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This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place.
Title: Major Brown or Whether White or Black, a Man!, an electronic edition
Author: Davis, Edith Smith, 1859-1917
Publisher: S.W. Partridge and Co.
Place published: London 8 and 9, Paternoster Row, E.C.
Date: 1898
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Front cover for Davis's "Major Brown""HEAH, HONEY, IT AM FRESH AND COOL AS DE GOOD LAWD MADE IT FO' HIS CHILLUN." [p.19. Frontispiece of Davis's "Major Brown or Whether White or Black, a Man!"MAJOR BROWN  OR Whether White or Black, a Man! BY  EDITH SMITH DAVIS "And men shall learn to speak of thee As one of earth's great spirits born In servitude and nursed in scorn, Casting aside the heavy weightIn that strong majesty of soulWhich knows no colour, tongue, or clime."LONDON:S.W. PARTRIDGE & CO.8&9, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.1898TO MY BROTHER IN BLACK,
W. H. CROGMAN,
OF CLARK UNIVERSITY, ATLANTA, GEORGIA,
THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED
BY THE AUTHOR.PREFACE.WHEN Mrs. Stowe wrote her Preface to "Uncle Tom's Cabin," she said: "The scenes of this story lie among a race hitherto ignored by the associations of polite and refined society."The world has greatly changed in these last forty years, and yet, in a large measure, the words of Mrs. Stowe would be true to-day; for any book dealing with the life of the coloured people must speak of a race still largely "ignored by the associations of polite and refined society."It has been my good fortune to know men and women among the coloured people of the South of such great worth and character, men and women of such sterling qualities, men and women of such culture and refinement, that it has seemed my duty no less than my privilege to make them known to others.In sending out this story, I wish to say that there is no character in it that I have not personally known; no incident that has not been paralleled by fact; and in many instances the words used are the exact words of coloured men uttered under circumstances of similar character.For these words I am indebted to such prominent coloured men as Dr. J. W. E. Bowen, Booker T. Washington, M. C. B. Mason, and Prof. W. H. Crogman.It has also given me great pleasure to remember the words of appreciation spoken by the late Bishop Haygood, and by a few other prominent white men."Major Brown; or, Whether White or Black, a Man!" is sent out with the desire of making men and women better acquainted, not with the typical negro of minstrel shows, or with the negro as caricatured in comic newspapers, but with the refined and cultured negro gentleman.Table of Contents for Davis's "Major Brown or Whether Black or White, a Man!"MAJOR BROWN;

OR, 
WHETHER WHITE OR BLACK, A MAN!CHAPTER I.AN
EVENTFUL MEETING.THE quaint little figure that stood resting on a crutch was the one thing needful to complete a very picturesque scene.To the right stretched the gracefully wooded hills; just in front flowed the "branch," with its banks entirely covered with a great wealth of azalea bushes, all in bloom. To the left a quiet country road seemed to wind about, in and out of the trees, and disappear in the distance.The little figure was clothed in a suit of white linen, very much worn, but clean and neatly patched. An old straw hat rested on the back of the head, and the tangled curls crept out of the holes in every conceivable direction.As the soft summer wind lifted the old straw hat, one caught a glimpse of a small dark face lighted up with a bright, expectant look. Now a cheery whistle breaks the silence, but as there is no response it lapses into a soft, low tune, that sounds very much

like the song of the bird on yonder tree. It is very still now—the little fellow is listening intently."'Pears like I hear him; no, 'tain't him; it's just old Speckle comin' through de branch. Ben's late to-night; wonder why?"Again the cheery whistle rings out, and this time there is an answering one, clear and loud and distinct.The small black face fairly shines as another boy comes into sight around the curve.He is much taller than the little fellow who is waiting for him, and his arms and legs seem, in their rapid growth, to have got away from him, making his movements awkward and ungainly. His trousers, much too short for his long legs, are bespattered with mud. One forlorn button holds his ragged jacket together, while his round face, usually wearing a broad smile, is drawn down into an expression of settled gloom."Hello, Major!" he calls out; "did you think I was never a-comin'?"The crippled boy laughed joyously."No, Ben. I 'spected you'd come, but somethin' kept you, didn't it?"Ben came running up rapidly enough now."Major," he said, "I hate school and teaching an' all such like. Wish I was lame like you, an' I'd never go again."Major's face grew very sober, and, choking back a sob, he said, "Ben, don't wish that. I'd give everything to be able to go to school, but I can't get anywhere. It tired me so to come here to-night, but I must have another lesson, and I've got stuck in one of these sums. Look here!"Ben took up the book and eyed the sum dubiously."Major, you're gettin' beyond me. I 'clare for it. I dunno as I can do it either. Wish now I'd paid 'tention when Miss Haven 'splained it, but I hain't no idea how to go 'bout it."Major looked his horror."Why, Ben, what in the world will I do now?" For a moment Ben was too ashamed and confused to say anything; then he broke out:"Major, I'm just a miserable good-for-nothing. Wish you had my legs hitched on to your head; they ain't no good to me, for they're gettin' me into trouble all the time. They ran away with me to the branch to-day, an' there was an ole line an' tackle there, an' somehow the afternoon was gone afore I knowed it, an' what will Miss Haven say to-morrow when she sees me, an' what will I say? Oh, Major, these legs of mine are a sight of trouble to me!Major burst into a troubled laugh, which ended in a sigh."Ben, it's too bad of you to blame your legs; they only do what you tell 'em to do, but mine can't do that. I keep tellin' them to take me to school, an' they say, 'We can't, we can't.' Ben, how I do want to go to school!"The boy flung himself upon his face and sobbed passionately. Ben bent over him."Don't, Major, don't. It's too bad 'bout your legs, an' I'd no business to be such a blockhead, no business at all. There now, don't cry."It was thus that Miss Haven found them as she turned off from the dusty road to take a short cut to her boarding place.Miss Haven was a Northern girl, known in the

South as a "nigger schoolma'am." She had dark brown eyes and hair of a peculiar shade of red, and a determined mouth and chin; but the striking feature in her face was her brow, broad and high and indicative of idealism in a very marked degree. For ten years she had been teaching in the training school for boys and girls in Eucada.Her enthusiasm in the work knew no bounds. The daughter of an Abolitionist father and mother, she had a very high ideal for the black race. To be able to fit them for the future which she believed awaited them, was a rare opportunity given to her by God himself.As she stood before her classes she became eloquent over the moral effect of well-painted houses, and gardens containing every needful vegetable. The little model home over which she herself presided was to be the kind of a home for every black girl brought under its influence. The stockings which she carefully darned, and the linen which she herself laundried, the dainty glasses of jelly, and the fruit put up in its rows and rows of jars, were simply a part of the education which went side by side with grammar and arithmetic.But to-night she was a trifle discouraged. It was dreadfully lonesome away off in this little city, where nobody cared for her or her work. How stupid her scholars had been to-day, and Ben had run away again! Sometimes she fairly gloried in being a nigger schoolma'am, but not to-night. She had such a homesick longing for companionship. Many carriages had passed her as she walked along, carriages containing sweet, girlish faces, but she never raised her eyes. She had raised them too often to meet the

look of perfect indifference or contempt In the eyes of others. "I do not care," she said to herself; "it is surely God's work, and I know that they will see that it is some day; but it will not be in my day, and I am so tired to-night."Thus musing, she came upon Ben and Major."Why, Ben, where were you this afternoon?"Ben looked down at the tell-tale stains upon his trousers and shoes."'Deed, Miss Haven, I didn't mean it, but I was just telling Major that I wished he had my legs, for they are always gettin' me into trouble. They took me to the branch this afternoon, an' 'deed, Miss Haven, I never once thought of school again, an' I can't do this 'ere example for Major, an' he's clean discouraged 'cause I can't, an' he's just cryin' his heart out over it."Major looked up very much ashamed as he reached for his crutch."Don't, Ben, don't," he said tremulously, and then his face brightened."May-be Miss Haven wouldn't mind showing us how."The teacher looked her interest."Why, Major, of course I will," and taking the book, she sat down on the grassy bank, and soon the perplexing problem was as clear as daylight. Major's eyes danced for joy."Oh, Miss Haven," he cried excitedly, "what couldn't a boy do with such a teacher as you are! Of co'se I don't mean as Ben isn't a good teacher, only sometimes he forgets to explain things, but it's awful good of him to come every night, and I 'preciate him, I tell you."But Miss Haven wanted to know more about Major, and her questions came rapidly. She found that he lived in the small cabin at the end of the lane with his grandmother; that he had always been a cripple, and that he could play on the fiddle and the banjo; and, as Ben expressed it, "could make up mighty sweet tunes, just as sweet as the birds, and make 'em up right out of his own head; an' he could tell all about the birds and the ants an' such things, but he couldn't walk to school, even with his crutch, though he had read everything he could lay his hands on. His mother had taught him to read before she moved away from Georgia to Florida, and now he lived with Aunt Chloe."Ben paused for lack of breath, and Major said hurriedly:"Ben has been so good to me, and always brought me the books you lent him, and he's taught me every day for more than a year."The teacher looked delightedly at Ben."Ben, whoever would have taken you for a ministering spirit? Why, I'll never misjudge you again, and you shall not be punished this time for running away; but, Major, please let me hear you read."She handed him a small volume of "Irving's Sketches" which she had with her.Major opened it hurriedly, and began reading. He had a wonderful voice, deep and rich and soulful. He read a little incoherently at first, and then the sentences came out beautifully."Ah, that will do," said Miss Haven, joyously. "Major, how would you like it, if instead of your coming to the school teacher, the school teacher

