no mo' in dis worl'. Ef I could borry demoney, Miss Laura--Mars' Colonel--I'd wuk my fingers ter de bone 'telI paid back de las' cent. Er ef you'd buy Bud, suh, lack you did Unc'Peter, he would n' mind wukkin' fer you, suh, fer Bud is a good wukkerwe'n folks treats him right; an' he had n' never had no trouble nowharbefo' he come hyuh, suh. "

"How did he come to be arrested the first time?" asked the colonel. 

"He didn't live hyuh, suh; I used ter live hyuh, an' I ma'ied himdown ter Madison, where I wuz wukkin'. We fell out one day, an' I gotmad and lef' 'im--it wuz all my fault an' I be'n payin' fer it evuhsince--an' I come back home an' went ter wuk hyuh, an' he come aftuhme, an de fus' day he come, befo' I knowed he wuz hyuh, dis yer MistahHaines tuck 'im up, an' lock 'im up in de gyard house, like a hog inde poun', an' he didn' know nobody, an' dey didn' give 'im no chanstter see nobody, an' dey tuck 'im roun' ter Squi' Reddick nex' mawnin', an' fined 'im an' sol' 'im ter dis yer Mistuh Fettuhs fer ter wo'k outde fine; an' I be'n wantin' all dis time ter hyuh fum 'im, an' I'ddone be'n an' gone back ter Madison to look fer 'im, an' foun' he wuzgone. An' God knows I didn' know what had become er 'im, 'tel he runaway de yuther time an' dey tuck 'im an' sent 'im back again. An' hehadn' done nothin' de fus' time, suh, but de Lawd know w'at he won' doef dey sen's 'im back any mo'. "

Catharine had put her apron to her eyes and was sobbing bitterly. Thestory was probably true. The colonel had heard underground rumoursabout the Fetters plantation and the manner in which it was suppliedwith labourers, and his own experience in old Peter's case had madethem seem not unlikely. He had seen Catharine's husband, in thejustice's court, and the next day, in the convict gang behind Turner'sbuggy. The man had not looked like a criminal; that he was surly anddesperate may as well have been due to a sense of rank injustice as toan evil nature. That a wrong had been done, under cover of law, was atleast more than likely; but a deed of mercy could be made to right it. The love of money might be the root of all evil, but its control wascertainly a means of great good. The colonel glowed with theconsciousness of this beneficent power to scatter happiness. 

"Laura, " he said, "I will attend to this; it is a matter about whichyou should not be troubled. Don't be alarmed, Catharine. Just be agood girl and help Miss Laura all you can, and I'll look after yourhusband, and pay his fine and let him work it out as a free man. "

"Thank'y, suh, thank'y, Mars' Colonel, an' Miss Laura! An' de Lawd isgwine bless you, suh, you an' my sweet young lady, fuh bein' good topo' folks w'at can't do nuthin' to he'p deyse'ves out er trouble, "said Catharine backing out with her apron to her eyes. 

 * * * * *

On leaving Miss Laura, the colonel went round to the office of SquireReddick, the justice of the peace, to inquire into the matter of BudJohnson. The justice was out of town, his clerk said, but would be inhis office at nine in the morning, at which time the colonel couldspeak to him about Johnson's fine. 

The next morning was bright and clear, and cool enough to be bracing. The colonel, alive with pleasant thoughts, rose early and after a coldbath, and a leisurely breakfast, walked over to the mill site, wherethe men were already at work. Having looked the work over and givencertain directions, he glanced at his watch, and finding it near nine, set out for the justice's office in time to reach it by the appointedhour. Squire Reddick was at his desk, upon which his feet rested, while he read a newspaper. He looked up with an air of surprise as thecolonel entered. 

"Why, good mornin', Colonel French, " he said genially. "I kind ofexpected you a while ago; the clerk said you might be around. But youdidn' come, so I supposed you'd changed yo' mind. "

"The clerk said that you would be here at nine, " replied the colonel;"it is only just nine. "

"Did he? Well, now, that's too bad! I do generally git around aboutnine, but I was earlier this mornin' and as everybody was here, westarted in a little sooner than usual. You wanted to see me about BudJohnson?"

"Yes, I wish to pay his fine and give him work. "

"Well, that's too bad; but you weren't here, and Mr. Turner was, andhe bought his time again for Mr. Fetters. I'm sorry, you know, butfirst come, first served. "

The colonel was seriously annoyed. He did not like to believe therewas a conspiracy to frustrate his good intention; but that result hadbeen accomplished, whether by accident or design. He had failed in thefirst thing he had undertaken for the woman he loved and was to marry. He would see Fetters's man, however, and come to some arrangement withhim. With Fetters the hiring of the Negro was purely a commercialtransaction, conditioned upon a probable profit, for the immediatepayment of which, and a liberal bonus, he would doubtless relinquishhis claim upon Johnson's services. 

Learning that Turner, who had acted as Fetters's agent in the matter, had gone over to Clay Johnson's saloon, he went to seek him there. Hefound him, and asked for a proposition. Turner heard him out. 

"Well, Colonel French, " he replied with slightly veiled insolence, "Ibought this nigger's time for Mr. Fetters, an' unless I'm might'lymistaken in Mr. Fetters, no amount of money can get the nigger untilhe's served his time out. He's defied our rules and defied the law, and defied me, and assaulted one of the guards; and he ought to bemade an example of. We want to keep 'im; he's a bad nigger, an' we'vegot to handle a lot of 'em, an' we need 'im for an example--he keepsus in trainin'. "

"Have you any power in the matter?" demanded the colonel, restraininghis contempt. 

"Me? No, not _me_! I couldn't let the nigger go for his weight ingol'--an' wouldn' if I could. I bought 'im in for Mr. Fetters, an'he's the only man that's got any say about 'im. "

"Very well, " said the colonel as he turned away, "I'll see Fetters. "

"I don't know whether you will or not, " said Turner to himself, as heshot a vindictive glance at the colonel's retreating figure. "Fettershas got this county where he wants it, an' I'll bet dollars to birdshot he ain't goin' to let no coon-flavoured No'the'n interloper comedown here an' mix up with his arrangements, even if he did hail fromthis town way back yonder. This here nigger problem is a South'enproblem, and outsiders might's well keep their han's off. Me andHaines an' Fetters is the kind o' men to settle it. "

The colonel was obliged to confess to Miss Laura his temporarysetback, which he went around to the house and did immediately. 

"It's the first thing I've undertaken yet for your sake, Laura, andI've got to report failure, so far. "

"It's only the first step, " she said, consolingly. 

"That's all. I'll drive out to Fetters's place to-morrow, and arrangethe matter. By starting before day, I can make it and transact mybusiness, and get back by night, without hurting the horses. "

Catharine was called in and the situation explained to her. Thoughclearly disappointed at the delay, and not yet free of apprehensionthat Bud might do something rash, she seemed serenely confident of thecolonel's ultimate success. In her simple creed, God might sometimesseem to neglect his black children, but no harm could come to a Negrowho had a rich white gentleman for friend and protector. 

_Twenty-five_

It was not yet sunrise when the colonel set out next day, after anearly breakfast, upon his visit to Fetters. There was a crispfreshness in the air, the dew was thick upon the grass, the clear bluesky gave promise of a bright day and a pleasant journey. 

The plantation conducted by Fetters lay about twenty miles to thesouth of Clarendon, and remote from any railroad, a convenientlocation for such an establishment, for railroads, while they bring insupplies and take out produce, also bring in light and take outinformation, both of which are fatal to certain fungus growths, socialas well as vegetable, which flourish best in the dark. 

The road led by Mink Run, and the colonel looked over toward the houseas they passed it. Old and weather-beaten it seemed, even in thedistance, which lent it no enchantment in the bright morning light. When the colonel had travelled that road in his boyhood, greatforests of primeval pine had stretched for miles on either hand, broken at intervals by thriving plantations. Now all was changed. Thetall and stately growth of the long-leaf pine had well nighdisappeared; fifteen years before, the turpentine industry, movingsouthward from Virginia, along the upland counties of the Appalachianslope, had swept through Clarendon County, leaving behind it a trailof blasted trunks and abandoned stills. Ere these had yielded todecay, the sawmill had followed, and after the sawmill the tar kiln, so that the dark green forest was now only a waste of blackened stumpsand undergrowth, topped by the vulgar short-leaved pine and anoccasional oak or juniper. Here and there they passed an expanse ofcultivated land, and there were many smaller clearings in which couldbe seen, plowing with gaunt mules or stunted steers, some heavy-footedNegro or listless "po' white man;" or women and children, black orwhite. In reply to a question, the coachman said that Mr. Fetters hadworked all that country for turpentine years before, and had onlytaken up cotton raising after the turpentine had been exhausted fromthe sand hills. 

He had left his mark, thought the colonel. Like the plague of locusts, he had settled and devoured and then moved on, leaving a barren wastebehind him. 

As the morning advanced, the settlements grew thinner, until suddenly, upon reaching the crest of a hill, a great stretch of cultivatedlowland lay spread before them. In the centre of the plantation, nearthe road which ran through it, stood a square, new, freshly paintedframe house, which would not have seemed out of place in some Ohio orMichigan city, but here struck a note alien to its surroundings. Offto one side, like the Negro quarters of another generation, wereseveral rows of low, unpainted cabins, built of sawed lumber, theboards running up and down, and battened with strips where the edgesmet. The fields were green with cotton and with corn, and there werenumerous gangs of men at work, with an apparent zeal quite in contrastwith the leisurely movement of those they had passed on the way. Itwas a very pleasing scene. 

"Dis yer, suh, " said the coachman in an awed tone, "is MistahFetters's plantation. You ain' gwine off nowhere, and leave me alonewhils' you are hyuh, is you, suh?"

"No, " said the colonel, "I'll keep my eye on you. Nobody'll troubleyou while you're with me. "

Passing a clump of low trees, the colonel came upon a group at sightof which he paused involuntarily. A gang of Negroes were at work. Uponthe ankles of some was riveted an iron band to which was soldered achain, at the end of which in turn an iron ball was fastened. Accompanying them was a white man, in whose belt was stuck a revolver, and who carried in one hand a stout leather strap, about two inches inwidth with a handle by which to grasp it. The gang paused momentarilyto look at the traveller, but at a meaning glance from the overseerfell again to their work of hoeing cotton. The white man stepped tothe fence, and Colonel French addressed him. 

"Good morning. "

"Mornin', suh. "

"Will you tell me where I can find Mr. Fetters?" inquired the colonel. 

"No, suh, unless he's at the house. He may have went away thismornin', but I haven't heard of it. But you drive along the road tothe house, an' somebody'll tell you. "

The colonel seemed to have seen the overseer before, but could notremember where. 

"Sam, " he asked the coachman, "who is that white man?"

"Dat's Mistah Haines, suh--use' ter be de constable at Cla'endon, suh. I wouldn' lak to be in no gang under him, suh, sho' I wouldn', no, suh!"

After this ejaculation, which seemed sincere as well as fervent, Samwhipped up the horses and soon reached the house. A Negro boy came outto meet them. 

"Is Mr. Fetters at home, " inquired the colonel?

"I--_I_ don' know, suh--I--I'll ax Mars' Turner. _He's_ hyuh. "

He disappeared round the house and in a few minutes returned withTurner, with whom the colonel exchanged curt nods. 

"I wish to see Mr. Fetters, " said the colonel. 

"Well, you can't see him. "

"Why not?"

"Because he ain't here. He left for the capital this mornin', to begone a week. You'll be havin' a fine drive, down here and back. "

The colonel ignored the taunt. 

"When will Mr. Fetters return?" he inquired. 

"I'm shore I don't know. He don't tell me his secrets. But I'll tell_you_, Colonel French, that if you're after that nigger, you'rewastin' your time. He's in Haines's gang, and Haines loves him so wellthat Mr. Fetters has to keep Bud in order to keep Haines. There's noaccountin' for these vi'lent affections, but they're human natur', andthey have to be 'umoured. "

"I'll talk to your _master_, " rejoined the colonel, restraining hisindignation and turning away. 

Turner looked after him vindictively. 

"He'll talk to my _master_, like as if I was a nigger! It'll be a longtime before he talks to Fetters, if that's who he means--if I canprevent it. Not that it would make any difference, but I'll just keephim on the anxious seat. "

It was nearing noon, but the colonel had received no invitation tostop, or eat, or feed his horses. He ordered Sam to turn and driveback the way they had come. 

As they neared the group of labourers they had passed before, thecolonel saw four Negroes, in response to an imperative gesture fromthe overseer, seize one of their number, a short, thickset fellow, overpower some small resistance which he seemed to make, throw himdown with his face to the ground, and sit upon his extremities whilethe overseer applied the broad leathern thong vigorously to his bareback. 

The colonel reached over and pulled the reins mechanically. Hisinstinct was to interfere; had he been near enough to recognise in theNegro the object of his visit, Bud Johnson, and in the overseer theex-constable, Haines, he might have yielded to the impulse. But onsecond thought he realised that he had neither authority nor strengthto make good his interference. For aught he knew, the performancemight be strictly according to law. So, fighting a feeling of nauseawhich he could hardly conquer, he ordered Sam to drive on. 

The coachman complied with alacrity, as though glad to escape from amighty dangerous place. He had known friendless coloured folks, whohad strayed down in that neighbourhood to be lost for a long time; andhe had heard of a spot, far back from the road, in a secluded part ofthe plantation, where the graves of convicts who had died while inFetters's service were very numerous. 

_Twenty-six_

During the next month the colonel made several attempts to seeFetters, but some fatality seemed always to prevent their meeting. Hefinally left the matter of finding Fetters to Caxton, who ascertainedthat Fetters would be in attendance at court during a certain week, atCarthage, the county seat of the adjoining county, where the colonelhad been once before to inspect a cotton mill. Thither the colonelwent on the day of the opening of court. His train reached town towardnoon and he went over to the hotel. He wondered if he would find theproprietor sitting where he had found him some weeks before. But thebuggy was gone from before the piazza, and there was a new face behindthe desk. The colonel registered, left word that he would be in todinner, and then went over to the court house, which lay behind thetrees across the square. 