should come to you? And Ben shall do his level best to keep up with his old pupil."The boy's dark eyes glistened, and in his excitement he lapsed again into his old dialect, which he had tried to discard while he was talking with the teacher."'Deed, Miss Haven, it 'pears like it can't be true that you'll do it!""I'd love to do it, Major. I get so lonesome, and you would be a world of company and help for me in my lonely hours, even as much of help as I could be to you; but let me go home with you now and see Aunt Chloe.""Granny will be right glad to see you, and she's got through washing by this time. Won't you come too, Ben?""No, thank you," said Ben, "I must hurry home." And away he went, with his shining face and merry whistle, to think that he was once more care free.Miss Haven and Major went together up the long lane, the boy limping painfully, the strong woman longing to help him. She now had a chance to carefully examine him. The shoulders were twisted all awry, but above them was a head of more than ordinary strength. The forehead was remarkably broad and full, the eyes large, and in them shone the clearest light, the nose decidedly flat, the mouth large, the complexion jet-black, and the only trace of Anglo-Saxon blood was in the hair, which was a great mass of soft, silken curls. One foot swung helplessly as the little fellow did his best to hurry.When they came near the end of the lane, they heard a soft, mellow voice singing."The winter, the winter, the winter will soon be over, chillun; yes, my Lawd.""Bress my soul, honey, an' who has you got wid you?""Granny, this is Miss Haven, the school teacher," said Major, falling into a chair and wiping the perspiration from his hot face."Mighty glad to see you, honey, mighty glad. Lemme gib you a chair heah under de arbo', an' I'll just tote a bucket ob water from de spring. Major, chile, don't you stir; Granny can get it in a minute," and away she went with a bucket and a big gourd dipper.Miss Haven looked curiously around her. She had never been in the cabin before, and as she glanced out from under the arbour, it seemed to her that nothing in the wide world could be more beautiful for situation.The peach trees were a mass of pink bloom, and their faint, delicate odour was wafted in under the little arbour. The walk before the door was hedged by a perfect mass of spring wild-flowers--hepaticæ, butter-cups, and sweet English violets.Away down the lane she could see the thick growth of shrubbery on each side of the branch, and the faint tinkle of old Speckle's bell seemed a fitting accompaniment to the drowsy hum of the bees, and the low, soft, almost imperceptible music of the springing grass blades.Miss Haven glanced into the tiny cabin. Clean it was as hands could make it. Coarse dotted muslin curtains were at the two small windows, and a Madeira vine ran over these. A table stood in one corner with a snowy cloth on it, and near it, piled

up in a big basket, was a great heap of clothes folded for the ironing on the morrow.Another smaller room opened out of this one, in which Miss Haven could see two beds covered with bright red and white coverlets. About everything was an air of pervading sweetness and cleanliness."Heah, honey," said Aunt Chloe, bustling in from the other side of the cabin, and pouring the water from the big gourd dipper into a shining tumbler which she gave to Miss Haven, "it am fresh and cool as de good Lawd made it fo' his chillun. An' now, Major, chile, Granny would like you to play an' sing fo' de lady, if she would like to heah you.""Oh, yes, Aunt Chloe, I should like it very much."Major picked up an old banjo that looked as if it had seen much service, and touching it softly, began to play, and then to sing.The words meant scarcely anything, sometimes there were no words at all; but the teacher felt the tears gathering in her eyes as the boy's soft tones grew softer and sweeter, and then ceased almost as if the banjo, too, were sobbing."What's de matter, Major, chile?" asked Aunt Chloe, going to him and taking his head in her hand and pressing it to her side. "You're tired now, an' can't sing none ob de jolly tunes. Neber mind, honey, de lady will come agin."While saying these words she was nodding mysteriously at Miss Haven, as much as to say, "Don't say anything about it, don't, please don't."But Miss Haven could not have spoken about the music if she had tried, and she did not try. Turning to Aunt Chloe, she said, "Major and I have entered
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into a bargain. He is going to help me to be less lonesome, and I am going to teach him every evening after school.""Praise de Lawd!" exclaimed Aunt Chloe. "Granny was suah de way would open, honey, suah, fo' she has axed an' axed, again an' again, fo' de Lawd to teach her boy. Bress de Lawd! He nebber fo'gets his chillun; eben de hairs ob dere heads are all numbered."So it was settled, and a strange and close intimacy grew up between the white woman and the black boy.CHAPTER II.BLACK HOSPITALITY.A FEW weeks after her meeting with Major, Miss Haven one day drove out into the country with a young girl who belonged to their college classes. Annie wished to procure a summer school, as most of the boys and girls depended upon the money earned in the summer teaching to keep them in the college for the remainder of the year. This very fact had done much for the country surrounding Eucada. Eucada was a southern city, with much of what is called northern enterprise. But it was not northern enterprise alone that had made Eucada what it was. The cruel hand of war had been laid heavily upon it, and Sherman, in his march to the sea, had left it a literal waste; but after the war it had risen, phœnixlike, from the ashes of its dead self.A number of very prominent southern men had settled there. Men who, while they had believed in the doctrine of States rights and in the right of holding slaves, had risked life and property and homes for the Confederacy; yet, when they were conquered, determined to make the best of it, and be true to duty as duty was made known to them.Some of these men had made a thorough study of the larger cities of the northern States, and were determined that in the rebuilding of Eucada there should be the same public spirit manifested that they believed was the secret of success in the northern
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cities. So that when the representatives of some of the northern Churches came to Eucada, desiring to open schools for the black people, they, while looking upon these people as fanatics, and telling them that they might as well attempt to teach the cattle as the darkeys, nevertheless made it easy for them to obtain the very best locations for their schools and colleges. Then they washed their hands of the whole matter, but secretly they were greatly interested in the results of the experiment. When they saw some classes organised by these foolish people, who had gone crazy over the darkeys, containing grandmothers as well as toddling urchins, they laughed to themselves. But when, as the years passed, and they saw larger and better school buildings, as they realised that a different type of young manhood and womanhood was beginning to be developed among the black people, they began to question themselves as to who, after all, was a fool in his attitude toward this despised race.They became very curious as to the work being done in the schools, and at last were curious enough even to visit them. One cursory glance at the work being accomplished there convinced them that the "dumb, driven cattle" might, after all, be "heroes in the strife." They were translating Greek and Latin in a truly wonderful manner, and the geometrical figures were strangely faultless for creatures devoid of reason to have drawn.But still, what good was there in it? They could make no use of such learning. But, as time passed, and they saw the mechanical training schools erected side by side with the colleges, and found that the hands were being trained as well as the heads, they

were puzzled again. What did it all mean? What did it portend for the Southern States?There was one thing absolutely certain; the blacks were to be servants, even if they were free, and not only servants, but "niggers;" that was a depth of degradation from which they could never rise. After all, the Northerners were fools to teach them anything more than reading and writing and ciphering. But surely they ought to be taught that much for the good of the State; and so these men made a very careful study of the public school system, and threw the whole weight of their iufluence in making it possible for all the little black poople in Eucada to attend a public school.That was a gain for Eucada, but the country districts were not greatly benefited; only a month or two of school in some places, and the black people paid for this.But when the boys and girls began to go out from the college the coloured people made any and every sacrifice in order to pay for their children's teaching.In some of the country districts a little money was allowed by the State for the schools, and these were then placed under the supervision of white men.Upon this beautiful day in June, Miss Haven and Annie drove out for several miles in order to procure what had always been a very prosperous summer school. For some time they did not notice that a storm was rapidly rising, but as they reached the home of the clerk of the district the storm broke upon them in great fury."Hurry, Annie, hurry!" cried Miss Haven, "I will tie the horse; go into the house at once."Annie ran up the gravelled walk and knocked at the door, which stood wide open. The clerk, who was sitting in the broad hall, at once came forward.Unlike most of the Southern homes, there was no porch on this side of the house.Annie stood upon the step in the pouring rain and quickly made known her desire.Miss Haven now came running up the walk.The man still stood in the open doorway.Miss Haven's face was the picture of astonishment, but he never once asked them to enter the house. A black girl was serving inside, but a girl who sought to teach others while she herself was black, surely was an unfit person to come under one's roof."No, it was doubtful whether she could have the school. There were lots of 'em that wanted it. He didn't know which would get it. In another week she might come again." And then he deliberately closed the door in their faces.Miss Haven's eyes flashed ominously, and her lips were tightly closed. She untied the horse, made restive by the storm, and they quickly drove to a little negro cabin about half a mile distant."Laws, honey!" exclaimed the good old auntie, as Miss Haven and Annie, dripping and breathless, rushed in, "laws, honey, was you out in dis dreffle sto'm?" Without waiting for a word of reply, she took off their drenched hats and bustled into the small room adjoining."Come in heah, bof ob you. Granny ain't got nothin' fine, but dey's all dry, an' better dan drippin' fedders. Come, come, you'll bof ob you get yore deaf ob cold. Heah, put dese on an' lemme put