The court house was an old, square, hip-roofed brick structure, whosewalls, whitewashed the year before, had been splotched and discolouredby the weather. From one side, under the eaves, projected a beam, which supported a bell rung by a rope from the window below. A hallran through the centre, on either side of which were the countyoffices, while the court room with a judge's room and jury room, occupied the upper floor. 

The colonel made his way across the square, which showed the usualsigns of court being in session. There were buggies hitched to treesand posts here and there, a few Negroes sleeping in the sun, andseveral old coloured women with little stands for the sale of cakes, and fried fish, and cider. 

The colonel went upstairs to the court room. It was fairly wellfilled, and he remained standing for a few minutes near the entrance. The civil docket was evidently on trial, for there was a jury in thebox, and a witness was being examined with some prolixity withreference to the use of a few inches of land which lay on one side oron the other of a disputed boundary. From what the colonel couldgather, that particular line fence dispute had been in litigation fortwenty years, had cost several lives, and had resulted in a feud thatinvolved a whole township. 

The testimony was about concluded when the colonel entered, and thelawyers began their arguments. The feeling between the litigantsseemed to have affected their attorneys, and the court more than oncefound it necessary to call counsel to order. The trial was finished, however, without bloodshed; the case went to the jury, and court wasadjourned until two o'clock. 

The colonel had never met Fetters, nor had he seen anyone in the courtroom who seemed likely to be the man. But he had seen his name freshlywritten on the hotel register, and he would doubtless go there fordinner. There would be ample time to get acquainted and transact hisbusiness before court reassembled for the afternoon. 

Dinner seemed to be a rather solemn function, and except at a tableoccupied by the judge and the lawyers, in the corner of the roomfarthest from the colonel, little was said. A glance about the roomshowed no one whom the colonel could imagine to be Fetters, and he wasabout to ask the waiter if that gentleman had yet entered the diningroom, when a man came in and sat down on the opposite side of thetable. The colonel looked up, and met the cheerful countenance of theliveryman from whom he had hired a horse and buggy some weeks before. 

"Howdy do?" said the newcomer amiably. "Hope you've been well. "

"Quite well, " returned the colonel, "how are you?"

"Oh, just tol'able. Tendin' co't?"

"No, I came down here to see a man that's attending court--your friendFetters. I suppose he'll be in to dinner. "

"Oh, yes, but he ain't come in yet. I reckon you find the ho-tel alittle different from the time you were here befo'. "

"This is a better dinner than I got, " replied the colonel, "and Ihaven't seen the landlord anywhere, nor his buggy. "

"No, he ain't here no more. Sad loss to Carthage! You see BarkFetters--that's Bill's boy that's come home from the No'th fromcollege--Bark Fetters come down here one day, an' went in the ho-tel, an' when Lee Dickson commenced to put on his big airs, Bark cussed 'imout, and Lee, who didn't know Bark from Adam, cussed 'im back, an'then Bark hauled off an' hit 'im. They had it hot an' heavy for awhile. Lee had more strength, but Bark had more science, an' laid Leeout col'. Then Bark went home an' tol' the ole man, who had a mortgageon the ho-tel, an' he sol' Lee up. I hear he's barberin' or somethin'er that sort up to Atlanta, an' the hotel's run by another man. There's Fetters comin' in now. "

The colonel glanced in the direction indicated, and was surprised atthe appearance of the redoubtable Fetters, who walked over and tookhis seat at the table with the judge and the lawyers. He had expectedto meet a tall, long-haired, red-faced, truculent individual, in aslouch hat and a frock coat, with a loud voice and a dictatorialmanner, the typical Southerner of melodrama. He saw a keen-eyed, hard-faced small man, slightly gray, clean-shaven, wearing awell-fitting city-made business suit of light tweed. Except for a fewlittle indications, such as the lack of a crease in his trousers, Fetters looked like any one of a hundred business men whom the colonelmight have met on Broadway in any given fifteen minutes duringbusiness hours. 

The colonel timed his meal so as to leave the dining-room at the samemoment with Fetters. He went up to Fetters, who was chewing atoothpick in the office, and made himself known. 

"I am Mr. French, " he said--he never referred to himself by hismilitary title--"and you, I believe, are Mr. Fetters?"

"Yes, sir, that's my name, " replied Fetters without enthusiasm, buteyeing the colonel keenly between narrowed lashes. 

"I've been trying to see you for some time, about a matter, " continuedthe colonel, "but never seemed able to catch up with you before. "

"Yes, I heard you were at my house, but I was asleep upstairs, anddidn't know you'd be'n there till you'd gone. "

"Your man told me you had gone to the capital for two weeks. "

"My man? Oh, you mean Turner! Well, I reckon you must have riledTurner somehow, and he thought he'd have a joke on you. "

"I don't quite see the joke, " said the colonel, restraining hisdispleasure. "But that's ancient history. Can we sit down over here inthe shade and talk by ourselves for a moment?"

Fetters followed the colonel out of doors, where they drew a couple ofchairs to one side, and the colonel stated the nature of his business. He wished to bargain for the release of a Negro, Bud Johnson by name, held to service by Fetters under a contract with Clarendon County. Hewas willing to pay whatever expense Fetters had been to on account ofJohnson, and an amount sufficient to cover any estimated profits fromhis services. 

Meanwhile Fetters picked his teeth nonchalantly, so nonchalantly as toirritate the colonel. The colonel's impatience was not lessened by thefact that Fetters waited several seconds before replying. 

"Well, Mr. Fetters, what say you?"

"Colonel French, " said Fetters, "I reckon you can't have the nigger. "

"Is it a matter of money?" asked the colonel. "Name your figure. Idon't care about the money. I want the man for a personal reason. "

"So do I, " returned Fetters, coolly, "and money's no object to me. I've more now than I know what to do with. "

The colonel mastered his impatience. He had one appeal which noSoutherner could resist. 

"Mr. Fetters, " he said, "I wish to get this man released to please alady. "

"Sorry to disoblige a lady, " returned Fetters, "but I'll have to keepthe nigger. I run a big place, and I'm obliged to maintain discipline. This nigger has been fractious and contrary, and I've sworn that heshall work out his time. I have never let any nigger get the best ofme--or white man either, " he added significantly. 

The colonel was angry, but controlled himself long enough to make onemore effort. "I'll give you five hundred dollars for your contract, "he said rising from his chair. 

"You couldn't get him for five thousand. "

"Very well, sir, " returned the colonel, "this is not the end of this. I will see, sir, if a man can be held in slavery in this State, for adebt he is willing and ready to pay. You'll hear more of this beforeI'm through with it. "

"Another thing, Colonel French, " said Fetters, his quiet eyesglittering as he spoke, "I wonder if you recollect an incident thatoccurred years ago, when we went to the academy in Clarendon?"

"If you refer, " returned the colonel promptly, "to the time I chasedyou down Main Street, yes--I recalled it the first time I heard ofyou when I came back to Clarendon--and I remember why I did it. It isa good omen. "

"That's as it may be, " returned Fetters quietly. "I didn't have torecall it; I've never forgotten it. Now you want something from me, and you can't have it. "

"We shall see, " replied the colonel. "I bested you then, and I'll bestyou now. "

"We shall see, " said Fetters. 

Fetters was not at all alarmed, indeed he smiled rather pityingly. There had been a time when these old aristocrats could speak, and theearth trembled, but that day was over. In this age money talked, andhe had known how to get money, and how to use it to get more. Therewere a dozen civil suits pending against him in the court house there, and he knew in advance that he should win them every one, withoutdirectly paying any juryman a dollar. That any nigger should get awaywhile he wished to hold him, was--well, inconceivable. Colonel Frenchmight have money, but he, Fetters, had men as well; and if ColonelFrench became too troublesome about this nigger, this friendship forniggers could be used in such a way as to make Clarendon too hot forColonel French. He really bore no great malice against Colonel Frenchfor the little incident of their school days, but he had not forgottenit, and Colonel French might as well learn a lesson. He, Fetters, hadnot worked half a lifetime for a commanding position, to yield it toColonel French or any other man. So Fetters smoked his cigartranquilly, and waited at the hotel for his anticipated verdicts. Forthere could not be a jury impanelled in the county which did not haveon it a majority of men who were mortgaged to Fetters. He even heldthe Judge's note for several hundred dollars. 

The colonel waited at the station for the train back to Clarendon. When it came, it brought a gang of convicts, consigned to Fetters. They had been brought down in the regular "Jim Crow" car, for thecolonel saw coloured women and children come out ahead of them. Thecolonel watched the wretches, in coarse striped garments, with chainson their legs and shackles on their hands, unloaded from the train andinto the waiting wagons. There were burly Negroes and flat-shanked, scrawny Negroes. Some wore the ashen hue of long confinement. Somewere shamefaced, some reckless, some sullen. A few white convictsamong them seemed doubly ashamed--both of their condition and of theircompany; they kept together as much as they were permitted, and lookedwith contempt at their black companions in misfortune. Fetters's manand Haines, armed with whips, and with pistols in their belts, werepresent to oversee the unloading, and the colonel could see them pointhim out to the State officers who had come in charge of the convicts, and see them look at him with curious looks. The scene was notedifying. There were criminals in New York, he knew very well, but hehad never seen one. They were not marched down Broadway in stripes andchains. There were certain functions of society, as of the body, whichwere more decently performed in retirement. There was work in theState for the social reformer, and the colonel, undismayed by histemporary defeat, metaphorically girded up his loins, went home, and, still metaphorically, set out to put a spoke in Fetters's wheel. 

_Twenty-seven_

His first step was to have Caxton look up and abstract for him thecriminal laws of the State. They were bad enough, in all conscience. Men could be tried without jury and condemned to infamous punishments, involving stripes and chains, for misdemeanours which in moreenlightened States were punished with a small fine or brief detention. There were, for instance, no degrees of larceny, and the heaviestpunishment might be inflicted, at the discretion of the judge, for theleast offense. 

The vagrancy law, of which the colonel had had some experience, was anopen bid for injustice and "graft" and clearly designed to profit thestrong at the expense of the weak. The crop-lien laws were little morethan the instruments of organised robbery. To these laws the colonelcalled the attention of some of his neighbours with whom he was onterms of intimacy. The enlightened few had scarcely known of theirexistence, and quite agreed that the laws were harsh and ought to bechanged. 

But when the colonel, pursuing his inquiry, undertook to investigatethe operation of these laws, he found an appalling condition. Thestatutes were mild and beneficent compared with the results obtainedunder cover of them. Caxton spent several weeks about the Statelooking up the criminal records, and following up the sentencesinflicted, working not merely for his fee, but sharing the colonel'sindignation at the state of things unearthed. Convict labour wascontracted out to private parties, with little or no effective Statesupervision, on terms which, though exceedingly profitable to theState, were disastrous to free competitive labour. More than onelawmaker besides Fetters was numbered among these contractors. 

Leaving the realm of crime, they found that on hundreds of farms, ignorant Negroes, and sometimes poor whites, were held in bondageunder claims of debt, or under contracts of exclusive employment forlong terms of years--contracts extorted from ignorance by craft, aidedby State laws which made it a misdemeanour to employ such personselsewhere. Free men were worked side by side with convicts from thepenitentiary, and women and children herded with the most depravedcriminals, thus breeding a criminal class to prey upon the State. 

In the case of Fetters alone the colonel found a dozen instances wherethe law, bad as it was, had not been sufficient for Fetters's purpose, but had been plainly violated. Caxton discovered a discharged guard ofFetters, who told him of many things that had taken place at Sycamore;and brought another guard one evening, at that time employed there, who told him, among other things, that Bud Johnson's life, owing tohis surliness and rebellious conduct, and some spite which Hainesseemed to bear against him, was simply a hell on earth--that even astrong Negro could not stand it indefinitely. 

A case was made up and submitted to the grand jury. Witnesses weresummoned at the colonel's instance. At the last moment they allweakened, even the discharged guard, and their testimony was notsufficient to justify an indictment. 

The colonel then sued out a writ of habeas corpus for the body of BudJohnson, and it was heard before the common pleas court at Clarendon, with public opinion divided between the colonel and Fetters. The courtheld that under his contract, for which he had paid the consideration, Fetters was entitled to Johnson's services. 

The colonel, defeated but still undismayed, ordered Caxton to preparea memorial for presentation to the federal authorities, calling theirattention to the fact that peonage, a crime under the Federalstatutes, was being flagrantly practised in the State. This allegationwas supported by a voluminous brief, giving names and dates andparticular instances of barbarity. The colonel was not without somequiet support in this movement; there were several public-spirited menin the county, including his able lieutenant Caxton, Dr. Price and oldGeneral Thornton, none of whom were under any obligation to Fetters, and who all acknowledged that something ought to be done to purge theState of a great disgrace. 

There was another party, of course, which deprecated any scandal whichwould involve the good name of the State or reflect upon the South, and who insisted that in time these things would pass away and therewould be no trace of them in future generations. But the colonelinsisted that so also would the victims of the system pass away, who, being already in existence, were certainly entitled to as muchconsideration as generations yet unborn; it was hardly fair tosacrifice them to a mere punctilio. The colonel had reached theconviction that the regenerative forces of education andenlightenment, in order to have any effect in his generation, must bereinforced by some positive legislative or executive action, or elsethe untrammelled forces of graft and greed would override them; and hewas human enough, at this stage of his career to wish to see theresult of his labours, or at least a promise of result. 

The colonel's papers were forwarded to the proper place, whence theywere referred from official to official, and from department todepartment. That it might take some time to set in motion themachinery necessary to reach the evil, the colonel knew very well, andhence was not impatient at any reasonable delay. Had he known that hispresentation had created a sensation in the highest quarter, but thatowing to the exigencies of national politics it was not deemed wise, at that time, to do anything which seemed like an invasion of Staterights or savoured of sectionalism, he might not have been so serenelyconfident of the outcome. Nor had Fetters known as much, would he havedone the one thing which encouraged the colonel more than anythingelse. Caxton received a message one day from Judge Bullard, representing Fetters, in which Fetters made the offer that if ColonelFrench would stop his agitation on the labour laws, and withdraw anypapers he had filed, and promise to drop the whole matter, he wouldrelease Bud Johnson. 

The colonel did not hesitate a moment. He had gone into this fight forJohnson--or rather to please Miss Laura. He had risen now to highergame; nothing less than the system would satisfy him. 

"But, Colonel, " said Caxton, "it's pretty hard on the nigger. They'llkill him before his time's up. If you'll give me a free hand, I'll gethim anyway. "

"How?"

"Perhaps it's just as well you shouldn't know. But I have friends atSycamore. "

"You wouldn't break the law?" asked the colonel. 

"Fetters is breaking the law, " replied Caxton. "He's holding Johnsonfor debt--and whether that is lawful or not, he certainly has no rightto kill him. "

"You're right, " replied the colonel. "Get Johnson away, I don't carehow. The end justifies the means--that's an argument that goes downhere. Get him away, and send him a long way off, and he can write forhis wife to join him. His escape need not interfere with our otherplans. We have plenty of other cases against Fetters. "

Within a week, Johnson, with the connivance of a bribed guard, apoor-white man from Clarendon, had escaped from Fetters and seeminglyvanished from Beaver County. Fetters's lieutenants were active intheir search for him, but sought in vain. 

_Twenty-eight_

Ben Dudley awoke the morning after the assembly ball, with a violentheadache and a sense of extreme depression, which was not relieved bythe sight of his reflection in the looking-glass of the bureau in thehotel bedroom where he found himself. 

One of his eyes was bloodshot, and surrounded by a wide area ofdiscolouration, and he was conscious of several painful contusions onother portions of his body. His clothing was badly disordered andstained with blood; and, all in all, he was scarcely in a condition toappear in public. He made such a toilet as he could, and, anxious toavoid observation, had his horse brought from the livery around to therear door of the hotel, and left for Mink Run by the back streets. Hedid not return to town for a week, and when he made his nextappearance there, upon strictly a business visit, did not go near theTreadwells', and wore such a repellent look that no one ventured tospeak to him about his encounter with Fetters and McRae. He washumiliated and ashamed, and angry with himself and all the world. Hehad lost Graciella already; any possibility that might have remainedof regaining her affection, was destroyed by his having made her namethe excuse for a barroom broil. His uncle was not well, and with thedecline of his health, his monomania grew more acute and moreabsorbing, and he spent most of his time in the search for thetreasure and in expostulations with Viney to reveal its whereabouts. The supervision of the plantation work occupied Ben most of the time, and during his intervals of leisure he sought to escape unpleasantthoughts by busying himself with the model of his cotton gin. 

His life had run along in this way for about two weeks after theball, when one night Barclay Fetters, while coming to town from hisfather's plantation at Sycamore, in company with Turner, his father'sforeman, was fired upon from ambush, in the neighbourhood of MinkRun, and seriously wounded. Groaning heavily and in a state ofsemi-unconsciousness he was driven by Turner, in the same buggy inwhich he had been shot, to Doctor Price's house, which lay betweenMink Run and the town. 

The doctor examined the wound, which was serious. A charge of buckshothad been fired at close range, from a clump of bushes by the wayside, and the charge had taken effect in the side of the face. The sight ofone eye was destroyed beyond a peradventure, and that of the otherendangered by a possible injury to the optic nerve. A sedative wasadministered, as many as possible of the shot extracted, and thewounds dressed. Meantime a messenger was despatched to Sycamore forFetters, senior, who came before morning post-haste. To his anxiousinquiries the doctor could give no very hopeful answer. 

"He's not out of danger, " said Doctor Price, "and won't be for severaldays. I haven't found several of those shot, and until they're locatedI can't tell what will happen. Your son has a good constitution, butit has been abused somewhat and is not in the best condition to throwoff an injury. "

"Do the best you can for him, Doc, " said Fetters, "and I'll make itworth your while. And as for the double-damned scoundrel that shot himin the dark, I'll rake this county with a fine-toothed comb till he'sfound. If Bark dies, the murderer shall hang as high as Haman, if itcosts me a million dollars, or, if Bark gets well, he shall have thelimit of the law. No man in this State shall injure me or mine and gounpunished. "

The next day Ben Dudley was arrested at Mink Run, on a warrant swornout by Fetters, senior, charging Dudley with attempted murder. Theaccused was brought to Clarendon, and lodged in Beaver County jail. 

Ben sent for Caxton, from whom he learned that his offense was notsubject to bail until it became certain that Barclay Fetters wouldrecover. For in the event of his death, the charge would be murder; incase of recovery, the offense would be merely attempted murder, orshooting with intent to kill, for which bail was allowable. Meantimehe would have to remain in jail. 

In a day or two young Fetters was pronounced out of danger, so far ashis life was concerned, and Colonel French, through Caxton, offered tosign Ben's bail bond. To Caxton's surprise Dudley refused to acceptbail at the colonel's hands. 

"I don't want any favours from Colonel French, " he said decidedly. "Iprefer to stay in jail rather than to be released on his bond. "

So he remained in jail. 

Graciella was not so much surprised at Ben's refusal to accept bail. She had reasoned out, with a fine instinct, the train of emotionswhich had brought her lover to grief, and her own share in stirringthem up. She could not believe that Ben was capable of shooting a manfrom ambush; but even if he had, it would have been for love of her;and if he had not, she had nevertheless been the moving cause of thedisaster. She would not willingly have done young Mr. Fetters aninjury. He had favoured her by his attentions, and, if all storieswere true, he had behaved better than Ben, in the difficulty betweenthem, and had suffered more. But she loved Ben, as she grew torealise, more and more. She wanted to go and see Ben in jail but heraunt did not think it proper. Appearances were all against Ben, and hehad not purged himself by any explanation. So Graciella sat down andwrote him a long letter. She knew very well that the one thing thatwould do him most good would be the announcement of her Aunt Laura'sengagement to Colonel French. There was no way to bring this about, except by first securing her aunt's permission. This would makenecessary a frank confession, to which, after an effort, she nervedherself. 

"Aunt Laura, " she said, at a moment when they were alone together, "Iknow why Ben will not accept bail from Colonel French, and why he willnot tell his side of the quarrel between himself and Mr. Fetters. Hewas foolish enough to imagine that Colonel French was coming to thehouse to see me, and that I preferred the colonel to him. And, AuntLaura, I have a confession to make; I have done something for which Iwant to beg your pardon. I listened that night, and overheard thecolonel ask you to be his wife. Please, dear Aunt Laura, forgive me, and let me write and tell Ben--just Ben, in confidence. No one elseneed know it. "

Miss Laura was shocked and pained, and frankly said so, but could notrefuse the permission, on condition that Ben should be pledged to keepher secret, which, for reasons of her own, she was not yet ready tomake public. She, too, was fond of Ben, and hoped that he might clearhimself of the accusation. So Graciella wrote the letter. She was nomore frank in it, however, on one point, than she had been with heraunt, for she carefully avoided saying that she _had_ taken ColonelFrench's attentions seriously, or built any hopes upon them, butchided Ben for putting such a construction upon her innocent actions, and informed him, as proof of his folly, and in the strictestconfidence, that Colonel French was engaged to her Aunt Laura. Sheexpressed her sorrow for his predicament, her profound belief in hisinnocence, and her unhesitating conviction that he would be acquittedof the pending charge. 

To this she expected by way of answer a long letter of apology, explanation, and protestations of undying love. 

She received, instead, a brief note containing a cold acknowledgmentof her letter, thanking her for her interest in his welfare, andassuring her that he would respect Miss Laura's confidence. There wasno note of love or reproachfulness--mere cold courtesy. 

Graciella was cut to the quick, so much so that she did not evennotice Ben's mistakes in spelling. It would have been better had heoverwhelmed her with reproaches--it would have shown at least that hestill loved her. She cried bitterly, and lay awake very late thatnight, wondering what else she could do for Ben that a self-respectingyoung lady might. For the first time, she was more concerned about Benthan about herself. If by marrying him immediately she could havesaved him from danger and disgrace she would have done so without oneselfish thought--unless it were selfish to save one whom she loved. 

 * * * * *

The preliminary hearing in the case of the State _vs. _ Benjamin Dudleywas held as soon as Doctor Price pronounced Barclay Fetters out ofdanger. The proceedings took place before Squire Reddick, the samejustice from whom the colonel had bought Peter's services, and fromwhom he had vainly sought to secure Bud Johnson's release. 

In spite of Dudley's curt refusal of his assistance, the colonel, towhom Miss Laura had conveyed a hint of the young man's frame of mind, had instructed Caxton to spare no trouble or expense in the prisoner'sinterest. There was little doubt, considering Fetters's influence andvindictiveness, that Dudley would be remanded, though the evidenceagainst him was purely circumstantial; but it was important that theevidence should be carefully scrutinised, and every legal safeguardput to use. 

The case looked bad for the prisoner. Barclay Fetters was not present, nor did the prosecution need him; his testimony could only have beencumulative. 

Turner described the circumstances of the shooting from the trees bythe roadside near Mink Run, and the driving of the wounded man toDoctor Price's. 

Doctor Price swore to the nature of the wound, its present andprobable consequences, which involved the loss of one eye and perhapsthe other, and produced the shot he had extracted. 

McRae testified that he and Barclay Fetters had gone down betweendances, from the Opera Ball, to the hotel bar, to get a glass ofseltzer. They had no sooner entered the bar than the prisoner, who hadevidently been drinking heavily and showed all the signs ofintoxication, had picked a quarrel with them and assaulted Mr. Fetters. Fetters, with the aid of the witness, had defended himself. In the course of the altercation, the prisoner had used violent andprofane language, threatening, among other things, to kill Fetters. All this testimony was objected to, but was admitted as tending toshow a motive for the crime. This closed the State's case. 

Caxton held a hurried consultation with his client. Should they put inany evidence, which would be merely to show their hand, since theprisoner would in any event undoubtedly be bound over? Ben was unableto deny what had taken place at the hotel, for he had no distinctrecollection of it--merely a blurred impression, like the memory of abad dream. He could not swear that he had not threatened Fetters. TheState's witnesses had refrained from mentioning the lady's name; hecould do no less. So far as the shooting was concerned, he had had noweapon with which to shoot. His gun had been stolen that very day, andhad not been recovered. 

"The defense will offer no testimony, " declared Caxton, at the resultof the conference. 

The justice held the prisoner to the grand jury, and fixed the bond atten thousand dollars. Graciella's information had not been without itseffect, and when Caxton suggested that he could still secure bail, hehad little difficulty in inducing Ben to accept Colonel French'sfriendly offices. The bail bond was made out and signed, and theprisoner released. 

Caxton took Ben to his office after the hearing. There Ben met thecolonel, thanked him for his aid and friendship, and apologised forhis former rudeness. 

"I was in a bad way, sir, " he said, "and hardly knew what I was doing. But I know I didn't shoot Bark Fetters, and never thought of such athing. "

"I'm sure you didn't, my boy, " said the colonel, laying his hand, infamiliar fashion, upon the young fellow's shoulder, "and we'll proveit before we quit. There are some ladies who believe the same thing, and would like to hear you say it. "

"Thank you, sir, " said Ben. "I should like to tell them, but Ishouldn't want to enter their house until I am cleared of this charge. I think too much of them to expose them to any remarks aboutharbouring a man out on bail for a penitentiary offense. I'll write tothem, sir, and thank them for their trust and friendship, and you cantell them for me, if you will, that I'll come to see them when notonly I, but everybody else, can say that I am fit to go. "

"Your feelings do you credit, " returned the colonel warmly, "andhowever much they would like to see you, I'm sure the ladies willappreciate your delicacy. As your friend and theirs, you must permitme to serve you further, whenever the opportunity offers, until thisaffair is finished. "

Ben thanked the colonel from a full heart, and went back to Mink Run, where, in the effort to catch up the plantation work, which hadfallen behind in his absence, he sought to forget the prisonatmosphere and lose the prison pallor. The disgrace of having been injail was indelible, and the danger was by no means over. The sympathyof his friends would have been priceless to him, but to remain awayfrom them would be not only the honourable course to pursue, but ajust punishment for his own folly. For Graciella, after all, was onlya girl--a young girl, and scarcely yet to be judged harshly for heractions; while he was a man grown, who knew better, and had not actedaccording to his lights. 

Three days after Ben Dudley's release on bail, Clarendon was treatedto another sensation. Former constable Haines, now employed as anoverseer at Fetters's convict farm, while driving in a buggy toClarendon, where he spent his off-duty spells, was shot from ambushnear Mink Run, and his right arm shattered in such a manner as torequire amputation. 

_Twenty-nine_

Colonel French's interest in Ben Dudley's affairs had not beenpermitted to interfere with his various enterprises. Work on the chiefof these, the cotton mill, had gone steadily forward, with onlyoccasional delays, incident to the delivery of material, the weather, and the health of the workmen, which was often uncertain for a day ortwo after pay day. The coloured foreman of the brick-layers had beenseriously ill; his place had been filled by a white man, under whomthe walls were rising rapidly. Jim Green, the foreman whom the colonelhad formerly discharged, and the two white brick-layers who had quitat the same time, applied for reinstatement. The colonel took the twomen on again, but declined to restore Green, who had been dischargedfor insubordination. 