some sticks on de fiah, an' we'll hab some hot drink."In a few minutes Miss Haven and Annie found themselves divested of their dripping clothing, and in the old auntie's big shawls and dry skirts were comfortably seated before the open fire."Oh, Auntie," Miss Haven said, as she told her the story, "I almost wish that I was black."The old woman laughed until the tears ran down her face."Bless yore heart, honey, you doan wish none such a ting. You'd be right sma't sorry now not to be white, but you see ole Ma'se Pickles he doan like de black folks to know nuffin. He ain't so bad, dough, as he makes hisself look. Las' winter when de rheumatiz took me, he tote ober his own self a whole lot ob sweet pertaters an' a solid side ob bacon. An' he sent de doctor an' pay him in de ba'gain. Oh, he got a sight ob good in his ole heart, only he doan understan' dat black folks like a heap ob tings besides pertaters an' bacon. He doan know dat dey'd a mighty sight ruther hab somethin' in dere heads dan to hab dese tings which am only fo' de po' perishing body."Miss Haven went home not a little comforted to think that the man who seemed so rude and unkind was, after all, at heart tender and thoughtful of those in distress.That summer Miss Haven determined to remain in the South. She usually spent her vacations in a far away Northern state, but she wished to study the home life of her scholars, and she could do this only by visiting them.She decided, therefore, to spend a few weeks with
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one of her pupils who lived in the small village of Jonesburg.As Miss Haven had gone through the South, the prejudice against colour seemed more and more unreasonable, and with a wilful determination to defy such unfairness, she decided on this journey to take Sarah with her into the parlour-car.This was easy enough, so far as Sarah was concerned, for no eye could detect in that fair blue-eyed girl the blood of the darker race which flowed there. But Mr. Rudulph, who was the finest student in the Eucada College, was also going to the same village, and he was very evidently a mulatto."Never mind, Reuben," said Miss Haven, laughingly, "you come with us, and if it is 'move on,' why, we will all move on."And "move on" it was, for when Miss Haven said to the courteous conductor, "The gentleman sitting behind us has our tickets," and he discovered that the gentleman was a "nigger," though unmistakably a gentleman, he brusquely ordered him to move on to the black car.Sibyl Haven sprang to her feet, the warm blood suffusing her face."Do you mean, sir, that friends are not to be allowed to ride in the same car simply because there is a shade or two of difference in their complexions?""I beg your pardon, ma'am, but we have our rules, and must abide by them. The black car is just as good as this, and all black people must ride in it.""But this young man is certainly no more black than he is white; why should he be obliged to ride in that car?""I have no time, ma'am, for argument; he'll have to go in the other car.""I suppose that you have no objection to white people riding in the black car?""White people belong here, and black people there," he answered, non-committedly, and passed on.They went into the other car, which was simply a small box, and Miss Haven smiled to herself as she thought of the conductor's words.Just as good, was it, as the elegantly cushioned and carpeted coach that they had left? There was not a bit of carpet on the floor, nor a cushion upon the seats. It was empty, with the exception of an old black woman, who sat in a seat near a coop of struggling fowls.A strong odour of smoke pervaded the atmosphere, showing that somebody had been smoking at his leisure there.Sibyl Haven's cheeks burned, but she rode on in silence; words were useless.That night in Sarah's home, as she sat with a plate of delicious peaches in her lap, in the one easy chair of the little cabin, drawn in front of the open fire—for the day had been damp and lowering—old Uncle Nathan suddenly said:"Do you know, Miss Haven, dat you be a-sittin' in de 'dentical spot wha' Miss Jones sot de night dat she was shot?"Involuntarily Sibyl Haven shuddered, but answered quietly: "No, I did not know it; but who was Miss Jones?""She was a wonderful woman, was Miss Jones," said the old man, "a woman ob mighty faith. She comed heah right away after de wah, an' you orter
,
hab seen how she did manage tings. Why, she got a right sma't lot ob us togedder, black men, an' black wimmin, an' black chillun, an' she taught us, ebery single one ob us."She larned me de letters, an' it took me more'n a week to git to know m from w. But she nebber got tired. 'Stick to it, Nathan,' she would say, cheerful as could be, 'Stick to it, doan let sech a little ting as dat conquer you.'"An' stick to it I did, an' so did the res', but it was fea'ful ha'd fo' us ole ones; de young ones larned in no time."On Sundays she'd talk to us 'bout Jesus. 'Pears like I heah her now, an' when I shuts my eyes I see her as plain as day a-standin' wid her little Bible in her han' an' her face all bright as dat ob an angel."Oh, how we lubbed her! Eben de berry wickedest ob us lubbed her. But she hadn't money enuff to carry on de work dat she wanted done, an' so she took de money dat de s'ciety 'lowed her fo' boa'd, an' she come an' libbed wid us black folks right in our bits ob cabins."Dat was what killed her, fo' de white people 'roun' heah couldn't stan' dat, an' dey hated her fo' it."One night—oh, it was orful! orful—she was a sittin' right dar wha' you be, an' de ball came whistlin' frou de open do'. She sprang up an' den fell in my a'ms, but befo' the doctor got heah she was dead."The old man's voice trembled so that he could say no more; while Aunt Harriet, who sat knitting in the corner, sobbed as if her heart would break.For many moments not a word was spoken, and then the old man said brokenly:
"She gib her life, eben as de blessed Lawd gib His fo' de sins ob de worl'!"Miss Haven silently bowed her head, and her eyes looked steadfastly into the glowing coals.At last she said, "Let us thank God, Uncle Nathan, for the change in public sentiment that makes my work so much easier than was that of that noble woman."The old man shook his head dubiously."Dunno' 'bout dat; dere's heaps ob tings dat ain't so mighty comfo'table now, ain't dere? How did you like de ride ober heah wid Sarah an' Reuben?""Oh, I did not mind it after I recovered from my indignation. I would not have thought so much about it or cared so much if it had not been that in the parlour-car, which we were obliged to leave, there was a party of white men and women who were allowed to remain there simply because of their complexions. The women were chewing snuff-sticks, and the men regaled themselves frequently from a bottle of whiskey. Ignorance and vice were written plainly on their faces, but because their complexions were white they were considered fit persons to ride in the parlour car, while my refined boy and girl were counted unworthy simply because there were a few drops of negro blood in their veins.CHAPTER
III.MAJOR'S DEVELOPMENT.As the weeks and the months passed, Miss Haven was amazed at the rare quality of Major's mind.He mastered the tasks assigned him with little or no trouble, and always went, a trifle farther than he was directed. Instinctively he dropped the negro dialect that he had heard the whole of his life, and modelled his speech after Miss Haven's own.His memory was almost marvellous. Miss Haven found that she had only to mention some choice thought in the poets which he had read, and he would at once respond with the original setting of the thought. Page after page of Milton and Shakespeare would he pour into the ears of his teacher as they sat together under the arbour in front of the cabin door. Often his keen insight went beyond her discernment as he grasped some hidden truth in science or in philosophy.At this time it was amusing to watch Ben. Every few days he would come to the cabin to see if he was keeping up with his pupil."You see, Major, I was to keep up, Miss Haven said, but I 'dare for it I can't keep up in book learnin'. I've just about concluded that book learnin' and my legs don't go very well together. But Mr. Murray said to me to-day (you know Mr. Murray has charge of the building of the new chapel), 'Ben,' said he, 'if I don't look out you'll beat me at

drawin';' and, Major, I do believe I'm gettin' to know exactly how to make brick, and may-be when you're a great professor, you will like to have Ben draw the plans and make the brick for your big house.""That I will, Ben, but the best of all I would like you to go out and teach the poor people around here to make brick, and to build houses, and to plaster, and to paint."Now, think of the beautiful school farm! Why, if our folks could only know how to drain their land, and cultivate fruit and raise vegetables, they would be able to buy their little places, instead of paying such rents that they will always have to live in shanties."Ben's eyes grew larger."Major, you've struck it—that's my mission. It ain't book learnin' that I am cut out for, but I reckon that land learnin' and such things fit me to a T. I',ll keep my eyes open now for pointers, and after awhile I'll go and start a thing like that man did that Miss Haven told us about—Prof. Drummond, wasn't that his name?""Yes, Ben, that is just what we need; we need you boys to go out from the school in exactly that spirit. You know that one of our very best friends has said that ignorance is not a qualification for anything that God intended man to do, and that intelligence spoils no man for anything that he ought to do in this world.'"After this conversation, Ben and Major spent all their spare time in discussing plans for their so-called "college settlement," and Miss Haven was often called upon for her advice in these plans.It was almost pathetic to see the eager interest
,
of these two young men, scarcely more than boys, as they planned to change the customs and manners of a race.The smallest details were considered. Miss Haven drew plans, and talked farming, and mapped out gardens, and then enthusiastically discoursed on morals and religion. Her work in the schools took an increased interest. She began to see light ahead. Such hope as she had never experienced before came to her as she went farther and farther in her teaching of Major.The young man responded to her every effort. She felt herself growing in breadth of thought, and in interest in the best things, through her long conversations with him.It was not until the fifth year of her teaching of him drew to a close, and she was preparing to go North for her vacation, that she realised that a change must be made for her pupil.He was now in his eighteenth year, but in his face he looked much older. Pain had written lines there that years write in most faces. The twisted body seemed even more twisted, and yet there was such a brightness and sweetness about Major, that in his presence you forgot that he lived almost constantly in an atmosphere of pain.His love for Miss Haven bordered upon idolatry. To him she was the very personification of all that was beautiful and true.One day he said to her:"Do you know, Miss Haven, that sometimes I feel so bitter toward everybody. It is so hard to be black. I used to think when I was a child that I would be willing to be crippled, or to be ugly, or to

be poor, or anything, if only I could be white, and actually I tried once to take a penknife and peel off my skin. I took a lot from my leg, and I waited then for the white skin to come, and when it didn't I cried and cried until mammy thought something dreadful was the matter, and I had to tell her. She clasped me in her arms and hushed my sobs, soothing me with loving words and telling me that it did not make any difference about the colour of the skin, if only the soul were white and spotless; and that somebody had told her that a poet once said that we are God's image carved in ebony. I now know that it was Fuller who said it. You remember the words?"'But our Captain counts the image of God nevertheless the image, cut in ebony as if done in ivory.'"But, Miss Haven, do you think that the world believes that? Oh, I do so want to be free! Mammy used to tell me long stories of the slavery days; but do you know, Miss Haven, it doesn't seem to me that it was so very much worse then than it is now. To be sure, the body is free, but the soul of the black man has never been free."Sometimes I have such a longing to be great, not great as the world esteems greatness, but I long to do something that shall tell for good in the up-building of human character. I long to reveal some truth that is hidden from other eyes; I do not care in what line—in poetry, art, science, anything, if only I can do something that will make all life richer for my having lived."But I feel stifled; nobody would care for, or rejoice in, such an achievement on the part of a black man. They love a Browning, a Gladstone,

an Agassiz, and a Bismarck, but they would always and for ever put to death a Toussaint L'Ouverture."The young man's eyes flashed, and his face was drawn with pain.Miss Haven laid her hand gently on his head."Do not speak so, Major, do not. You are wrong. You forget that the One who has turned the tide of all thought was 'despised and rejected of men, a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, and we hid, as it were, our faces from Him.'"The world will be glad because of your life, Major; I know it. You will do something that will make me the proudest woman, because God has given me the privilege of being your teacher; but now, Major, I want to talk to you very seriously about your life-work. You have rare gifts of mind, with little strength of body. You must go where you will have the best chance for development."I have written to my brother concerning you, and he is anxious for you to enter college. You know that he is the president at Hinton, and in his home you will be able to receive the care and attention which you so much need. Mammy and I have talked it all over, and she is willing, for a season, to part with her boy, in order that he may become the great and good man which she knows he is sure to become."Miss Haven paused, and an expression of passionate tenderness overspread the young man's face."Miss Haven, if God ever made a good woman, you are the one; but I cannot accept this even from you.""Not another word, Major, not one. If in the future you can repay me, you may; but if you

cannot, remember that it means more, a hundred times more, to me, for you to show to the world that a black man can be a truly great man than any amount of money could mean."I have given the best years of my life to your people, and do you not think that I have been more than repaid? Why, a happier woman never lived than I was at the last Negro Conference! You do not know what it meant to me to hear of the homes that had been bought, and the schoolhouses that had been erected, and the brickyards and the sawmills and tinshops and printing-presses which had been started by our students."But, Major, the best of all is that a change is taking place in the relation of your people to the white people. They are beginning to feel a little dependent upon you instead of your always being dependent upon them; and, Major, it only needs a strong, determined effort on the part of the black man to succeed in the very best things, to make the white man realise your equality."Of course, I do not mean that there ever will be a certain kind of social equality; such a thing the world has never known in any nation. Men everywhere choose the circles for which they have affinity, but the time will come when no circle of culture will be closed to a black man simply because he is black.""Oh, Miss Haven, if I could only believe that!""Believe it, Major? you must believe it, for it is a right that God has given to you. But He has given it to be yours only when you are fitted for it."To-day your people are striving for civil rights, and they are being granted them; but I understand

your heartache and longing for the recognition of a right that does not belong to the domain of civil law at all, but is only under God's great law of love. But it is only when the white man gets very near the cross of the Lord Jesus Christ that he acknowledges the right that comes to you from your humanity; yet Bishop Haygood says 'right could not be diviner.'"Major's face settled into an expression of peace."You are an inspired prophetess to me, Miss Haven, and I believe that God's purposes will be worked out in our lives, and I feel with you that it is not social equality for which we should seek. But, oh, Miss Haven, if we could only have that equality of opportunity that would make the best and noblest life possible for the black child even as for the white! But you have not heard of the dreadful thing that has happened to Ben Nichols?""No," said Miss Haven anxiously; "what is it?""I did not know the particulars until yesterday. You know Ben has been so anxious about his college settlement idea, and has really done magnificent work in that line. He went and settled in one of the very worst parts of Atlanta, opened his little workshop, and gathered round him a large number of black boys who were living in the very worst conditions. He began by giving them lessons in carpentry, and gradually won their confidence until he could teach them all sorts of things."You will remember how our people boycotted the street cars when they were allowed to sit only in the seats reserved for smoking, and for two months never rode on them at all?""Yes, indeed," said Miss Haven."Well, the falling off of twenty-six thousand dollars during that time resulted in inviting the negroes back again to ride wherever they pleased; only, of course, the law on the statute book remained unchanged, and any conductor had that law at the back of him if he wished to be insulting to a black man."It seems that Ben was very prominent in urging the boycott, and, because of this, drew upon himself the enmity of some of the car-drivers."The other day he was riding in one of the electric cars, and gave notice to the conductor to let him off at a certain street."The man paid no attention to him, and did not stop the car until he had passed some distance beyond where Ben wished to stop. You know Ben's quick temper? Some words passed between him and the conductor, who tried to push him from the car, when Ben struck him in the face."A few days after this Ben was again riding on the same car, and when he reached the spot where he was to get off, the conductor stopped the car and followed him a short distance and then shot him in the back.""Shot him! Major, what do you mean? Was he killed?""No; the dastardly fellow shot twice, but only one bullet took effect. That entered his left side from the back, and would have killed him had it not been deflected by a rib."The case was tried before a jury of representative citizens. One of Atlanta's strongest lawyers represented Ben, and said it was one of the clearest cases of intent to murder that he had ever known. He

felt very sure that he would secure a verdict against the conductor, as he was a man of bad reputation."As I have said, the case was tried before this jury. Ben's lawyer made an able plea; the judge gave as clear and strong a charge to the jury as possible. But, Miss Haven, though it seems almost incredible, the jury went out and brought in a verdict of 'not guilty.' The judge was so surprised that he almost rebuked them."He said that they had brought in a verdict absolutely against the facts of the case as given in the evidence, and significantly added that he hoped that they had conscientiously misunderstood something in the evidence."But the very worst thing about the whole trouble is this, Miss Haven: the lawyer who defended the conductor made this statement, 'that when, in a case between a white man and a black man, a white jury decided in favour of the black man, he would think it time for him to leave the South."A flush of shame overspread Miss Haven's face."Oh, Major, how often have I had to grieve over the scandalous action of my people! Yet, Major, surely such a statement as that will not much longer be tolerated even in the South. But where is Ben now?""He went back again to his settlement, writing me that he was determined to do his level best to go on working out the great unsolved problem as to what the black man shall be in the South.""And that is what you also must do, Major, but the broadest preparation will be none too broad in helping to solve such a difficult problem."Thus it came about, when Miss Haven went North

for her summer vacation, with her went crippled Major Brown.It seemed a trifling thing to him to have to leave Miss Haven and sit by himself in the black car until he should be out of the Southern States, for was he not going where he would be free, in a world of letters and books and great souls?But to Miss Haven there came a host of bitter thoughts as she was separated from this young man, with his rare mind and pure soul, forced from his side simply because she had entered the parlour car which was for white people, and he was black. "It cannot always be so, no, it cannot," she said to herself; "the South will grow great enough to despise such distinctions."A baby's cooing behind her distracted her for a moment. She felt
the tiny hand laid on her hair. She turned and looked up into the
laughing blue eyes, then she sighed again, for the little form in its
dainty muslin and lace was being held by hands as black as ink, and
Miss Haven realised that it was not because Major was black that he
must ride in a separate car; it was because he was not a servant to a
white person.CHAPTER
IV.NEW FRIENDS.THE next October, when Miss Haven returned to her school, it was with a feeling of greater loneliness than she had ever experienced before. Major was gone. How much her teaching of him had been to her life she had not realised until now.There were many other teachers in the school, but each one had his or her busy life, and Miss Haven often felt a deep longing for companionship. She had a few choice friends among the coloured people, and chief among them was uncle Josiah.In her hours of greatest loneliness she almost always sought Uncle Josiah. He was such a comfort to her; she never felt, in the presence of black people, that there was any difference between herself and them on account of their colour. Indeed, the thought of their being black rarely entered her mind. She knew that she idealised their characteristics, and overlooked their short-comings.To her they were almost above the human in their nearness to God, and as she sat in their meetings and joined in their songs, as she felt the fervent ardour of their prayers, she herself was often lifted into a higher realm of thought and being, and her face would often wear the same rapt expression that could be seen again and again upon the face of Uncle Josiah.He was preacher, teacher, Sunday-school super-

intendent—everything in the little coloured church at the corners.All of the stronger churches were filled with the young men from the schools, but Uncle Josiah still held this small mission-church, and here Miss Haven always came to worship God.She knew that many of Uncle Josiah's members were not exemplary in their daily lives, but she never doubted the sincerity of their repentance and their longing to be cleansed from sin.Uncle Josiah, with the tears rolling down his face, would exhort them to come out and away from "de po', sta'ved begga'ly elements ob de worl' an' follow de Master."He would then hold Christ up before them and plead with them to be Christlike, and Miss Haven realised then, as she never did at any other time, what Christ meant when He said, "And I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto Me."Uncle Josiah had a wife who was a wife in the truest sense of the word; she was what Ruskin calls "a weaver," and a real helpmeet had she been to Uncle Josiah.Born in slavery, she had been brought up in the family of a Southern preacher; and Uncle Josiah often said that she had been the making of him.Their courtship and early married life had been almost like a romance. Separated as they were by the limitations of slavery and by all its restrictions, the eight miles of space intervening between them counted for nothing with Uncle Josiah.Even after their marriage the only time he could spend with his wife was from Saturday night until Monday morning.About midway between Uncle Josiah's home and that of his wife was a branch which, after heavy rains, was so swollen that on reaching it he was compelled to strip off his clothes, tie them in a bundle upon his head, and in the darkness of the night swim across that he might spend one day and night with his beloved wife.They had no children, but Aunt Rosa had all the children in the neighbourhood looking upon her as a second mother. Their house was never empty; always to be found there was some homeless waif, and sometimes half a dozen of them, until some-thing better could be done for them. A number had never found anything better, and had grown up and been married from Uncle Josiah's.
Aunt Rosa was a busy, bustling, light-hearted old saint. She believed in dreams and visions as they came to her from God. And when a little starving mite of humanity came begging to her door, she at once appealed to her Father in heaven, and if it seemed to her that the message came, which it always did, she at once informed Uncle Josiah that the waif belonged to the King, and as a loyal subject she must care for it.One night Miss Haven went to see the old people to talk as usual about Major, of whom they were very fond, Aunt Rosa declaring that his royal birth could be seen at the first glance.That day Miss Haven had received a letter from her brother concerning him. Major had entered upon his college life with all a scholar's enthusiasm."He is a wonder, Sibyl," her brother had written,"a real wonder; we thank you for him. Poor lad, if he only had physical strength!""Never min', Miss Haven," said Uncle Josiah, "physical strength or not, he'll show 'em yet what a black boy can do. Don't you worry, honey; dat boy's a genius. I seed it in his eyes when he sat on his ole mammy's lap."Miss Haven was thinking of this as she walked slowly along from Uncle Josiah's cabin to her own home.Now and then she stopped to pick a bunch of asters or a beautiful spray of golden-rod.Suddenly she heard a voice saying:"Excuse me, but will you not drive with me?"Miss Haven glanced up, and saw a sweet young face that she had often seen during the years that she had been teaching in the South.The young girl was driving a pony-phaeton. She was dressed in deep black, and her face seemed sad and worn.Miss Haven bowed a quick "Thank you,"and was soon in the carriage."How very tired you must get in the work that you are doing," said the young girl. "I have thought of you so often during the past few months. I am Rose Thurston, and mother and I have lived almost alone since my father died. But since mother's sickness and death I have scarcely left the house; but I am going North soon, and I wanted to talk to you before I went. I knew that you would go to your boarding place this way, and so I drove out to-night on purpose to meet you.Miss Haven tried not to look her surprise."You were very kind," she said quietly."Oh no, not at all kind. It was a selfish motive that prompted me. I have always been so curious

about you. Mother and I have often talked and wondered why you were willing to give your life for such people as the darkeys are. Of course, we believe in the work that you are doing too, only we think that you are carrying it too far; they do not need much education for their station in life, and they could get that in the public schools. You see that the more education they have the more they will be dissatisfied with their position, and that will make them unhappy. At least, that is what mother said, and she has always known the darkeys."Miss Haven drew from her hand-bag a letter that she had received from Major only a few days before."Pardon me," she said," but I want to tell you this boy's story and then read you his letter, together with one that I have just received from my brother."She went back to her first meeting with Major, told of how he had unfolded under her teaching, spoke of his strength of mind and of how he was now in one of the best colleges of the North. Then she opened the letter:"Dear Miss Haven," it began, "Life is becoming more and more earnest to me. I cannot tell you what it means for me to be here, surrounded as I am by an atmosphere which is charged with truth. You remember that Christ said: 'And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.' Through the whole of my life I have felt that I was a slave, born of slaves, and it did not make one bit of difference that I was called free. Sometimes I have felt almost stifled as the atmosphere of social oppression seemed to close in all around me, but it is not so with me now. I am getting into the liberty of truth."Perhaps I cannot make it clear to you, this subtle thing I mean, but there have been hours, sometimes whole days, when I have forgotten that I am black, when I have simply remembered that I am a man, a child of God, made to think His thoughts after Him."Oh, the glorious freedom of that thought, not bounded nor shackled by prejudice or customs, but free, free as the bird that wings its flight higher and higher, getting nearer and nearer to God!"My studies are not difficult; they are a constant delight."Prof. S. is doubly kind to me; I spend my leisure hours with him."I have learned to thank God even for the crippled body that gives me the rare opportunities of such companionship."But, dear friend, to you I owe it all, and my one hope and prayer is that I may yet do something for the real freedom of my people that shall in some small way repay you for your kindness to me."Your letters are so helpful; as often as you can in your busy life, write to me."Miss Haven stopped and looked up into the face of her companion."If you could know him you would understand my life-work. The black people are not all Majors. I have never known another; but one Major is enough to prove to me that in this world, as well as in the next, there should be neither white nor black, neither bond nor free. Major is the equal of any living man."Rose looked puzzled."But I do not understand how there could be such a thing as equality. How could we have the