Green went away swearing vengeance. At Clay Johnson's saloon he hurledinvectives at the colonel, to all who would listen, and with angerand bad whiskey, soon worked himself into a frame of mind that wasripe for any mischief. Some of his utterances were reported to thecolonel, who was not without friends--the wealthy seldom are; but hepaid no particular attention to them, except to keep a watchman at themill at night, lest this hostility should seek an outlet in someattempt to injure the property. The precaution was not amiss, for oncethe watchman shot at a figure prowling about the mill. The lesson wassufficient, apparently, for there was no immediate necessity to repeatit. 

The shooting of Haines, while not so sensational as that of BarclayFetters, had given rise to considerable feeling against Ben Dudley. That two young men should quarrel, and exchange shots, would notordinarily have been a subject of extended remark. But two attempts atassassination constituted a much graver affair. That Dudley wasresponsible for this second assault was the generally acceptedopinion. Fetters's friends and hirelings were openly hostile to youngDudley, and Haines had been heard to say, in his cups, at ClayJackson's saloon, that when young Dudley was tried and convicted andsent to the penitentiary, he would be hired out to Fetters, who hadthe country contract, and that he, Haines, would be delighted to haveDudley in his gang. The feeling against Dudley grew from day to day, and threats and bets were openly made that he would not live to betried. There was no direct proof against him, but the moral andcircumstantial evidence was quite sufficient to convict him in theeyes of Fetter's friends and supporters. The colonel was sometimesmentioned, in connection with the affair as a friend of Ben's, forwhom he had given bail, and as an enemy of Fetters, to whom hisantagonism in various ways had become a matter of public knowledge andinterest. 

One day, while the excitement attending the second shooting was thusgrowing, Colonel French received through the mail a mysteriouslyworded note, vaguely hinting at some matter of public importance whichthe writer wished to communicate to him, and requesting a privateinterview for the purpose, that evening, at the colonel's house. Thenote, which had every internal evidence of sincerity, was signed byHenry Taylor, the principal of the coloured school, whom the colonelhad met several times in reference to the proposed industrial school. From the tenor of the communication, and what he knew about Taylor, the colonel had no doubt that the matter was one of importance, atleast not one to be dismissed without examination. He thereuponstepped into Caxton's office and wrote an answer to the letter, fixingeight o'clock that evening as the time, and his own library as theplace, of a meeting with the teacher. This letter he deposited in thepost-office personally--it was only a step from Caxton's office. Uponcoming out of the post-office he saw the teacher standing on anopposite corner. When the colonel had passed out of sight, Taylorcrossed the street, entered the post-office, and soon emerged with theletter. He had given no sign that he saw the colonel, but had lookedrather ostentatiously the other way when that gentleman had glanced inhis direction. 

At the appointed hour there was a light step on the colonel's piazza. The colonel was on watch, and opened the door himself, ushering Taylorinto his library, a very handsome and comfortable room, the door ofwhich he carefully closed behind them. 

The teacher looked around cautiously. 

"Are we alone, sir?"

"Yes, entirely so. "

"And can any one hear us?"

"No. What have you got to tell me?"

"Colonel French, " replied the other, "I'm in a hard situation, and Iwant you to promise that you'll never let on to any body that I toldyou what I'm going to say. "

"All right, Mr. Taylor, if it is a proper promise to make. You cantrust my discretion. "

"Yes, sir, I'm sure I can. We coloured folks, sir, are often accusedof trying to shield criminals of our own race, or of not helping theofficers of the law to catch them. Maybe we does, suh, " he said, lapsing in his earnestness, into bad grammar, "maybe we doessometimes, but not without reason. "

"What reason?" asked the colonel. 

"Well, sir, fer the reason that we ain't always shore that a colouredman will get a fair trial, or any trial at all, or that he'll get ajust sentence after he's been tried. We have no hand in makin' thelaws, or in enforcin' 'em; we are not summoned on jury; and yet we'reasked to do the work of constables and sheriffs who are paid forarrestin' criminals, an' for protectin' 'em from mobs, which theydon't do. "

"I have no doubt every word you say is true, Mr. Taylor, and such astate of things is unjust, and will some day be different, if I canhelp to make it so. But, nevertheless, all good citizens, whatevertheir colour, ought to help to preserve peace and good order. "

"Yes, sir, so they ought; and I want to do just that; I want toco-operate, and a whole heap of us want to co-operate with the goodwhite people to keep down crime and lawlessness. I know there's goodwhite people who want to see justice done--but they ain't alwaysstrong enough to run things; an' if any one of us coloured folks tellson another one, he's liable to lose all his frien's. But I believe, sir, that I can trust you to save me harmless, and to see that nothin'mo' than justice is done to the coloured man. "

"Yes, Taylor, you can trust me to do all that I can, and I think Ihave considerable influence. Now, what's on your mind? Do you know whoshot Haines and Mr. Fetters?"

"Well, sir, you're a mighty good guesser. It ain't so much Mr. Fettersan' Mr. Haines I'm thinkin' about, for that place down the country isa hell on earth, an' they're the devils that runs it. But there's afriend of yo'rs in trouble, for something he didn' do, an' I wouldn'stan' for an innocent man bein' sent to the penitentiary--though manya po' Negro has been. Yes, sir, I know that Mr. Ben Dudley didn' shootthem two white men. "

"So do I, " rejoined the colonel. "Who did?"

"It was Bud Johnson, the man you tried to get away from Mr. Fetters--yo'r coachman tol' us about it, sir, an' we know how good afriend of ours you are, from what you've promised us about the school. An' I wanted you to know, sir. You are our friend, and have showedconfidence in us, and I wanted to prove to you that we are notungrateful, an' that we want to be good citizens. "

"I had heard, " said the colonel, "that Johnson had escaped and leftthe county. "

"So he had, sir, but he came back. They had 'bused him down at thatplace till he swore he'd kill every one that had anything to do withhim. It was Mr. Turner he shot at the first time and he hit young Mr. Fetters by accident. He stole a gun from ole Mr. Dudley's place atMink Run, shot Mr. Fetters with it, and has kept it ever since, andshot Mr. Haines with it. I suppose they'd 'a' ketched him before, ifit hadn't be'n for suspectin' young Mr. Dudley. "

"Where is Johnson now, " asked the colonel. 

"He's hidin' in an old log cabin down by the swamp back of Mink Run. He sleeps in the daytime, and goes out at night to get food and watchfor white men from Mr. Fetters's place. "

"Does his wife know where he is?"

"No, sir; he ain't never let her know. "

"By the way, Taylor, " asked the colonel, "how do _you_ know all this?"

"Well, sir, " replied the teacher, with something which, in anuneducated Negro would have been a very pronounced chuckle, "there'smighty little goin' on roun' here that I _don't_ find out, sooner orlater. "

"Taylor, " said the colonel, rising to terminate the interview, "youhave rendered a public service, have proved yourself a good citizen, and have relieved Mr. Dudley of serious embarrassment. I will see thatsteps are taken to apprehend Johnson, and will keep your participationin the matter secret, since you think it would hurt your influencewith your people. And I promise you faithfully that every effort shallbe made to see that Johnson has a fair trial and no more than a justpunishment. "

He gave the Negro his hand. 

"Thank you, sir, thank you, sir, " replied the teacher, returning thecolonel's clasp. "If there were more white men like you, the colouredfolks would have no more trouble. "

The colonel let Taylor out, and watched him as he looked cautiously upand down the street to see that he was not observed. That colouredfolks, or any other kind, should ever cease to have trouble, was avain imagining. But the teacher had made a well-founded complaint ofinjustice which ought to be capable of correction; and he hadperformed a public-spirited action, even though he had feltconstrained to do it in a clandestine manner. 

About his own part in the affair the colonel was troubled. It wasbecoming clear to him that the task he had undertaken was no lightone--not the task of apprehending Johnson and clearing Dudley, butthat of leavening the inert mass of Clarendon with the leaven ofenlightenment. With the best of intentions, and hoping to save a life, he had connived at turning a murderer loose upon the community. It wastrue that the community, through unjust laws, had made him a murderer, but it was no part of the colonel's plan to foster or promote evilpassions, or to help the victims of the law to make reprisals. His aimwas to bring about, by better laws and more liberal ideas, peace, harmony, and universal good will. There was a colossal work for him todo, and for all whom he could enlist with him in this cause. The verystandards of right and wrong had been confused by the race issue, andmust be set right by the patient appeal to reason and humanity. Primitive passions and private vengeance must be subordinated to lawand order and the higher good. A new body of thought must be built up, in which stress must be laid upon the eternal verities, in the lightof which difficulties which now seemed unsurmountable would begradually overcome. 

But this halcyon period was yet afar off, and the colonel rousedhimself to the duty of the hour. With the best intentions he had letloose upon the community, in a questionable way, a desperatecharacter. It was no less than his plain duty to put the man underrestraint. To rescue from Fetters a man whose life was threatened, wasone thing. To leave a murderer at large now would be to endangerinnocent lives, and imperil Ben Dudley's future. 

The arrest of Bud Johnson brought an end to the case against BenDudley. The prosecuting attorney, who was under political obligationsto Fetters, seemed reluctant to dismiss the case, until Johnson'sguilt should have been legally proved; but the result of the Negro'spreliminary hearing rendered this position no longer tenable; the caseagainst Ben was nolled, and he could now hold up his head as a freeman, with no stain upon his character. 

Indeed, the reaction in his favour as one unjustly indicted, went farto wipe out from the public mind the impression that he was a drunkardand a rowdy. It was recalled that he was of good family and that hisforebears had rendered valuable service to the State, and that he hadnever been seen to drink before, or known to be in a fight, but thaton the contrary he was quiet and harmless to a fault. Indeed, theClarendon public would have admired a little more spirit in a youngman, even to the extent of condoning an occasional lapse into license. 

There was sincere rejoicing at the Treadwell house when Ben, now freein mind, went around to see the ladies. Miss Laura was warmlysympathetic and congratulatory; and Graciella, tearfully happy, triedto make up by a sweet humility, through which shone the truewomanliness of a hitherto undeveloped character, for the past stingsand humiliations to which her selfish caprice had subjected her lover. Ben resumed his visits, if not with quite their former frequency, andit was only a day or two later that the colonel found him andGraciella, with his own boy Phil, grouped in familiar fashion on thesteps, where Ben was demonstrating with some pride of success, theoperation of his model, into which he was feeding cotton when thecolonel came up. 

The colonel stood a moment and looked at the machine. 

"It's quite ingenious, " he said. "Explain the principle. "

Ben described the mechanism, in brief, well-chosen words whichconveyed the thought clearly and concisely, and revealed a fine mindfor mechanics and at the same time an absolute lack of technicalknowledge. 

"It would never be of any use, sir, " he said, at the end, "foreverybody has the other kind. But it's another way, and I think abetter. "

"It is clever, " said the colonel thoughtfully, as he went into thehouse. 

The colonel had not changed his mind at all since asking Miss Laura tobe his wife. The glow of happiness still warmed her cheek, the spiritof youth still lingered in her eyes and in her smile. He might go athousand miles before meeting a woman who would please him more, takebetter care of Phil, or preside with more dignity over his household. Her simple grace would adapt itself to wealth as easily as it hadaccommodated itself to poverty. It would be a pleasure to travel withher to new scenes and new places, to introduce her into a wider world, to see her expand in the generous sunlight of ease and freedom fromresponsibility. 

True to his promise, the colonel made every effort to see that BudJohnson should be protected against mob violence and given a fairtrial. There was some intemperate talk among the partisans of Fetters, and an ominous gathering upon the streets the day after the arrest, but Judge Miller, of the Beaver County circuit, who was in Clarendonthat day, used his influence to discountenance any disorder, andpromised a speedy trial of the prisoner. The crime was not the worstof crimes, and there was no excuse for riot or lynch law. The accusedcould not escape his just punishment. 

As a result of the judge's efforts, supplemented by the colonel's andthose of Doctor Price and several ministers, any serious fear ofdisorder was removed, and a handful of Fetters's guards who had comeup from his convict farm and foregathered with some choice spirits ofthe town at Clay Jackson's saloon, went back without attempting to dowhat they had avowedly come to town to accomplish. 

_Thirty_

One morning the colonel, while overseeing the work at the new millbuilding, stepped on the rounded handle of a chisel, which had beenleft lying carelessly on the floor, and slipped and fell, spraininghis ankle severely. He went home in his buggy, which was at the mill, and sent for Doctor Price, who put his foot in a plaster bandage andordered him to keep quiet for a week. 

Peter and Phil went around to the Treadwells' to inform the ladies ofthe accident. On reaching the house after the accident, the colonelhad taken off his coat, and sent Peter to bring him one from thecloset off his bedroom. 

When the colonel put on the coat, he felt some papers in the insidepocket, and taking them out, recognised the two old letters he hadtaken from the lining of his desk several months before. Thehousekeeper, in a moment of unusual zeal, had discovered and mendedthe tear in the sleeve, and Peter had by chance selected thisparticular coat to bring to his master. When Peter started, with Phil, to go to the Treadwells', the colonel gave him the two letters. 

"Give these, " he said, "to Miss Laura, and tell her I found them inthe old desk. "

It was not long before Miss Laura came, with Graciella, to call on thecolonel. When they had expressed the proper sympathy, and had beenassured that the hurt was not dangerous, Miss Laura spoke of anothermatter. 

"Henry, " she said, with an air of suppressed excitement, "I have madea discovery. I don't quite know what it means, or whether it amountsto anything, but in one of the envelopes you sent me just now therewas a paper signed by Mr. Fetters. I do not know how it could havebeen left in the desk; we had searched it, years ago, in every nookand cranny, and found nothing. "

The colonel explained the circumstances of his discovery of thepapers, but prudently refrained from mentioning how long ago they hadtaken place. 

Miss Laura handed him a thin, oblong, yellowish slip of paper, whichhad been folded in the middle; it was a printed form, upon whichseveral words had been filled in with a pen. 

"It was enclosed in this, " she said, handing him another paper. 

The colonel took the papers and glanced over them. 