darkeys for friends? Of course I see how a teacher would be interested in a scholar like Major, but that is different from changing social conditions and inviting the darkeys into our homes. Why, the idea is perfectly ridiculous," said Rose, laughing. But Sibyl Haven did not laugh."No," she said, "the idea is not so ridiculous. What is friendship based upon? Is it based upon the colour of the skin? Do you, Miss Thurston, select your friends for their complexions? Is not friendship a deeper thing than that? Are not the rare qualities of mind and heart that we find in others, the qualities that most endear them to us? And may not these qualities exist in the mind and heart of a black man or woman even as much as in a white man or a white woman? Then why may we not have black people for friends? But I did not mean to speak so fully of these things. You have not thought of them before; they will seem rude and shocking to you.""No," said Rose, thoughtfully, "not that. I have often thought that we of the South are really nearer to the black people than you of the North are. We love them in a different way. Their presence is not offensive to us. Why, I love my dear old mammy better than anyone else in the world, now mother is gone."Rose's voice choked; she did not speak for a moment, while they rode on in silence."Yes, I love her, and every night of my life, now, I cry myself to sleep in her arms, and she fondles and soothes me just as she did when I was a baby and she rocked me to sleep. But I cannot imagine her as my equal, I cannot indeed.""No," said Miss Haven, "and she never could be your equal any more than my old nurse could be your equal. But my nurse's face was white and freckled and raw-boned. I can see her as if it were yesterday, in her old Shaker bonnet, and big gingham apron, coming down the walk to see her baby, as she always called me. She worked for my mother before her own marriage. She could neither read nor write, but was wise in a kind of practical wisdom, and was one of the very best nurses my mother ever had. No, no; you misunderstand me if you think I advocate the social equality of the black people simply because they are black; it is not that at all, but I do believe that where there is a refined, cultured, and great soul, that soul ought to be recognised and loved, even though the temple of the soul be as black as midnight. But here I am at my boarding place, and I am so grateful to you for the drive."Rose Thurston looked pleadingly at Miss Haven."Forgive me," she said," that I cannot see these things as you see them. I want to be right and to do right. I am in great trouble, and do so need a friend upon whose judgment I can depend. You are so strong and self-reliant, could you—do you think that you would care to be my friend?"The great tears were rolling down her face as she said these words.Sibyl Haven put her arms around the girlish form and drew her close to herself."I, too, have longed for your friendship," she cried impetuously, "and anything in the world that I can do to help you, I will do.""I do thank you so much," said Rose. "I am alone in the world now. Mother has been dead only

a month. I am going North soon to live with my aunt in Boston. She wished me to return with her after mother's burial, but I could not leave the dear old home so soon, and now I want to talk with you about the North, and what I am to do there to earn my own living. Would you mind if I came to see you to-morrow evening after your school closes? I will come and drive you home.""I would be very glad indeed," said Miss Haven, bending over and kissing the girl's fair face.Rose looked at her gratefully."You are so kind," she said tremulously; "good-bye."It was a strange friendship, but it was a real one, that grew between the Northern woman and the Southern girl, a friendship that became strong and helpful as the days and weeks went by, and the time drew near for Rose to go to the home of her aunt in Boston.She greatly dreaded going; it would all be so new and strange, and she must earn her own living. This she herself had resolved to do. Her aunt had never hinted at such a thing. She was to come and make her home with them, to love and be loved; that was what her aunt had said.But Rose knew from her mother that the Mitchells were not rich, and, while they would give her a home, she felt that, young and strong as she was, she must do something to take care of herself.But what could she do? Play a little, sing a little, embroider beautifully, paint a little. "Jack o*, all trades and master of none," she thought, with a sigh.Her long talks with Sibyl Haven, however, helped

her wonderfully. Sibyl was so strong and self-contained, so thoughtful of others, so anxious to lend a helping hand, so free from all littleness, that Rose felt in her presence as if it must be the Northern atmosphere that developed that kind of character."I want to go there and grow," she said to herself.She was thinking something of this kind one morning, as she plucked the roses that grew in the old-fashioned garden at Roselands.Every time she gathered the flowers, she felt as if it might be the last. She knew that Roselands had been sold, just as it was, but how soon the owners would come to take possession she did not know.Dear old Roselands, how she loved the place! It had always been her home. She looked tenderly at the great, old-fashioned white house. The immense columns of the porch were covered with climbing roses, whose perfume filled the wide hall running the entire length of the house. She turned to the great oaks that bordered the carriage-way; their trunks here and there were twined about with old English ivy which had been growing for generations. She saw one great tree that stood bare and lifeless because of the vast masses of mistletoe that had fastened and grown upon it.Her quick fancy compared the tree to the life of some of the Southern families. Our pride and prejudices have sucked up our life-blood, she thought sadly. Poor father, he little dreamed that his only child would be left with only a few hundred dollars to call her own.Then she thought of the old family lawyer; he had invited her to stay at his home until she was

ready to start for the North, but she had pleaded to be allowed to remain with old mammy at Roselands until the new owners came.Old mammy, too, dreaded to leave the place where she had always lived, to go to her son's cabin, and her old heart was breaking at the thought of soon being parted from her "little lamb, her baby chile."So the two had stayed on together.But this morning Rose's tears fell thick and fast as she plucked a great spray of bridal roses from "Mother's" bush. How her mother had loved them! She climbed upon the garden wall and looked away off to the little cemetery where she could see the monument glistening white among the trees, carved now with both her father's and her mother's names.She was standing thus when her quick ear caught the rumble of carriage wheels. The colour left her face. She thought she would fall."The new owner of Roselands is coming,"she cried piteously; "what shall I do?"She sprang down and concealed herself behind the thick vines which covered that end of the porch. The carriage rolled up and stopped.She saw the old family lawyer spring out and give his hand to two ladies who were closely veiled. Then she heard the door-bell ring, and presently mammy's voice calling:"Missy Rose, Missy Rose, chile, chile, where are you?"She felt the excitement in poor old mammy's tone; she must be calm."Yes, mammy, I am coming," she answered, and
ROSE SANK INTO A CHAIR WITHOUT SPEAKING A WORD."Illustration in body of Davis's "Major Brown"
with the spray of bridal roses in her hand, she entered the hall.As long as Rose Thurston lived, she remembered that moment, and even the odour of the roses.For one instant she could see nothing at all; then she felt, rather than saw, that the old lawyer was coming towards her."My dear child," he said tenderly, taking her hand, "here are the new owners of Roselands."Rose raised her eyes, and then sank into a chair without speaking a word.Before her were seated two women, both of them beautiful; one with the beauty of years, the other young, slender, and graceful, but both of them were mulattoes.The older woman now arose from her chair and came and stood near Rose."Poor child, poor little motherless child," she murmured, "you do not know me; you never saw me before, but I should have known you anywhere by your resemblance to your father."Rose started. The woman's voice, so low, so tender, so sweet, had such a familiar accent."Who spoke like that?" she wondered.The woman went on:"Yes, Roselands is mine to-day by right of purchase; forty years ago it ought to have been mine, for your grandfather was my father, and he promised my mother on her death-bed that this property should be mine; but after her death he married your father's mother, and when he himself died the whole property was left to your father, and I was sold as a slave."Rose shuddered, but the woman continued."I do not say this bitterly; it was but a part of the awful system of slavery, and, although my mother always supposed that she was a wife, and although I was brought up as a daughter in this house, yet in my veins was the blood of the negro race, and slavery was the portion of such blood. But when freedom came to the black race, I, too, was free, and I determined then that if it were ever possible, Roselands should be mine. I need not tell you how it became possible. Wealth has already begun to come to the black people, and when my husband died he left me the money which has been the means of buying back my childhood's home. But," and the woman's face worked curiously, "if you will accept of it, Roselands may also be your home, for even though it may seem worse than death for you to acknowledge such relationship, I cannot forget that you and my child have something of the same blood in your veins."She paused, and Rose, pale as death, looked into the face of the lawyer.He bowed his head."Her words are true, my child; I recollect it all distinctly; but you, of course, will go to your aunt in Boston.""Of course," said Rose mechanically, "but this woman, too, is my aunt. Oh, I do not understand!" and she covered her face with her hands.The older woman spoke again."Understand! God grant that you may never understand it all! But it is not as your aunt that I ask you to remain. You shall have your own apartments, and your life shall be your own. I know what It means to leave one's childhood's home and go

among strangers. God forbid that you should ever have to bear one tithe of the pain that has been mine."Rose could feel the anguish in the woman's voice, and the girl's better nature overcame her pride.She arose and took the woman's hand in hers."I thank you," she said in trembling tones. "It was wonderfully kind and generous of you to think of it, but it could not be. There would be no happiness for either of us. I must go.""No, no!" exclaimed the older woman vehemently. "You must not go! You cannot know what it means to leave a beautiful home like this and go where the world is cold and hard and cruel. Stay still at Roselands, and you shall have all that a mother can give to a child."The girl looked into the dark, pleading eyes, and, turning to the lawyer, said:"I might remain a little while, but it is all so strange."The lawyer drew his coat together with a gesture of dissent."No," he said, "I would not remain at all. My home is, as it has
always been, open to you. You have a home waiting for you with your
mother's sister, and she is expecting you. You will be cared for, and
you cannot remain here and live with—" He paused and caught his
breath.The older woman drew herself up haughtily."Niggers! you were about to say. Why do you not conclude your
sentence? She cannot live with niggers, but what has she been doing
the whole of her life? Every servant in this house for generations has
been black. She has been attended and nursed 
and cared for by black hands all her life. Will she suffer contamination now if she associates, even in a very distant way, with those in whose veins is some taint of this accursed blood? Be contaminated because she associates with them on a plane of equality?"The woman's dark eyes flashed, and the rich blood mounted to her cheeks."Dare you say," she continued, addressing the lawyer, and ignoring Rose's presence, "dare you say that my child, delicately nurtured and educated in the very best of schools, never having met or been associated with anything of coarseness, or brutality, is not a fit companion for any white girl, no matter what may be her birth or breeding?"The lawyer's eyes involuntarily followed the eyes of the mother, and as he looked into the daughter's beautiful face he had the manhood to blush."Pardon me," he said hurriedly; "you do not understand. Society has her rules, which cannot be overlooked. She would never tolerate such a relationship. If Miss Thurston remains with you, she is practically lost to every one of her friends. She will be ignored socially, and it could not be otherwise.""And this is your boasted Christian civilization!" exclaimed the older woman bitterly. "This is American society where there is no caste spirit! Far better would it be for my child and me to be living in the darkness of Hindu superstition. But," her tone changed as she turned to Rose, "it is not for our sakes that I would have you remain; it seemed to me that it would be a great joy for you to keep your childhood's home, and you have sorrow enough. But I did not understand; I have been

away from the South so long; perhaps you would be happier to go."Rose thought of her conversations with Sibyl Haven, and, rising, she impetuously threw her arms around the older woman's neck, while the tears rolled down her face."It is so good of you," she sobbed; "we have been so cruelly unjust to you, but I must go, for you would be very unhappy if I remained. It is only too true that every one of my friends would forsake me, and you would blame yourself for it. No, I must go, but do not think that it is because you are black and I am white—no—no—you are my aunt, I acknowledge the relationship. It is not that. I now under-stand what puzzled me when I first heard you speak. It is my father's accent that I recall. Alas! I think that I begin to understand it all. But how much worse was slavery for us who are white than for you who are black.""May your heavenly Father and mine give to you the happiness that you once had in your old home."An hour afterward, when Rose Thurston left Rose-lands, as she bade Mrs. Prescott and her daughter good-by, she told them that they would find the truest of friends in Sibyl Haven, and she told Sibyl their whole story before she left her on the following day.Then, with an aching heart, she took the train for Boston to begin her new life in the North.CHAPTER
V.AN ANGEL IN DISGUISE.WHEN Rose alighted at the Providence Station it seemed to her that she was in a new world.The slow, gentle life of the South-land had disappeared, and in its place was the busy, active, rushing life of the North.She was so thankful that Dr. and Mrs. Mitchell were there to meet her, for she knew that she would have been at the mercy of the great army of hack-drivers and omnibus men."Oh, Auntie," she exclaimed," do they not dreadfully perplex you?""Why no, Rose, I do not mind them in the least."Rose looked at her aunt, she was so different from her own mother. It hardly seemed possible that this woman, with her snowy hair and red cheeks, her bright, energetic ways, her busy, bustling life, could be sister to the gentle invalid who spoke so slowly and softly, and moved always with quiet, languid grace.Mrs. Mitchell laughed merrily."I know what you are thinking about, Rose; you are thinking that we will tire you to death here in the North with our activity, but you will soon get used to it, child, and then you will like the North very much."And Rose did.Her uncle's home was in Huntingdon Avenue, and although he was not a rich man, Rose found that the

family income amounted to a considerable sum, as each member of the family had something to do.Her cousins, Annie and Clara Mitchell, were always busy; the one in her art work, the other in an important position in the public library. The doctor's son was already an able assistant to his father. Mrs. Mitchell kept only one girl, and did herself much of the housework. She always had an oversight of the cooking, and knew exactly how every article was used that came into the kitchen."Oh, dear," thought Rose, "how very idle they will consider me."But she was mistaken. None of the Mitchells ever thought of their dainty cousin, with her sweet, gentle manners and lovely face, as being able to do anything that could be counted as work.This greatly troubled Rose, and she puzzled her brain, and spent weary hours studying the daily paper, in the hope that she would see something that she could do. But she seemed to herself as being incapable of doing anything."Here I am," she thought, "nearly twenty years of age, and not able to do the least thing for myself. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"The weeks grew into months, and still Rose did not find her vocation, as she called it. But the whole Mitchell family found home to be a very different thing since the coming of Rose.Her active fingers were never idle. She could fashion a silk sash into a "dream of loveliness," as young Tom Mitchell said, or she could make the house beautiful with her unique arrangement of furniture and flowers.Mrs. Mitchell began to feel the burden of housekeeping lifted from her shoulders.Dr. Mitchell realised that it was exceedingly pleasant to have an evening at home, as Rose knew all his favourite old songs, and was never too tired to sing them for him.Her girl cousins were only too willing that she should run the errands, and entertain callers, as they always came home from their work tired to death.Letters came to Rose regularly from Miss Haven, and her heart was made glad as she read of the friendship that had at once sprung up between Sibyl and the new corners to Roselands.Miss Haven never wearied of singing the praises of both Mrs. Prescott and her daughter Mildred, and thus Rose, busy and happy, scarcely realised when two years had slipped by.But one morning Dr. Mitchell came into the home with a very troubled face."Caroline," he said to his wife," I am in great distress over the lack of a nurse. Mrs. Prescott, in M. Avenue, is threatened with typhoid fever, and secure a nurse I cannot, although, of course, she would pay anything for the best service. Every trained nurse is out of the hospital, and I am in a perfect quandary as to what to do. Can you suggest anybody, for even an ignorant nurse would be better than none at all?"Mrs. Mitchell stood for a few minutes, trying to think of somebody, but could not.Rose sprang to her feet."Oh, Uncle, please let me go. Mamma said I was the very best nurse she ever knew, and Miss

Haven told me that my touch was a panacea for all pain. Oh, Uncle, please let me try it."Dr. Mitchell looked from his wife to Rose in bewilderment."Why, child," said Mrs. Mitchell, "what could you do? You could not possibly assume such responsibility.""Indeed, Auntie, I am used to such responsibility, for I took care of my own dearest mamma all through her last sickness, and everybody said I was a wonderful nurse. Please, please let me try."Dr. Mitchell shook his head doubtfully, but Mrs. Mitchell said; "It would do no harm, Charles, to let her try, as you have no one else, and I am sure that her appearance would greatly please Mrs. Prescott."And so it was settled, and that afternoon Rose went with her uncle to the elegant home of the Prescotts in M. Avenue.No one would have guessed how the timid heart was beating as the dainty, graceful figure, in its black dress, with a long white apron on and some delicate lace arranged on the top of the struggling curls, was ushered into the room.Mrs. Prescott gave one quick, surprised glance at the new nurse, and then, as the soft, cool hands touched her burning brow, she said to Dr. Mitchell:"I have very much to thank you for, Doctor."And Dr. Mitchell knew that Rose would do.The long weeks of the fever that followed were as severe a test as any nurse ever needed, but not once did Rose falter. Accustomed as she had been to being up at night with her mother, she was tireless in her care of Mrs. Prescott, and her strong young life seemed capable of any amount of endurance.Every day Mrs. Prescott insisted upon Rose going out for an hour's drive.Sometimes Rose would gladly have remained with her patient, but this was never allowed; and so, after the fever had left Mrs. Prescott, Rose was still fresh and vigorous.It seemed to her that she was scarcely needed as Mrs. Prescott grew stronger, and was able at last to sit up in her own room, and then to be moved out into the little parlour adjoining.Here it was that dinner was sometimes served, in order that Mr. Prescott and Fred could once more be with mother.And then what delightful evenings followed, when Rose played and sang, while Fred Prescott turned the leaves of the music and sang with her.Mrs. Prescott had learned all Rose's story, and to her the young girl was much more of a friend than a hired nurse; and while she respected the strength of character that made the girl desire to be independent, she felt that she had seldom met a more lovely or womanly girl. She watched the growing admiration of her only son for Rose without a moment's uneasiness.Rose had the exceptional beauty of the Southern girl. She was slender, graceful, and perfectly developed, and strong. Her eyes were of the deepest shade of violet. Her thick, abundant hair was golden brown, and waved and curled in tiny rings as it pleased itself. Her complexion was as fair as the lily, but tinged with the blush of the rose. Her voice was so sweet and clear, and yet so soft and low, that Mrs. Prescott said it was the sweetest music to hear her read; and, when she sang, one could but listen and be content.It was not strange that the whole Prescott family learned to love her.One evening at dinner Mr. Prescott said to his wife, "I have been attending a kind of indignation meeting. A most dreadful thing has occurred, and the most horrible results may be anticipated."She saw the quizzical expression upon his face, and waited impatiently for his explanation."Do you recollect the Spaulding mansion, just two blocks below us?""Yes," said Mrs. Prescott," it is the most beautiful house in the avenue.""After Mr. Spaulding's death," her husband continued, "it was advertised for sale and bought by a most honourable party, and yesterday the owner took possession, when lo and behold, the respectable occupants of No. 17 saw as their next door neighbours a family of black people who had come to live in M. Avenue."Rose looked puzzled, yet said nothing."But," said Mrs. Prescott, "I thought you said that the house was bought by a most honourable party.""And so it was; Mr. Rogers, of the firm of Rogers & Brown, bought the house. Of course, they supposed that he wanted it for himself, but he bought it for Mr. Bronson, of the firm of Bronson & Simms."Now, while Mr. Bronson is every bit as strong and able a lawyer as Rogers, and while he has a lovely wife and two beautiful children, he must not be allowed to live in M. Avenue, because he is black.""But why did he not buy the house himself?" asked Mrs. Prescott.Mr. Prescott looked grave. "Because he could not have bought it at any price. No black man can get a house outside of the west or south end unless he gets a white man to buy it for him.""Well, what of the indignation meeting?" asked Mrs. Prescott.Mr. Prescott knit his brows."We all met together, one representative from each family in this vicinity, and you ought to have heard us! Mr. Tanner thought that it was the most disgraceful thing of which he had ever heard. Who wanted to be classed with niggers? The whole avenue was disgraced."The Richards family was represented by young Tom. You will recollect that he returned from taking the Keeley cure last week. He insisted that something must be done at once; it could not be tolerated. The Wheelers thought it would be best to take immediate action, and old Mr. Warner suggested their clubbing together and buying the property, and renting it themselves, and advised that they appoint me to see about it."Fred Prescott, who had been listening with an amused expression of countenance, now said:"Well, father, tell us what you said.""Yes," said Mrs. Prescott, "please tell us."Rose leaned forward, so great was her interest in hearing what Mr. Prescott said.For a moment he did not speak; his face was very grave."I asked them if they recollected what Boston had always stood for in the relation which man sustains to his fellow man? I asked them if they had forgotten the faces of the men whose portraits

hang in Fanuil Hall, or if they had ever heard such names as Garrison, and Phillips, and Sumner, and Higgenson."And then I opened my vials of wrath, and poured forth the contents. I told them that for thirty years we had been abusing the South for its treatment of the negro, while the South was not so full of the miserable caste spirit as we are. That while we opened our schools and colleges and churches and theatres to the black man, we had closed our hearts to him, and when he was educated we told him to go to the South."And if he does not choose to go to the South we give him the work that the white people do not want to do."And then I asked them if they thought it strange that the black people in the North were ceasing to care for schools, when, with a college education, we tell them practically that there is nothing for them to do but to work in hotels, or to dig ditches, or to be porters, or something of that kind."Well, here I lost my temper completely, and I said that I'd a hundred times rather have a cultured coloured family for my friends and neighbours than I would have some people who live on the water side of Beacon Street. But it resulted in their all being dreadfully angry with me; yet they have concluded to allow them to stay there, and, wife, as soon as you are able, I want you and Miss Rose to go and call on Mrs. Bronson. But I forgot that Miss Rose is a Southern girl."Rose blushed, and then turned pale."Yes," she said, "I am a Southern girl, but I am deeply interested in what you have been saying.