"Mother thinks, " said Miss Laura anxiously, "that they are the paperswe were looking for, that prove that Fetters was in father's debt. "

The colonel had been thinking rapidly. The papers were, indeed, apromissory note from Fetters to Mr. Treadwell, and a contract andmemorandum of certain joint transactions in turpentine and cottonfutures. The note was dated twenty years back. Had it been produced atthe time of Mr. Treadwell's death, it would not have been difficultto collect, and would have meant to his survivors the differencebetween poverty and financial independence. Now it was barred by thelapse of time. 

Miss Laura was waiting in eager expectation. Outwardly calm, her eyeswere bright, her cheeks were glowing, her bosom rose and fellexcitedly. Could he tell her that this seemingly fortunate accidentwas merely the irony of fate--a mere cruel reminder of a formermisfortune? No, she could not believe it!

"It has made me happy, Henry, " she said, while he still kept his eyesbent on the papers to conceal his perplexity, "it has made me veryhappy to think that I may not come to you empty-handed. "

"Dear woman, " he thought, "you shall not. If the note is not good, itshall be made good. "

"Laura, " he said aloud, "I am no lawyer, but Caxton shall look atthese to-day, and I shall be very much mistaken if they do not bringyou a considerable sum of money. Say nothing about them, however, until Caxton reports. He will be here to see me to-day and byto-morrow you shall have his opinion. "

Miss Laura went away with a radiantly hopeful face, and as she andGraciella went down the street, the colonel noted that her step wasscarcely less springy than her niece's. It was worth the amount ofFetters's old note to make her happy; and since he meant to give herall that she might want, what better way than to do it by means ofthis bit of worthless paper? It would be a harmless deception, and itwould save the pride of three gentlewomen, with whom pride was not adisease, to poison and scorch and blister, but an inspiration tocourtesy, and kindness, and right living. Such a pride was worthcherishing even at a sacrifice, which was, after all, no sacrifice. 

He had already sent word to Caxton of his accident, requesting him tocall at the house on other business. Caxton came in the afternoon, andwhen the matter concerning which he had come had been disposed of, Colonel French produced Fetters's note. 

"Caxton, " he said, "I wish to pay this note and let it seem to havecome from Fetters. "

Caxton looked at the note. 

"Why should you pay it?" he asked. "I mean, " he added, noting a changein the colonel's expression, "why shouldn't Fetters pay it?"

"Because it is outlawed, " he replied, "and we could hardly expect himto pay for anything he didn't have to pay. The statute of limitationsruns against it after fifteen years--and it's older than that, mucholder than that. "

Caxton made a rapid mental calculation. 

"That is the law in New York, " he said, "but here the statute doesn'tbegin to run for twenty years. The twenty years for which this notewas given expires to-day. "

"Then it is good?" demanded the colonel, looking at his watch. 

"It is good, " said Caxton, "provided there is no defence to it exceptthe statute, and provided I can file a petition on it in the countyclerk's office by four o'clock, the time at which the office closes. It is now twenty minutes of four. "

"Can you make it?"

"I'll try. "

Caxton, since his acquaintance with Colonel French, had learnedsomething more about the value of half an hour than he had ever beforeappreciated, and here was an opportunity to test his knowledge. Heliterally ran the quarter of a mile that lay between the colonel'sresidence and the court house, to the open-eyed astonishment of thosewhom he passed, some of whom wondered whether he were crazy, andothers whether he had committed a crime. He dashed into the clerk'soffice, seized a pen, and the first piece of paper handy, and began towrite a petition. The clerk had stepped into the hall, and when hecame leisurely in at three minutes to four, Caxton discovered that hehad written his petition on the back of a blank marriage license. Hefolded it, ran his pen through the printed matter, endorsed it, "Estate of Treadwell _vs. _ Fetters, " signed it with the name of EllenTreadwell, as executrix, by himself as her attorney, swore to itbefore the clerk, and handed it to that official, who raised hiseyebrows as soon as he saw the endorsement. 

"Now, Mr. Munroe, " said Caxton, "if you'll enter that on the docket, now, as of to-day, I'll be obliged to you. I'd rather have thetransaction all finished up while I wait. Your fee needn't wait thetermination of the suit. I'll pay it now and take a receipt for it. "

The clerk whistled to himself as he read the petition in order to makethe entry. 

"That's an old-timer, " he said. "It'll make the old man cuss. "

"Yes, " said Caxton. "Do me a favour, and don't say anything about itfor a day or two. I don't think the suit will ever come to trial. "

_Thirty-one_

On the day following these events, the colonel, on the arm of oldPeter, hobbled out upon his front porch, and seating himself in a bigrocking chair, in front of which a cushion had been adjusted for hisinjured ankle, composed himself to read some arrears of mail which hadcome in the day before, and over which he had only glanced casually. When he was comfortably settled, Peter and Phil walked down the steps, upon the lowest of which they seated themselves. The colonel hadscarcely begun to read before he called to the old man. 

"Peter, " he said, "I wish you'd go upstairs, and look in my room, andbring me a couple of light-coloured cigars from the box on mybureau--the mild ones, you know, Peter. "

"Yas, suh, I knows, suh, de mil' ones, dem wid de gol' ban's 'roun''em. Now you stay right hyuh, chile, till Peter come back. "

Peter came up the steps and disappeared in the doorway. 

The colonel opened a letter from Kirby, in which that energetic andversatile gentleman assured the colonel that he had evolved a greatscheme, in which there were millions for those who would go into it. He had already interested Mrs. Jerviss, who had stated she would begoverned by what the colonel did in the matter. The letter went intosome detail upon this subject, and then drifted off into club andsocial gossip. Several of the colonel's friends had inquiredparticularly about him. One had regretted the loss to their whisttable. Another wanted the refusal of his box at the opera, if he werenot coming back for the winter. 

"I think you're missed in a certain quarter, old fellow. I know a ladywho would be more than delighted to see you. I am invited to her houseto dinner, ostensibly to talk about our scheme, in reality to talkabout you. 

"But this is all by the way. The business is the thing. Take myproposition under advisement. We all made money together before; wecan make it again. My option has ten days to run. Wire me before it isup what reply to make. I know what you'll say, but I want your 'ipsedixit. '"

The colonel knew too what his reply would be, and that it would bevery different from Kirby's anticipation. He would write it, hethought, next day, so that Kirby should not be kept in suspense, or sothat he might have time to enlist other capital in the enterprise. Thecolonel felt really sorry to disappoint his good friends. He wouldwrite and inform Kirby of his plans, including that of his approachingmarriage. 

He had folded the letter and laid it down, and had picked up anewspaper, when Peter returned with the cigars and a box of matches. 

"Mars Henry?" he asked, "w'at's gone wid de chile?"

"Phil?" replied the colonel, looking toward the step, from which theboy had disappeared. "I suppose he went round the house. "

"Mars Phil! O Mars Phil!" called the old man. 

There was no reply. 

Peter looked round the corner of the house, but Phil was nowherevisible. The old man went round to the back yard, and called again, but did not find the child. 

"I hyuhs de train comin'; I 'spec's he's gone up ter de railroadtrack, " he said, when he had returned to the front of the house. "I'llrun up dere an' fetch 'im back. "

"Yes, do, Peter, " returned the colonel. "He's probably all right, butyou'd better see about him. "

Little Phil, seeing his father absorbed in the newspaper, and notwishing to disturb him, had amused himself by going to the gate andlooking down the street toward the railroad track. He had been doingthis scarcely a moment, when he saw a black cat come out of aneighbour's gate and go down the street. 

Phil instantly recalled Uncle Peter's story of the black cat. Perhapsthis was the same one!

Phil had often been warned about the railroad. 

"Keep 'way f'm dat railroad track, honey, " the old man had repeatedmore than once. "It's as dange'ous as a gun, and a gun is dange'ouswidout lock, stock, er bairl: I knowed a man oncet w'at beat 'is wifeter def wid a ramrod, an' wuz hung fer it in a' ole fiel' down by deha'nted house. Dat gun couldn't hol' powder ner shot, but wasdange'ous 'nuff ter kill two folks. So you jes' better keep 'way f'mdat railroad track, chile. "

But Phil was a child, with the making of a man, and the wisest of mensometimes forget. For the moment Phil saw nothing but the cat, andwished for nothing more than to talk to it. 

So Phil, unperceived by the colonel, set out to overtake the blackcat. The cat seemed in no hurry, and Phil had very nearly caught upwith him--or her, as the case might be--when the black cat, havingreached the railroad siding, walked under a flat car which stoodthere, and leaping to one of the truck bars, composed itself, presumably for a nap. In order to get close enough to the cat forconversational purposes, Phil stooped under the overhanging end of thecar, and kneeled down beside the truck. 

"Kitty, Kitty!" he called, invitingly. 

The black cat opened her big yellow eyes with every evidence of lazyamiability. 

Peter shuffled toward the corner as fast as his rickety old limbswould carry him. When he reached the corner he saw a car standing onthe track. There was a brakeman at one end, holding a coupling link inone hand, and a coupling pin in the other, his eye on an engine andtrain of cars only a rod or two away, advancing to pick up the singlecar. At the same moment Peter caught sight of little Phil, kneelingunder the car at the other end. 

Peter shouted, but the brakeman was absorbed in his own task, whichrequired close attention in order to assure his own safety. Theengineer on the cab, at the other end of the train, saw an old Negroexcitedly gesticulating, and pulled a lever mechanically, but too lateto stop the momentum of the train, which was not equipped with airbrakes, even if these would have proved effective to stop it in soshort a distance. 

Just before the two cars came together, Peter threw himself forward toseize the child. As he did so, the cat sprang from the truck bar; theold man stumbled over the cat, and fell across the rail. The car movedonly a few feet, but quite far enough to work injury. 

A dozen people, including the train crew, quickly gathered. Willinghands drew them out and laid them upon the grass under the spreadingelm at the corner of the street. A judge, a merchant and a Negrolabourer lifted old Peter's body as tenderly as though it had beenthat of a beautiful woman. The colonel, somewhat uneasy, he scarcelyknew why, had started to limp painfully toward the corner, when he wasmet by a messenger who informed him of the accident. Forgetting hispain, he hurried to the scene, only to find his heart's delight lyingpale, bleeding and unconscious, beside the old Negro who hadsacrificed his life to save him. 

A doctor, who had been hastily summoned, pronounced Peter dead. Philshowed no superficial injury, save a cut upon the head, from which thebleeding was soon stanched. A Negro's strong arms bore the child tothe house, while the bystanders remained about Peter's body until thearrival of Major McLean, recently elected coroner, who had beenpromptly notified of the accident. Within a few minutes after theofficer's appearance, a jury was summoned from among the bystanders, the evidence of the trainmen and several other witnesses was taken, and a verdict of accidental death rendered. There was no suggestion ofblame attaching to any one; it had been an accident, pure and simple, which ordinary and reasonable prudence could not have foreseen. 

By the colonel's command, the body of his old servant was thenconveyed to the house and laid out in the front parlour. Every honour, every token of respect, should be paid to his remains. 

_Thirty-two_

Meanwhile the colonel, forgetting his own hurt, hovered, with severalphysicians, among them Doctor Price, around the bedside of his child. The slight cut upon the head, the physicians declared, was not, ofitself, sufficient to account for the rapid sinking which set inshortly after the boy's removal to the house. There had evidently beensome internal injury, the nature of which could not be ascertained. Phil remained unconscious for several hours, but toward the end of theday opened his blue eyes and fixed them upon his father, who wassitting by the bedside. 

"Papa, " he said, "am I going to die?"

"No, no, Phil, " said his father hopefully. "You are going to get wellin a few days, I hope. "

Phil was silent for a moment, and looked around him curiously. He gaveno sign of being in pain. 

"Is Miss Laura here?"

"Yes, Phil, she's in the next room, and will be here in a moment. "

At that instant Miss Laura came in and kissed him. The caress gave himpleasure, and he smiled sweetly in return. 

"Papa, was Uncle Peter hurt?"

"Yes, Phil. "

"Where is he, papa? Was he hurt badly?"

"He is lying in another room, Phil, but he is not in any pain. "

"Papa, " said Phil, after a pause, "if I should die, and if Uncle Petershould die, you'll remember your promise and bury him near me, won'tyou, dear?"

"Yes, Phil, " he said, "but you are not going to die!"

But Phil died, dozing off into a peaceful sleep in which he passedquietly away with a smile upon his face. 

It required all the father's fortitude to sustain the blow, with theadded agony of self-reproach that he himself had been unwittingly thecause of it. Had he not sent old Peter into the house, the child wouldnot have been left alone. Had he kept his eye upon Phil until Peter'sreturn the child would not have strayed away. He had neglected hischild, while the bruised and broken old black man in the room belowhad given his life to save him. He could do nothing now to show thechild his love or Peter his gratitude, and the old man had neitherwife nor child in whom the colonel's bounty might find an object. Buthe would do what he could. He would lay his child's body in the oldfamily lot in the cemetery, among the bones of his ancestors, andthere too, close at hand, old Peter should have honourable sepulture. It was his due, and would be the fulfilment of little Phil's lastrequest. 

The child was laid out in the parlour, amid a mass of flowers. MissLaura, for love of him and of the colonel, with her own hands preparedhis little body for the last sleep. The undertaker, who hoveredaround, wished, with a conventional sense of fitness, to remove oldPeter's body to a back room. But the colonel said no. 

"They died together; together they shall lie here, and they shall beburied together. "

He gave instructions as to the location of the graves in the cemeterylot. The undertaker looked thoughtful. 

"I hope, sir, " said the undertaker, "there will be no objection. It'snot customary--there's a coloured graveyard--you might put up a nicetombstone there--and you've been away from here a long time, sir. "

"If any one objects, " said the colonel, "send him to me. The lot ismine, and I shall do with it as I like. My great-great-grandfathergave the cemetery to the town. Old Peter's skin was black, but hisheart was white as any man's! And when a man reaches the grave, he isnot far from God, who is no respecter of persons, and in whosepresence, on the judgment day, many a white man shall be black, andmany a black man white. "

The funeral was set for the following afternoon. The graves were to bedug in the morning. The undertaker, whose business was dependent uponpublic favour, and who therefore shrank from any step which mightaffect his own popularity, let it be quietly known that Colonel Frenchhad given directions to bury Peter in Oak Cemetery. 