Before I came North, a new idea of the negroes had come to me, and I do believe that they have been served as unjustly since their freedom as they were in the days of slavery. We have treated the cultured black people as we have always treated our servants; indeed, with a little more contempt because they dared to aspire to culture."But if it would not tire you too much, Mrs. Prescott, I would be glad to tell you a little of my own family history.""No, indeed, Miss Rose; I should be very glad to hear it."So Rose began, and gave the story of her last day at Roselands. The colour came and went in her beautiful face. She spoke with impassioned earnestness of the woman who, after such treatment, had offered her a home, in which she would be cared for as a daughter."And why did you not remain, dear?" asked Mrs. Prescott."Oh, I could not, and I knew, too, what sorrow it would bring to Mrs. Prescott should I remain, for not one of my friends, even though they had known me the whole of my life, would have been true to me under such circumstances, and Mrs. Prescott would have felt it far more keenly than I."Mr. Prescott sat looking at Rose with a strangely earnest expression of countenance."What did you say that her name is?" he asked."Why, Prescott," said Rose, "but I never once thought of its being the same as yours.""Mother," said Mr. Prescott, "I do believe that we are on the right track at last;" and, turning to the astonished Rose, he said: "Some twenty-five

years ago my brother was in the South, and taken very sick in New Orleans. While in the hospital he was most tenderly nursed by a very beautiful coloured woman. After his recovery he found out that she was not only beautiful in face, but educated, refined, and lovely in character. She had been brought up as a daughter in her father's house, but after his death she was sold as a slave."My brother, who was an ardent Abolitionist, became so interested in her, that he asked her to be his wife, and, bringing her to the North, they were married."The greater part of their married life was spent in France, where my brother died. After his death we lost all trace of his widow and child. We always supposed it was because she feared that we would have a repugnance towards her on account of her colour. I wrote to her again and again, but as my letters always came back, I knew that she never received them. Do you think, Miss Rose, that you could recognise a picture taken twenty-five years ago?"Asking this, he went to a drawer, and took out a small folding album containing a picture. He opened it, and placed it in Rose's hand. She saw the face of a very lovely woman. The dress was old-fashioned, and the hair was worn simply in curls; but the dark eyes, the beautiful brow, the sweet mouth, brought back vividly the face of Mildred Prescott."Oh, it is so much like her daughter," Rose exclaimed. "If it were not for the old-fashioned dress and the hair, I should think that it must be her likeness."Mr. Prescott's face glowed. "Oh, mother, how strangely God has brought this to us. At last we may be able to do something for that noble woman!"Mrs. Prescott leaned over and put her arms around Rose."May God bless you, my child; you have always seemed to belong to us."But Fred Prescott said mischievously, "Cousin Rose, you have been an angel in disguise to this household, but all the time the disguise was very thin."Then they talked long and earnestly concerning the best way of bringing the news to Mrs. Prescott and Mildred.At last it was decided that Rose, with her aunt's permission, should return to the South, and later be joined by the Prescott family.CHAPTER
VI.ROSELANDS' NEW OWNERS.At the close of a hot, sultry day in June, as Major Brown alighted from the cars at the railway station in Eucada, he was surprised to see Sibyl Haven sitting in a carriage, evidently awaiting his arrival. As soon as she saw him she nodded her welcome, motioning him to come to the carriage."Why, Major, how wonderfully well you look! I have been so anxious to see you, that it has seemed hours instead of moments while I have been waiting for the train. Think of it! it is four years since I have seen my boy; and see how rich I have grown since you left, actually driving a carriage!"No, I do not own it; it is Rose's old carriage, and belongs to Mrs. Prescott of Roselands. You will recollect that I wrote to you of my going to board there. Mrs. Prescott quite insists upon my bringing you back with me to dinner."Major hesitated."I would gladly go, Miss Haven, but the first dinner at home belongs to dear old grandmother.""I knew you would say that, Major," said Miss Haven joyously; "but I have been to see Aunt Chloe, and she quite insists that her boy shall go to Roselands, only we were to drive by the cabin, and stay a few moments before going."Major still looked a little troubled."You are very sure she would prefer to let me go?""Yes, indeed, Major, I am quite sure that she would."A few minutes later they were approaching the-cabin, where at the foot of the lane stood the old black woman, older and more bent, but smiling through her tears."Dear old Granny," said Major, taking the wrinkled face in his hands, and kissing it tenderly. Dear old Granny; you have the sweetest face in the wide world to your boy.""Oh, Major, chile, Granny's ole heart is mos' burstin' wid joy! To think of her little cripple' child bein' such a won'erful man! Lawd, let now thy se'vant depa't in peace! "she said, folding him in her arms. "Oh, I've been so hungry fo' a sight ob my boy, but he's growin' so wise, he'll be gettin' away from his ole granny. "This, a little anxiously."No, Granny, not getting away from, but getting nearer all the time to an understanding of your great heart. God grant that I shall never go in the opposite direction."Very quickly an hour passed."Hurry, Major, chile, and change your cloes; you'll be late to dinnah, an' Miss Prescott'll blame ole Granny.""But would you not prefer to have me remain with you? I would be more than willing.""No, no, honey, Granny'll see you all de time, an' it does her ole heart good to hab her boy goin' whar he deserves to go, an' be wid people dat can 'preciate him. Good-bye, honey, Granny'll be a-livin' in a beautiful dream until you comes back."Major had never been before to Roselands. As a boy he had looked upon the place as almost equalling

his dreams of heaven. Now, as he rode under the splendid oaks, and watched the flickering sun-light dancing amid the heavy magnolia leaves, and smelled the fragrance of the cape-jessamine and the roses, it seemed to him that life, his life, was becoming touched with a magician's wand.The old mansion was completely covered by a wealth of woodbine, but climbing roses gave a touch of colour to the green leaves.Roses bloomed everywhere."It is an ideal home," thought Major, and he wondered what kind of a woman the mistress of this place might be, this woman who belonged to his own race.Miss Haven had written him much about her, and all the way from the cabin had been pouring into his ears most wonderful stories of her goodness, sweetness, and generosity. But now he was to judge for himself.Descending the balcony steps, she came to meet him.He had expected to see a lady-like woman, but the ease and grace of Mrs. Prescott completely surprised him.For four years, in the home of the president of the college, he had been thrown into the society of women of the greatest culture in the most cultured city of the United States, but surely none of them was more graceful than Mrs. Prescott.She was dressed in a thin gauzy black, having a few faint sprigs of heliotrope in its texture.Her snowy hair waved back from her face, and was coiled at the back of her head. A spray of heliotrope was at her throat, and the faint, delicate odour seemed
E2

almost like incense to him, as he took her hand in grateful recognition of her coming to meet him."You are welcome to Roselands," she said, in her rich mellow voice, which was her heritage from the negro race. "You are more than welcome as the friend of our dear Miss Sibyl.""Thank you," said Major; "Roselands is to me one of the fairest of my childhood's dreams. It seemed to me that it must be at least a part of heaven, and fit only for angels to inhabit."She smiled at his earnest tones."But come," she said, "some of your old friends, as well as other new ones, are waiting for you."They entered the broad hall, and there Major saw all the old familiar faces of the school. Then the new pastor and his wife were introduced, and he heard Mrs. Prescott saying:"My daughter, Mr. Brown."Major looked up and saw the loveliest face that he had ever seen in his life. Eyes that were so deep and lustrous that it seemed there could be no fathoming their depths.A rich, olive complexion and two laughing dimples, and dainty teeth that sparkled like pearls, made a face that, once seen, could never be forgotten.She was dressed in creamy white, with the richest of lace falling in soft cascades around the bodice, while deep crimson roses were fastened at her throat.Major bowed in recognition of the introduction, and murmured a few incoherent words; but after that, whether he saw her or not, her face was constantly before him.The dinner was very much of a success; Miss Haven thought that she had rarely seen a gathering

of greater refinement, or of more thoughtfulness. The questions of the day were discussed, Major bringing the conclusions of the schools to bear upon them.Miss Haven was delighted with Major. He had been greatly helped, physically, by having the attention of the very best physicians, and, although he still used a crutch, yet his movements were not at all painful. But the most marked change in him was an intellectual one. He astonished Miss Haven by his clear way of stating a truth, and Mrs. Prescott at once became deeply interested in this crippled man."Sibyl is right," she thought; "he is a genius."After dinner they repaired to the luxurious parlours. Mrs. Prescott had had them newly fitted up, and, as her taste was well-nigh perfect, they were a poem in silken draperies and rare woods and paintings.In the course of the evening one of the young lady teachers played an accompaniment, and Mildred Prescott sang.The Germans say that there is no American music but that of the negro race. Be that as it may, there is no voice so soulful as that of the coloured girl.Mildred's voice was perfectly trained, but its beauty was not in its training. She had studied under a master of music in France, and he had said that 112 could do nothing more for such a voice.Again and again had Mrs. Prescott been urged to have her daughter sing in public, but she always refused."She does not need money, and we do not wish the publicity,"she would reply." Mildred's voice is for her friends always."But to-night she sang as even she rarely sang. It

was the old, simple ballad of "Ben Bolt," but scarcely an eye was dry as the tender, pathetic strains ceased. They did not urge her to sing again; they could not. Such strains must not be lost in other chords.They strolled out upon the broad verandahs, and Major found himself by Mildred's side."What a rare day this has been," she said."Oh, what is so rare as a day in June?" he replied. "But even in June a day like this is rare in what it brings to human hearts. Miss Prescott, pardon me, but I have never heard anyone sing as you sang to-night."I am glad you liked it," she said simply. "I love to sing. I cannot express my soul in any other way. I used to long, as a child, to write a poem, but I cannot write poetry; yet sometimes I feel as I am sure a poet must feel in my singing. It seems to me that music can express a thought that even the poet could not put into words, although, perhaps, his soul grasped after it. Is it not so?"She looked at Major with her clear, questioning eyes."Yes," he replied thoughtfully, "I believe you are right. There are some dreams and fancies that no poet can voice; there are some faces that no artist can paint; there are some great truths that only heroes can live; they cannot be expressed in words. But," he said, smilingly, "you and I are getting away from an exquisite poem that is spread out before us. Could anything be more beautiful than this scene is, Miss Prescott?""No," she replied, "it is wondrously beautiful. I do not wonder now that mamma always pined for her girlhood's home. You know that she was born