It was inevitable that there should be some question raised about sonovel a proceeding. The colour line in Clarendon, as in all Southerntowns, was, on the surface at least, rigidly drawn, and extended fromthe cradle to the grave. No Negro's body had ever profaned the sacredsoil of Oak Cemetery. The protestants laid the matter before theCemetery trustees, and a private meeting was called in the evening toconsider the proposed interment. 

White and black worshipped the same God, in different churches. Therehad been a time when coloured people filled the galleries of the whitechurches, and white ladies had instilled into black children theprinciples of religion and good morals. But as white and black hadgrown nearer to each other in condition, they had grown farther apartin feeling. It was difficult for the poor lady, for instance, topatronise the children of the well-to-do Negro or mulatto; nor was thelatter inclined to look up to white people who had started, in hismemory, from a position but little higher than his own. In an era ofchange, the benefits gained thereby seemed scarcely to offset thedifficulties of readjustment. 

The situation was complicated by a sense of injury on both sides. Cherishing their theoretical equality of citizenship, which they couldneither enforce nor forget, the Negroes resented, noisly or silently, as prudence dictated, its contemptuous denial by the whites; andthese, viewing this shadowy equality as an insult to themselves, hadsought by all the machinery of local law to emphasise and perpetuatetheir own superiority. The very word "equality" was an offence. Society went back to Egypt and India for its models; to break castewas a greater sin than to break any or all of the ten commandments. White and coloured children studied the same books in differentschools. White and black people rode on the same trains in separatecars. Living side by side, and meeting day by day, the law, made andadministered by white men, had built a wall between them. 

And white and black buried their dead in separate graveyards. Notuntil they reached God's presence could they stand side by side in anyrelation of equality. There was a Negro graveyard in Clarendon, where, as a matter of course the coloured dead were buried. It was not anideal locality. The land was low and swampy, and graves must be usedquickly, ere the water collected in them. The graveyard was unfenced, and vagrant cattle browsed upon its rank herbage. The embankment ofthe railroad encroached upon one side of it, and the passing enginessifted cinders and ashes over the graves. But no Negro had everthought of burying his dead elsewhere, and if their cemetery was notwell kept up, whose fault was it but their own?

The proposition, therefore, of a white man, even of Colonel French'sstanding, to bury a Negro in Oak Cemetery, was bound to occasioncomment, if nothing more. There was indeed more. Several citizensobjected to the profanation, and laid their protest before the mayor, who quietly called a meeting of the board of cemetery trustees, ofwhich he was the chairman. 

The trustees were five in number. The board, with the single exceptionof the mayor, was self-perpetuating, and the members had been chosen, as vacancies occurred by death, at long intervals, from among thearistocracy, who had always controlled it. The mayor, a member andchairman of the board by virtue of his office, had sprung from thesame class as Fetters, that of the aspiring poor whites, who, freedfrom the moral incubus of slavery, had by force of numbers andambition secured political control of the State and relegated not onlythe Negroes, but the old master class, to political obscurity. Ashrewd, capable man was the mayor, who despised Negroes and distrustedaristocrats, and had the courage of his convictions. He represented inthe meeting the protesting element of the community. 

"Gentlemen, " he said, "Colonel French has ordered this Negro to beburied in Oak Cemetery. We all appreciate the colonel's worth, andwhat he is doing for the town. But he has lived at the North for manyyears, and has got somewhat out of our way of thinking. We do not wantto buy the prosperity of this town at the price of our principles. Theattitude of the white people on the Negro question is fixed anddetermined for all time, and nothing can ever alter it. To bury thisNegro in Oak Cemetery is against our principles. "

"The mayor's statement of the rule is quite correct, " replied oldGeneral Thornton, a member of the board, "and not open to question. But all rules have their exceptions. It was against the law, for someyears before the war, to manumit a slave; but an exception to thatsalutary rule was made in case a Negro should render some greatservice to the State or the community. You will recall that when, in asister State, a Negro climbed the steep roof of St. Michael's churchand at the risk of his own life saved that historic structure, thepride of Charleston, from destruction by fire, the muncipality grantedhim his freedom. "

"And we all remember, " said Mr. Darden, another of the trustees, "weall remember, at least I'm sure General Thornton does, old Sally, whoused to belong to the McRae family, and was a member of thePresbyterian Church, and who, because of her age and infirmities--shewas hard of hearing and too old to climb the stairs to thegallery--was given a seat in front of the pulpit, on the main floor. "

"That was all very well, " replied the mayor, stoutly, "when theNegroes belonged to you, and never questioned your authority. Buttimes are different now. They think themselves as good as we are. Wehad them pretty well in hand until Colonel French came around, withhis schools, and his high wages, and now they are getting so fat andsassy that there'll soon be no living with them. The last election didsomething, but we'll have to do something more, and that soon, to keepthem in their places. There's one in jail now, alive, who has shot anddisfigured and nearly killed two good white men, and such an exampleof social equality as burying one in a white graveyard will demoralisethem still further. We must preserve the purity and prestige of ourrace, and we can only do it by keeping the Negroes down. "

"After all, " said another member, "the purity of our race is not aptto suffer very seriously from the social equality of a graveyard. "

"And old Peter will be pretty effectually kept down, wherever he isburied, " added another. 

These sallies provoked a smile which lightened the tension. A membersuggested that Colonel French be sent for. 

"It seems a pity to disturb him in his grief, " said another. 

"It's only a couple of squares, " suggested another. "Let's call in abody and pay our respects. We can bring up the matter incidentally, while there. "

The muscles of the mayor's chin hardened. 

"Colonel French has never been at my house, " he said, "and I shouldn'tcare to seem to intrude. "

"Come on, mayor, " said Mr. Darden, taking the official by the arm, "these fine distinctions are not becoming in the presence of death. The colonel will be glad to see you. "

The mayor could not resist this mark of intimacy on the part of one ofthe old aristocracy, and walked somewhat proudly through the streetarm in arm with Mr. Darden. They paid their respects to the colonel, who was bearing up, with the composure to be expected of a man ofstrong will and forceful character, under a grief of which he wasexquisitely sensible. Touched by a strong man's emotion, which nothingcould conceal, no one had the heart to mention, in the presence of thedead, the object of their visit, and they went away without giving thecolonel any inkling that his course had been seriously criticised. Norwas the meeting resumed after they left the house, even the mayorseeming content to let the matter go by default. 

_Thirty-three_

Fortune favoured Caxton in the matter of the note. Fetters was inClarendon the following morning. Caxton saw him passing, called himinto his office, and produced the note. 

"That's no good, " said Fetters contemptuously. "It was outlawedyesterday. I suppose you allowed I'd forgotten it. On the contrary, I've a memorandum of it in my pocketbook, and I struck it off the listlast night. I always pay my lawful debts, when they're properlydemanded. If this note had been presented yesterday, I'd have paid it. To-day it's too late. It ain't a lawful debt. "

"Do you really mean to say, Mr. Fetters, that you have deliberatelyrobbed those poor women of this money all these years, and are notashamed of it, not even when you're found out, and that you are goingto take refuge behind the statute?"

"Now, see here, Mr. Caxton, " returned Fetters, without apparentemotion, "you want to be careful about the language you use. I mightsue you for slander. You're a young man, that hopes to have a futureand live in this county, where I expect to live and have law businessdone long after some of your present clients have moved away. I didn'towe the estate of John Treadwell one cent--you ought to be lawyerenough to know that. He owed me money, and paid me with a note. Icollected the note. I owed him money and paid it with a note. Whoeverheard of anybody's paying a note that wasn't presented?"

"It's a poor argument, Mr. Fetters. You would have let those ladiesstarve to death before you would have come forward and paid thatdebt. "

"They've never asked me for charity, so I wasn't called on to offerit. And you know now, don't you, that if I'd paid the amount of thatnote, and then it had turned up afterward in somebody else's hands, I'd have had to pay it over again; now wouldn't I?"

Caxton could not deny it. Fetters had robbed the Treadwell estate, buthis argument was unanswerable. 

"Yes, " said Caxton, "I suppose you would. "

"I'm sorry for the women, " said Fetters, "and I've stood ready to paythat note all these years, and it ain't my fault that it hasn't beenpresented. Now it's outlawed, and you couldn't expect a man to justgive away that much money. It ain't a lawful debt, and the law's goodenough for me. "

"You're awfully sorry for the ladies, aren't you?" said Caxton, withthinly veiled sarcasm. 

"I surely am; I'm honestly sorry for them. "

"And you'd pay the note if you had to, wouldn't you?" asked Caxton. 

"I surely would. As I say, I always pay my legal debts. "

"All right, " said Caxton triumphantly, "then you'll pay this. I filedsuit against you yesterday, which takes the case out of the statute. "

Fetters concealed his discomfiture. 

"Well, " he said, with quiet malignity, "I've nothing more to say tillI consult my lawyer. But I want to tell you one thing. You are ruininga fine career by standing in with this Colonel French. I hear his sonwas killed to-day. You can tell him I say it's a judgment on him; forI hold him responsible for my son's condition. He came down here andtried to demoralise the labour market. He put false notions in theniggers' heads. Then he got to meddling with my business, trying toget away a nigger whose time I had bought. He insulted my agentTurner, and came all the way down to Sycamore and tried to bully meinto letting the nigger loose, and of course I wouldn't be bullied. Afterwards, when I offered to let the nigger go, the colonel wouldn'thave it so. I shall always believe he bribed one of my men to get thenigger off, and then turned him loose to run amuck among the whitepeople and shoot my boy and my overseer. It was a low-downperformance, and unworthy of a gentleman. No really white man wouldtreat another white man so. You can tell him I say it's a judgmentthat's fallen on him to-day, and that it's not the last one, and thathe'll be sorrier yet that he didn't stay where he was, with hisnigger-lovin' notions, instead of comin' back down here to maketrouble for people that have grown up with the State and made it whatit is. "

Caxton, of course, did not deliver the message. To do so would havebeen worse taste than Fetters had displayed in sending it. Having gotthe best of the encounter, Caxton had no objection to letting hisdefeated antagonist discharge his venom against the absent colonel, who would never know of it, and who was already breasting the waves ofa sorrow so deep and so strong as almost to overwhelm him. For he hadloved the boy; all his hopes had centred around this beautiful manchild, who had promised so much that was good. His own future had beenplanned with reference to him. Now he was dead, and the bereavedfather gave way to his grief. 

_Thirty-four_

The funeral took place next day, from the Episcopal Church, in whichcommunion the little boy had been baptised, and of which old Peter hadalways been an humble member, faithfully appearing every Sundaymorning in his seat in the gallery, long after the rest of his peoplehad deserted it for churches of their own. On this occasion Peter had, for the first time, a place on the main floor, a little to one side ofthe altar, in front of which, banked with flowers, stood the whitevelvet casket which contained all that was mortal of little Phil. Thesame beautiful sermon answered for both. In touching words, therector, a man of culture, taste and feeling, and a faithful servant ofhis Master, spoke of the sweet young life brought to so untimely anend, and pointed the bereaved father to the best source ofconsolation. He paid a brief tribute to the faithful servant andhumble friend, to whom, though black and lowly, the white people ofthe town were glad to pay this signal tribute of respect andappreciation for his heroic deed. The attendance at the funeral, whileit might have been larger, was composed of the more refined andcultured of the townspeople, from whom, indeed, the church derivedmost of its membership and support; and the gallery overflowed withcoloured people, whose hearts had warmed to the great honour thus paidto one of their race. Four young white men bore Phil's body and thesix pallbearers of old Peter were from among the best white people ofthe town. 

The double interment was made in Oak Cemetery. Simultaneously bothbodies were lowered to their last resting-place. Simultaneously asheswere consigned to ashes and dust to dust. The earth was heaped abovethe graves. The mound above little Phil's was buried with flowers, andold Peter's was not neglected. 

Beyond the cemetery wall, a few white men of the commoner sort watchedthe proceedings from a distance, and eyed with grim hostility theNegroes who had followed the procession. They had no part nor parcelin this sentimental folly, nor did they approve of it--in fact theydisapproved of it very decidedly. Among them was the colonel'sdischarged foreman, Jim Green, who was pronounced in his denunciation. 

"Colonel French is an enemy of his race, " he declared to hissympathetic following. "He hires niggers when white men are idle; andpays them more than white men who work are earning. And now he isburying them with white people. "

When the group around the grave began to disperse, the little knot ofdisgruntled spectators moved sullenly away. In the evening they mighthave been seen, most of them, around Clay Jackson's barroom. Turner, the foreman at Fetters's convict farm, was in town that evening, andJackson's was his favourite haunt. For some reason Turner was moresociable than usual, and liquor flowed freely, at his expense. Therewas a great deal of intemperate talk, concerning the Negro in jail forshooting Haines and young Fetters, and concerning Colonel French asthe protector of Negroes and the enemy of white men. 

_Thirty-five_

At the same time that the colonel, dry-eyed and heavy-hearted, hadreturned to his empty house to nurse his grief, another series ofevents was drawing to a climax in the dilapidated house on Mink Run. Even while the preacher was saying the last words over little Phil'sremains, old Malcolm Dudley's illness had taken a sudden and violentturn. He had been sinking for several days, but the decline had beengradual, and there had seemed no particular reason for alarm. Butduring the funeral exercises Ben had begun to feel uneasy--someobscure premonition warned him to hurry homeward. 

As soon as the funeral was over he spoke to Dr. Price, who had beenone of the pallbearers, and the doctor had promised to be at Mink Runin a little while. Ben rode home as rapidly as he could; as he went upthe lane toward the house a Negro lad came forward to take charge ofthe tired horse, and Ben could see from the boy's expression that hehad important information to communicate. 

"Yo' uncle is monst'ous low, sir, " said the boy. "You bettah go in an'see 'im quick, er you'll be too late. Dey ain' nobody wid 'im but oleAun' Viney. "

Ben hurried into the house and to his uncle's room, where MalcolmDudley lay dying. Outside, the sun was setting, and his red rays, shining through the trees into the open window, lit the stage for thelast scene of this belated drama. When Ben entered the room, the sweatof death had gathered on the old man's brow, but his eyes, clear withthe light of reason, were fixed upon old Viney, who stood by thebedside. The two were evidently so absorbed in their own thoughts asto be oblivious to anything else, and neither of them paid theslightest attention to Ben, or to the scared Negro lad, who hadfollowed him and stood outside the door. But marvellous to hear, Vineywas talking, strangely, slowly, thickly, but passionately anddistinctly. 

"You had me whipped, " she said. "Do you remember that? You had mewhipped--whipped--whipped--by a poor white dog I had despised andspurned! You had said that you loved me, and you had promised to freeme--and you had me whipped! But I have had my revenge!"

Her voice shook with passion, a passion at which Ben wondered. Thathis uncle and she had once been young he knew, and that theirrelations had once been closer than those of master and servant; butthis outbreak of feeling from the wrinkled old mulattress seemed asstrange and weird to Ben as though a stone image had waked to speech. Spellbound, he stood in the doorway, and listened to this ghost of avoice long dead. 

"Your uncle came with the money and left it, and went away. Only heand I knew where it was. But I never told you! I could have spoken atany time for twenty-five years, but I never told you! I havewaited--I have waited for this moment! I have gone into the woods andfields and talked to myself by the hour, that I might not forget howto talk--and I have waited my turn, and it is here and now!"

Ben hung breathlessly upon her words. He drew back beyond her range ofvision, lest she might see him, and the spell be broken. Now, hethought, she would tell where the gold was hidden!

"He came, " she said, "and left the gold--two heavy bags of it, and aletter for you. An hour later _he came back and took it all away_, except the letter! The money was here one hour, but in that hour youhad me whipped, and for that you have spent twenty-five years inlooking for nothing--something that was not here! I have had myrevenge! For twenty-five years I have watched you look for--nothing;have seen you waste your time, your property, your life, yourmind--for nothing! For ah, Mars' Ma'colm, you had me whipped--_byanother man_!"

A shadow of reproach crept into the old man's eyes, over which themists of death were already gathering. 

"Yes, Viney, " he whispered, "you have had your revenge! But I wassorry, Viney, for what I did, and you were not. And I forgive you, Viney; but you are unforgiving--even in the presence of death. "

His voice failed, and his eyes closed for the last time. When she sawthat he was dead, by a strange revulsion of feeling the wall ofoutraged pride and hatred and revenge, built upon one brutal andbitterly repented mistake, and labouriously maintained for half alifetime in her woman's heart that even slavery could not crush, crumbled and fell and let pass over it in one great and final floodthe pent-up passions of the past. Bursting into tears--strange tearsfrom eyes that had long forgot to weep--old Viney threw herself downupon her knees by the bedside, and seizing old Malcolm's emaciatedhand in both her own, covered it with kisses, fervent kisses, theghosts of the passionate kisses of their distant youth. 

With a feeling that his presence was something like sacrilege, Benstole away and left her with her dead--the dead master and the deadpast--and thanked God that he lived in another age, and had escapedthis sin. 

As he wandered through the old house, a veil seemed to fall from hiseyes. How old everything was, how shrunken and decayed! The sheen ofthe hidden gold had gilded the dilapidated old house, the neglectedplantation, his own barren life. Now that it was gone, things appearedin their true light. Fortunately he was young enough to retrieve muchof what had been lost. When the old man was buried, he would settlethe estate, sell the land, make some provision for Aunt Viney, andthen, with what was left, go out into the world and try to make aplace for himself and Graciella. For life intrudes its claims eveninto the presence of death. 

When the doctor came, a little later, Ben went with him into the deathchamber. Viney was still kneeling by her master's bedside, butstrangely still and silent. The doctor laid his hand on hers and oldMalcolm's, which had remained clasped together. 

"They are both dead, " he declared. "I knew their story; my father toldit to me many years ago. "

Ben related what he had overheard. 

"I'm not surprised, " said the doctor. "My father attended her when shehad the stroke, and after. He always maintained that Viney couldspeak--if she had wished to speak. "

_Thirty-six_

The colonel's eyes were heavy with grief that night, and yet he layawake late, and with his sorrow were mingled many consoling thoughts. The people, his people, had been kind, aye, more than kind. Their warmhearts had sympathised with his grief. He had sometimes been impatientof their conservatism, their narrowness, their unreasoning pride ofopinion; but in his bereavement they had manifested a feeling that itwould be beautiful to remember all the days of his life. All thepeople, white and black, had united to honour his dead. 

He had wished to help them--had tried already. He had loved the townas the home of his ancestors, which enshrined their ashes. He wouldmake of it a monument to mark his son's resting place. His fightagainst Fetters and what he represented should take on a newcharacter; henceforward it should be a crusade to rescue fromthreatened barbarism the land which contained the tombs of his lovedones. Nor would he be alone in the struggle, which he now clearlyforesaw would be a long one. The dear, good woman he had asked to behis wife could help him. He needed her clear, spiritual vision; and inhis lifelong sorrow he would need her sympathy and companionship; forshe had loved the child and would share his grief. She knew the peoplebetter than he, and was in closer touch with them; she could help himin his schemes of benevolence, and suggest new ways to benefit thepeople. Phil's mother was buried far away, among her own people; couldhe consult her, he felt sure she would prefer to remain there. Hereshe would be an alien note; and when Laura died she could lie withthem and still be in her own place. 

"Have you heard the news, sir, " asked the housekeeper, when he camedown to breakfast the next morning. 

"No, Mrs. Hughes, what is it?"

"They lynched the Negro who was in jail for shooting young Mr. Fettersand the other man. "

The colonel hastily swallowed a cup of coffee and went down town. Itwas only a short walk. Already there were excited crowds upon thestreet, discussing the events of the night. The colonel sought Caxton, who was just entering his office. 

"They've done it, " said the lawyer. 

"So I understand. When did it happen?"

"About one o'clock last night. A crowd came in from Sycamore--not allat once, but by twos and threes, and got together in Clay Johnson'ssaloon, with Ben Green, your discharged foreman, and a lot of otherriffraff, and went to the sheriff, and took the keys, and took Johnsonand carried him out to where the shooting was, and----"

"Spare me the details. He is dead?"

"Yes. "

A rope, a tree--a puff of smoke, a flash of flame--or a barbaric orgyof fire and blood--what matter which? At the end there was a lump ofclay, and a hundred murderers where there had been one before. 

"Can we do anything to punish _this_ crime?"

"We can try. "

And they tried. The colonel went to the sheriff. The sheriff said hehad yielded to force, but he never would have dreamed of shooting todefend a worthless Negro who had maimed a good white man, had nearlykilled another, and had declared a vendetta against the white race. 

By noon the colonel had interviewed as many prominent men as he couldfind, and they became increasingly difficult to find as it becameknown that he was seeking them. The town, he said, had been disgraced, and should redeem itself by prosecuting the lynchers. He may as wellhave talked to the empty air. The trail of Fetters was all over thetown. Some of the officials owed Fetters money; others were underpolitical obligations to him. Others were plainly of the opinion thatthe Negro got no more than he deserved; such a wretch was not fit tolive. The coroner's jury returned a verdict of suicide, a grim jokewhich evoked some laughter. Doctor McKenzie, to whom the colonelexpressed his feelings, and whom he asked to throw the influence ofhis church upon the side of law and order, said:

"It is too bad. I am sorry, but it is done. Let it rest. No good canever come of stirring it up further. "

Later in the day there came news that the lynchers, after completingtheir task, had proceeded to the Dudley plantation and whipped all theNegroes who did not learn of their coming in time to escape, the claimbeing that Johnson could not have maintained himself in hiding withouttheir connivance, and that they were therefore parties to his crimes. 

The colonel felt very much depressed when he went to bed that night, and lay for a long time turning over in his mind the problem thatconfronted him. 

So far he had been beaten, except in the matter of the cotton mill, which was yet unfinished. His efforts in Bud Johnson's behalf--theonly thing he had undertaken to please the woman he loved, had provedabortive. His promise to the teacher--well, he had done his part, butto no avail. He would be ashamed to meet Taylor face to face. Withwhat conscience could a white man in Clarendon ever again ask a Negroto disclose the name or hiding place of a coloured criminal? In theeffort to punish the lynchers he stood, to all intents and purposes, single-handed and alone; and without the support of public opinion hecould do nothing. 

The colonel was beaten, but not dismayed. Perhaps God in his wisdomhad taken Phil away, that his father might give himself morecompletely and single-mindedly to the battle before him. Had Phillived, a father might have hesitated to expose a child's young andimpressionable mind to the things which these volcanic outbursts ofpassion between mismated races might cause at any unforeseen moment. Now that the way was clear, he could go forward, hand in hand with thegood woman who had promised to wed him, in the work he had laid out. He would enlist good people to demand better laws, under which Fettersand his kind would find it harder to prey upon the weak. 

Diligently he would work to lay wide and deep the foundations ofprosperity, education and enlightenment, upon which should restjustice, humanity and civic righteousness. In this he would find aworthy career. Patiently would he await the results of his labours, and if they came not in great measure in his own lifetime, he would becontent to know that after years would see their full fruition. 

So that night he sat down and wrote a long answer to Kirby's letter, in which he told him of Phil's death and burial, and his own grief. Something there was, too, of his plans for the future, including hismarriage to a good woman who would help him in them. Kirby, he said, had offered him a golden opportunity for which he thanked himheartily. The scheme was good enough for any one to venture upon. Butto carry out his own plans, would require that he invest his money inthe State of his residence, where there were many openings for capitalthat could afford to wait upon development for large returns. He senthis best regards to Mrs. Jerviss, and his assurance that Kirby's planwas a good one. Perhaps Kirby and she alone could handle it; if not, there must be plenty of money elsewhere for so good a thing. 

He sealed the letter, and laid it aside to be mailed in the morning. To his mind it had all the force of a final renunciation, a severanceof the last link that bound him to his old life. 

Long the colonel lay thinking, after he retired to rest, and themuffled striking of the clock downstairs had marked the hour ofmidnight ere he fell asleep. And he had scarcely dozed away, when hewas awakened by a scraping noise, as though somewhere in the house aheavy object was being drawn across the floor. The sound was notrepeated, however, and thinking it some trick of the imagination, hesoon slept again. 

As the colonel slept this second time, he dreamed of a regeneratedSouth, filled with thriving industries, and thronged with a prosperousand happy people, where every man, having enough for his needs, waswilling that every other man should have the same; where law and ordershould prevail unquestioned, and where every man could enter, throughthe golden gate of hope, the field of opportunity, where lay theprizes of life, which all might have an equal chance to win or lose. 

For even in his dreams the colonel's sober mind did not stray beyondthe bounds of reason and experience. That all men would ever be equalhe did not even dream; there would always be the strong and the weak, the wise and the foolish. But that each man, in his little life inthis our little world might be able to make the most of himself, wasan ideal which even the colonel's waking hours would not haverepudiated. 

Following this pleasing thread with the unconscious rapidity ofdreams, the colonel passed, in a few brief minutes, through a long anduseful life to a happy end, when he too rested with his fathers, bythe side of his son, and on his tomb was graven what was said of BenAdhem: "Here lies one who loved his fellow men, " and the furtherwords, "and tried to make them happy. "

 * * * * *

Shortly after dawn there was a loud rapping at the colonel's door:

"Come downstairs and look on de piazza, Colonel, " said the agitatedvoice of the servant who had knocked. "Come quick, suh. "

There was a vague terror in the man's voice that stirred the colonelstrangely. He threw on a dressing gown and hastened downstairs, and tothe front door of the hall, which stood open. A handsome mahoganyburial casket, stained with earth and disfigured by rough handling, rested upon the floor of the piazza, where it had been depositedduring the night. Conspicuously nailed to the coffin lid was a sheetof white paper, upon which were some lines rudely scrawled in ahandwriting that matched the spelling:

 _Kurnell French_:

 _Take notis. Berry yore ole nigger somewhar else. He can't stay in Oak Semitury. The majority of the white people of this town, who dident tend yore nigger funarl, woant have him there. Niggers by there selves, white peepul by there selves, and them that lives in our town must bide by our rules. _

 _By order of_ CUMITTY. 

The colonel left the coffin standing on the porch, where it remainedall day, an object of curious interest to the scores and hundreds whowalked by to look at it, for the news spread quickly through the town. No one, however, came in. If there were those who reprobated theaction they were silent. The mob spirit, which had broken out in thelynching of Johnson, still dominated the town, and no one dared tospeak against it. 

As soon as Colonel French had dressed and breakfasted, he drove overto the cemetery. Those who had exhumed old Peter's remains had notbeen unduly careful. The carelessly excavated earth had been scatteredhere and there over the lot. The flowers on old Peter's grave and thatof little Phil had been trampled under foot--whether wantonly or not, inevitably, in the execution of the ghoulish task. 

The colonel's heart hardened as he stood by his son's grave. Then hetook a long lingering look at the tombs of his ancestors and turnedaway with an air of finality. 

From the cemetery he went to the undertaker's, and left an order;thence to the telegraph office, from which he sent a message to hisformer partner in New York; and thence to the Treadwells'. 

_Thirty-seven_

Miss Laura came forward with outstretched hands and tear-stained eyesto greet him. 

"Henry, " she exclaimed, "I am shocked and sorry, I cannot tell you howmuch! Nor do I know what else to say, except that the best people donot--cannot--could not--approve of it!"

"The best people, Laura, " he said with a weary smile, "are anabstraction. When any deviltry is on foot they are never there toprevent it--they vanish into thin air at its approach. When it isdone, they excuse it; and they make no effort to punish it. So it isnot too much to say that what they permit they justify, and theycannot shirk the responsibility. To mar the living--it is the historyof life--but to make war upon the dead!--I am going away, Laura, neverto return. My dream of usefulness is over. To-night I take away mydead and shake the dust of Clarendon from my feet forever. Will youcome with me?"

"Henry, " she said, and each word tore her heart, "I have beenexpecting this--since I heard. But I cannot go; my duty calls me here. My mother could not be happy anywhere else, nor would I fit into anyother life. And here, too, I am useful--and may still be useful--andshould be missed. I know your feelings, and would not try to keep you. But, oh, Henry, if all of those who love justice and practise humanityshould go away, what would become of us?"

"I leave to-night, " he returned, "and it is your right to go with me, or to come to me. "

"No, Henry, nor am I sure that you would wish me to. It was for theold town's sake that you loved me. I was a part of your dream--a partof the old and happy past, upon which you hoped to build, as upon thefoundations of the old mill, a broader and a fairer structure. Do youremember what you told me, that night--that happy night--that youloved me because in me you found the embodiment of an ideal? Well, Henry, that is why I did not wish to make our engagement known, for Iknew, I felt, the difficulty of your task, and I foresaw that youmight be disappointed, and I feared that if your ideal should bewrecked, you might find me a burden. I loved you, Henry--I seem tohave always loved you, but I would not burden you. "

"No, no, Laura--not so! not so!"

"And you wanted me for Phil's sake, whom we both loved; and now thatyour dream is over, and Phil is gone, I should only remind you ofwhere you lost him, and of your disappointment, and of--this otherthing, and I could not be sure that you loved me or wanted me. "

"Surely you cannot doubt it, Laura?" His voice was firm, but to hersensitive spirit it did not carry conviction. 

"You remembered me from my youth, " she continued tremulously butbravely, "and it was the image in your memory that you loved. And now, when you go away, the old town will shrink and fade from your memoryand your heart and you will have none but harsh thoughts of it; norcan I blame you greatly, for you have grown far away from us, and weshall need many years to overtake you. Nor do you need me, Henry--I amtoo old to learn new ways, and elsewhere than here I should be ahindrance to you rather than a help. But in the larger life to whichyou go, think of me now and then as one who loves you still, and whowill try, in her poor way, with such patience as she has, to carry onthe work which you have begun, and which you--Oh, Henry!"

He divined her thought, though her tear-filled eyes spoke sorrowrather than reproach. 

"Yes, " he said sadly, "which I have abandoned. Yes, Laura, abandoned, fully and forever. "

The colonel was greatly moved, but his resolution remained unshaken. 

"Laura, " he said, taking both her hands in his, "I swear that I shouldbe glad to have you with me. Come away! The place is not fit for youto live in!"

"No, Henry! it cannot be! I could not go! My duty holds me here! Godwould not forgive me if I abandoned it. Go your way; live your life. Marry some other woman, if you must, who will make you happy. But Ishall keep, Henry--nothing can ever take away from me--the memory ofone happy summer. "

"No, no, Laura, it need not be so! I shall write you. You'll thinkbetter of it. But I go to-night--not one hour longer than I must, willI remain in this town. I must bid your mother and Graciella good-bye. "

He went into the house. Mrs. Treadwell was excited and sorry, andwould have spoken at length, but the colonel's farewells were brief. 

"I cannot stop to say more than good-bye, dear Mrs. Treadwell. I havespent a few happy months in my old home, and now I am going away. Laura will tell you the rest. "

Graciella was tearfully indignant. 

"It was a shame!" she declared. "Peter was a good old nigger, and itwouldn't have done anybody any harm to leave him there. I'd rather beburied beside old Peter than near any of the poor white trash that dughim up--so there! I'm so sorry you're going away; but I hope, sometime, " she added stoutly, "to see you in New York! Don't forget!"

"I'll send you my address, " said the colonel. 

_Thirty-eight_

It was a few weeks later. Old Ralph Dudley and Viney had been buried. Ben Dudley had ridden in from Mink Run, had hitched his horse in theback yard as usual, and was seated on the top step of the piazzabeside Graciella. His elbows rested on his knees, and his chin uponhis hand. Graciella had unconsciously imitated his drooping attitude. Both were enshrouded in the deepest gloom, and had been sunk, forseveral minutes, in a silence equally profound. Graciella was thefirst to speak. 

"Well, then, " she said with a deep sigh, "there is absolutely nothingleft?"

"Not a thing, " he groaned hopelessly, "except my horse and my clothes, and a few odds and ends which belong to me. Fetters will have theland--there's not enough to pay the mortgages against it, and I'm indebt for the funeral expenses. "

"And what are you going to do?"

"Gracious knows--I wish I did! I came over to consult the family. Ihave no trade, no profession, no land and no money. I can get a job atbraking on the railroad--or may be at clerking in a store. I'd haveasked the colonel for something in the mill--but that chance is gone. "

"Gone, " echoed Graciella, gloomily. "I see my fate! I shall marry you, because I can't help loving you, and couldn't live without you; and Ishall never get to New York, but be, all my life, a poor man's wife--apoor white man's wife. "

"No, Graciella, we might be poor, but not poor-white! Our blood willstill be of the best. "

"It will be all the same. Blood without money may count for onegeneration, but it won't hold out for two. "

They relapsed into a gloom so profound, so rayless, that they mightalmost be said to have reveled in it. It was lightened, or at least adiversion was created by Miss Laura's opening the garden gate andcoming up the walk. Ben rose as she approached, and Graciella lookedup. 

"I have been to the post-office, " said Miss Laura. "Here is a letterfor you, Ben, addressed in my care. It has the New York postmark. "

"Thank you, Miss Laura. "

Eagerly Ben's hand tore the envelope and drew out the enclosure. Swiftly his eyes devoured the lines; they were typewritten and easy tofollow. 

"Glory!" he shouted, "glory hallelujah! Listen!"

He read the letter aloud, while Graciella leaned against his shoulderand feasted her eyes upon the words. The letter was from ColonelFrench:

 _"My dear Ben_:

 _I was very much impressed with the model of a cotton gin and press which I saw you exhibit one day at Mrs. Treadwells'. You have a fine genius for mechanics, and the model embodies, I think, a clever idea, which is worth working up. If your uncle's death has left you free to dispose of your time, I should like to have you come on to New York with the model, and we will take steps to have the invention patented at once, and form a company for its manufacture. As an evidence of good faith, I enclose my draft for five hundred dollars, which can be properly accounted for in our future arrangements. _"

"O Ben!" gasped Graciella, in one long drawn out, ecstatic sigh. 

"O Graciella!" exclaimed Ben, as he threw his arms around her andkissed her rapturously, regardless of Miss Laura's presence. "Now youcan go to New York as soon as you like!"

_Thirty-nine_

Colonel French took his dead to the North, and buried both the littleboy and the old servant in the same lot with his young wife, and inthe shadow of the stately mausoleum which marked her resting-place. There, surrounded by the monuments of the rich and the great, in abeautiful cemetery, which overlooks a noble harbour where the ships ofall nations move in endless procession, the body of the faithfulservant rests beside that of the dear little child whom he unwittinglylured to his death and then died in the effort to save. And in all thegreat company of those who have laid their dead there in love or inhonour, there is none to question old Peter's presence or thecolonel's right to lay him there. Sometimes, at night, a ray of lightfrom the uplifted torch of the Statue of Liberty, the gift of a freepeople to a free people, falls athwart the white stone which marks hisresting place--fit prophecy and omen of the day when the sun ofliberty shall shine alike upon all men. 

When the colonel went away from Clarendon, he left his affairs inCaxton's hands, with instructions to settle them up as expeditiouslyas possible. The cotton mill project was dropped, and existingcontracts closed on the best terms available. Fetters paid the oldnote--even he would not have escaped odium for so bare-faced arobbery--and Mrs. Treadwell's last days could be spent in comfort andMiss Laura saved from any fear for her future, and enabled to givemore freely to the poor and needy. Barclay Fetters recovered the useof one eye, and embittered against the whole Negro race by hisdisfigurement, went into public life and devoted his talents and hiseducation to their debasement. The colonel had relented sufficientlyto contemplate making over to Miss Laura the old family residence intrust for use as a hospital, with a suitable fund for its maintenance, but it unfortunately caught fire and burned down--and he was hardlysorry. He sent Catherine, Bud Johnson's wife, a considerable sum ofmoney, and she bought a gorgeous suit of mourning, and after a decentinterval consoled herself with a new husband. And he sent word to thecommittee of coloured men to whom he had made a definite promise, thathe would be ready to fulfil his obligation in regard to their schoolwhenever they should have met the conditions. 

 * * * * *

One day, a year or two after leaving Clarendon, as the colonel, incompany with Mrs. French, formerly a member of his firm, now hispartner in a double sense--was riding upon a fast train between NewYork and Chicago, upon a trip to visit a western mine in which thereorganised French and Company, Limited, were interested, he noticedthat the Pullman car porter, a tall and stalwart Negro, was watchinghim furtively from time to time. Upon one occasion, when the colonelwas alone in the smoking-room, the porter addressed him. 

"Excuse me, suh, " he said, "I've been wondering ever since we left NewYork, if you wa'n't Colonel French?"

"Yes, I'm Mr. French--Colonel French, if you want it so. "

"I 'lowed it must be you, suh, though you've changed the cut of yourbeard, and are looking a little older, suh. I don't suppose youremember me?"

"I've seen you somewhere, " said the colonel--no longer the colonel, but like the porter, let us have it so. "Where was it?"

"I'm Henry Taylor, suh, that used to teach school at Clarendon. Ireckon you remember me now. "

"Yes, " said the colonel sadly, "I remember you now, Taylor, to mysorrow. I didn't keep my word about Johnson, did I?"

"Oh, yes, suh, " replied the porter, "I never doubted but what you'dkeep your word. But you see, suh, they were too many for you. Thereain't no one man can stop them folks down there when they once getstarted. "

"And what are you doing here, Taylor?"

"Well, suh, the fact is that after you went away, it got out somehowthat I had told on Bud Johnson. I don't know how they learned it, andof course I knew you didn't tell it; but somebody must have seen megoing to your house, or else some of my enemies guessed it--andhappened to guess right--and after that the coloured folks wouldn'tsend their children to me, and I lost my job, and wasn't able to getanother anywhere in the State. The folks said I was an enemy of myrace, and, what was more important to me, I found that my race was anenemy to me. So I got out, suh, and I came No'th, hoping to findsomethin' better. This is the best job I've struck yet, but I'm hopingthat sometime or other I'll find something worth while. "

"And what became of the industrial school project?" asked the colonel. "I've stood ready to keep my promise, and more, but I never heard fromyou. "

"Well, suh, after you went away the enthusiasm kind of died out, andsome of the white folks throwed cold water on it, and it fell through, suh. "

When the porter came along, before the train reached Chicago, thecolonel offered Taylor a handsome tip. 

"Thank you, suh, " said the porter, "but I'd rather not take it. I'm aporter now, but I wa'n't always one, and hope I won't always be one. And during all the time I taught school in Clarendon, you was the onlywhite man that ever treated me quite like a man--and our folks justlike people--and if you won't think I'm presuming, I'd rather not takethe money. "

The colonel shook hands with him, and took his address. Shortlyafterward he was able to find him something better than menialemployment, where his education would give him an opportunity foradvancement. Taylor is fully convinced that his people will never getvery far along in the world without the good will of the white people, but he is still wondering how they will secure it. For he regardsColonel French as an extremely fortunate accident. 

 * * * * *

And so the colonel faltered, and, having put his hand to the plow, turned back. But was not his, after all, the only way? For no more nowthan when the Man of Sorrows looked out over the Mount of Olives, canmen gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles. The seed which thecolonel sowed seemed to fall by the wayside, it is true; but othereyes have seen with the same light, and while Fetters and his kindstill dominate their section, other hands have taken up the fightwhich the colonel dropped. In manufactures the South has gone forwardby leaps and bounds. The strong arm of the Government, guided by awise and just executive, has been reached out to crush the poisonousgrowth of peonage, and men hitherto silent have raised their voices tocommend. Here and there a brave judge has condemned the infamy of thechain-gang and convict lease systems. Good men, North and South, havebanded themselves together to promote the cause of popular education. Slowly, like all great social changes, but visibly, to the eye offaith, is growing up a new body of thought, favourable to just lawsand their orderly administration. In this changed attitude of mindlies the hope of the future, the hope of the Republic. 

But Clarendon has had its chance, nor seems yet to have had another. Other towns, some not far from it, lying nearer the main lines oftravel, have been swept into the current of modern life, but not yetClarendon. There the grass grows thicker in the streets. Themeditative cows still graze in the vacant lot between the post-officeand the bank, where the public library was to stand. The old academyhas grown more dilapidated than ever, and a large section of plasterhas fallen from the wall, carrying with it the pencil drawing made inthe colonel's schooldays; and if Miss Laura Treadwell sees that thegraves of the old Frenches are not allowed to grow up in weeds andgrass, the colonel knows nothing of it. The pigs and theloafers--leaner pigs and lazier loafers--still sleep in the shade, when the pound keeper and the constable are not active. The limpidwater of the creek still murmurs down the slope and ripples over thestone foundation of what was to have been the new dam, while the birdshave nested for some years in the vines that soon overgrew theunfinished walls of the colonel's cotton mill. White men go their way, and black men theirs, and these ways grow wider apart, and no oneknows the outcome. But there are those who hope, and those who pray, that this condition will pass, that some day our whole land will betruly free, and the strong will cheerfully help to bear the burdens ofthe weak, and Justice, the seed, and Peace, the flower, of liberty, will prevail throughout all our borders. 

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