here, and no matter where we were, even in Switzerland or on the Rhine, she would say: 'It is not quite equal to Roselands.' But there is one thing that greatly troubles me," and Major could see a shadow stealing over the bright face. "It must be so hard for Miss Thurston to be deprived of Roselands. I do so wish that she could have remained here.""I suppose that it was impossible," Major answered quietly. "Miss Haven wrote me about it, and of your mother's desire for her to remain, but of course her remaining meant the giving up of all old friends,' and associating almost entirely with black people.""But why," asked the young girl, "must it necessarily be so? When we were abroad we met little or none of this caste spirit; indeed, I think that mamma's society was very much sought after by the very best people.""Yes," Major replied, "I am sure that would be true, but here in the South the conditions are so different. There are millions of our people here; the most of them are rude, uncultured, and ignorant; a few are as gentle, refined, and pure of soul as any white man or woman that is living. But as a class we serve. Now, for those who have been our masters to realise the possibility of this change, and to recognise strength and purity even behind a black skin is exceedingly difficult. The spirit of Noah that could curse Canaan and make him a servant of servants unto his brethren is a much more human spirit than that of the Christ who could enter into the true dignity of service and say, 'Whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant.'"Before Mildred Prescott could reply, others came up, and the conversation became general.From that evening Major Brown always found a warm welcome awaiting him at Roselands.Necessarily there was but little society in Eucada for Mrs. Prescott and Mildred.There were the teachers in the college; a negro physician and his charming wife; a dentist of great repute in a neighbouring city, who had his home in Eucada, and his wife and their four lovely children were often at Roselands.But the great world of helpfulness was open to Mrs. Prescott and Mildred, and in ministering to others they found no lack in their own lives.Mrs. Prescott had established a large kindergarten in connection with the manual training school, and of this Mildred herself took charge. She was an enthusiast in this work.Believing with Froebel that "nothing should be done for the present delight alone," through her songs, and stories, and work, and play she led the little ones into "clear thinking, right feeling, and noble doing."Her child-gardening was a source of constant joy to her, and while the children made their paper chains, and moulded birds' nests from clay, and wove their coloured mats, she was moulding their characters, and weaving into their lives the sterling virtues of industry, courtesy, kindness, and help-fulness.But whether in the school, or in the little church choir, or in her home, Mildred Prescott was always a womanly, cultured girl.Yet her life at Roselands had not been free from care.Near Roselands lived a family of wealthy white

people. They were not Southern born, but they had purchased "The Elms" soon after the war, and declared that they were always Southerners in principle.Some of the best families in Eucada had called upon them and made them welcome.The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, their son Godwin, and their daughters Emma and Grace.The girls were about the age of Mildred. It did not trouble Mrs. Prescott and Mildred in the least that the Stewarts did not call upon them—this they did not expect. But the thing that did trouble them was the constant attention which Godwin Stewart seemed determined to show Mildred.He had managed to become acquainted with her through a little black girl whose mother lived upon his father's estate. The child was very fond of him, and when he told her that he wished to visit the kindergarten, she gladly took him by the hand to show him the way.Mildred had seen Godwin Stewart many times in her drives, and knew him at once.As he entered the door she could feel the warm blood flushing her cheeks."Miss Mildred," exclaimed the child, "Mr. Stewart wanted to visit our school to-day, an' so I brought him along."Mildred bowed coldly to the young man, who, nothing abashed, seated himself upon one of the low chairs, and nonchalantly fumbled with his watch chain.Mildred grew more and more indignant as the time passed and still he did not go.At last the hour came for the dismissal of the school, and, after putting on the children's hats, she was obliged to put on her own.At this he arose."Pardon me, Miss Prescott, but your school was so charming that I utterly lost all sense of time. You are a good angel to this community, and you make me long to be a child myself."She replied shortly that it was a pleasure for her to work with children, and that she would be obliged to wish him good evening."Oh, no," the young man said; "your way is directly my way, and may I not have the pleasure of walking with you?"Mildred caught her breath."Excuse me," she said, "but your way is not my way. Good evening," and away she hurried in the opposite direction to see old Uncle Josiah.She, too, attended his mission church, and with Miss Haven, had grown to greatly love the dear old man.This evening, as he saw her coming, he strolled out to meet her."Miss Mildred, how good of you to come to see the old man who finds it harder and harder to walk abroad.""Uncle Josiah, do not thank me; I came to see you for the sake of your comforting words. I get so stirred up at times."And then she told him of her unwelcome visitor that evening.The old man looked thoughtfully upon the ground, and then said:"I was 'fraid that this might come to you, Miss

Mildred; there are many young men of the type of that Stewart. He is not a bad fellow, only thought-less, and he believes that you would be flattered at his attentions because he is white."But compare him with my Major. You don't know him, though, do you? Miss Haven tells me that he has been elected orator of his class. Think of that for poor, lame Major!"But this fellow is no more to be compared to Major than light to darkness, only in this figure I mean Major by light and that fellow by darkness; but he'd be likely to put it the other way.""Don't worry, honey, it's only for the coloured girl to have nothing at all to do with these white creatures until they learn to treat them as they would wish their own sisters to be treated."Tell your mamma all about it, child, and she'll manage it."And so she did.For a few weeks, whenever Mildred Prescott walked out, she was constantly meeting Godwin Stewart, and at last one evening he made bold to call upon her at Roselands.Mrs. Prescott received him, and he never called again.She told him frankly, in her own proud way, that while his family did not see it right to recognise herself and daughter, she owed it no less to them than to herself to refuse any recognition from the son."It is not my fault," he replied; "I've told them again and again that you and Miss Mildred were away above them in looks and everything, but they won't hear of it, and there's no use in blaming me for it.""No," said Mrs. Prescott, smiling in spite of herself, "I do not blame you, only under such circumstances you must see the impropriety of your calling upon my daughter.""I don't care for the impropriety of the thing," the young man muttered."But I do," said Mrs. Prescott coldly, "and I ask you as a gentleman to refrain from any further effort to become acquainted with my daughter. I do not believe that you are at heart an untrue man, and I ask you candidly, If your sister were in the position of my daughter, would you be willing for her to receive calls from any gentleman in your position?"The young man's face flushed."It's awfully disagreeable having all these society rules, but I honour both you and your daughter, and I do not blame you one bit; but, if I were alone in the world, society shouldn't prevent me calling; I can tell you that; but because of the folks, I'll say good evening, and tell Miss Mildred I'll not trouble her any more."And he was true to his word.It was shortly after this that Major Brown came home from the North, and it was such a relief to Mrs. Prescott to feel perfectly free in inviting him to Roselands, and in allowing a friendship to spring up between him and her daughter.She studied the young man carefully. She had formed a preconceived liking through the great admiration and love that Miss Haven had for him. She knew that the clear-headed and discerning teacher could not be mistaken in her estimate of the man; and the more she studied Major the more she admired him.He was so natural, so unassuming, so quiet and modest, that even the most fault-finding person became disarmed in his presence.Then, too, she felt the force of his scholarly habits. He never allowed anything to interfere with his studies. From early morning he worked, until, through sheer weariness, he was obliged to put away his books.In the evenings that he spent at Roselands he allowed himself once more to take up music.Oh, the joy of playing while Mildred sang, and the joy of singing with such an accompanist!It seemed that their very souls blended and became one in such music. Major dared not ask himself how this friendship must end. He knew that he loved Mildred Prescott with all the love of his strong nature. But she was as far above him as the stars in heaven.How dared he love her—so rich, so beautiful, and accomplished; and he poor, crippled, and with his way to make in the world?And yet, how could he help loving her?The summer seemed one long, blissful dream, and he ceased to ask himself concerning the awakening.It was the evening before Major's departure for the North preparatory to his going abroad.He was to accompany the family of the president of the college at Hinton; then he was to remain for two years in Germany, in order to complete a course of study which would fit him for a professorship in his "alma mater."He was talking with Miss Haven about this at Roselands that evening."But I cannot make my home in the North, Miss

Haven. I must return here and work with and for my people. The North has very little opportunity for the black man compared with the South; do you not think so?""Yes," said Miss Haven, thoughtfully, "I believe that you are right, Major; your place is here, but the preparation for your life-work must be as thorough and as broad as possible. You must follow the line of work mapped out for you by my brother.""Miss Haven," said the young man earnestly, "what a true woman you are; I believe that God never made a better one."Miss Haven's eyes filled with tears."Thank you, Major; but you must remember that the faith in the black man was my inheritance from a father and mother whose desires I am trying to see fulfilled. It is not all unselfish devotion that inspires me in this work.""It is Christ-like helpfulness, anyway," he said, pressing her thin and worn hand to his lips.That night Mildred Prescott was strangely nervous. She could not sing; her voice choked her.Major tried to play, but Miss Haven could think of nothing else than the strains that he played upon the old banjo, the first time she ever saw him.At last Miss Haven went in search of Mrs. Prescott, and Major and Mildred went out upon the verandah to enjoy the beautiful moonlight. The soft voice of the whip-poor-will came to them. It was so low, and sweet, and tender that they involuntarily bent their heads to listen.The pale moonlight flooded the old garden. Mildred stood leaning against one of the massive columns around which the woodbine clustered. Her

dark eyes looked up pensively into the shadows. One slender hand grasped the vine.Major leaned upon his crutch and watched the flickering light as it played over the girl's face. How he loved her!Never did knight of King Arthur have a more tender reverence for womanhood than did this crippled black man.He would willingly lay down his life to save this girl even a trifling sorrow. Did she care that he was going away, to be gone for years? The bird sang once more—softly, sweetly; he glanced at Mildred; there were tears in her eyes.It was more than he could bear. Impulsively he cried out:"I did not mean to tell you, Miss Mildred, but I cannot help it; I cannot go away from you without your knowing how I love you. For months your face has always been before my eyes; your voice is always in my ears. Poor and crippled as I am, I have dared to love you; and I am glad, Mildred, for this love, even though I may not dare to hope for a return."He was looking into her face now, which drooped lower and lower until it was hidden in the leaves of the vine."Oh, Mildred," he continued passionately, "I thought I had outlived that insane desire to be strong and powerful that I might conquer fate. I thought I was resigned to being a cripple, but I would give the whole world to-night to feel that I had the right to tell you that I love you and ask you to be my wife."His voice trembled so that he could say no more,

and with a despairing cry he bowed his head upon his crutch.For a moment thus they stood, then two clinging arms stole around his neck."Major!" and her voice was sweeter than heaven's own music to his ear, "nothing can separate such love as ours."The whip-poor-will sang on; its notes were full of gladness now; the crickets chirped brightly to each other, for love had conquered, and the joy, the rare joy, that comes but once to human hearts ruled supreme in both their lives.It was thus that Mrs. Prescott and Miss Haven found them, as they returned from caring for a neighbour's sick child.Major had nothing to fear from Mrs. Prescott."May God bless you both," she said. "I would not have it otherwise."Miss Haven gave her hand to each in silent blessing.And so it was with his heart filled with a new love and a new hope that Major Brown went abroad, determined that he would master any and all difficulties that lay in his path.CHAPTER
VII.BARRIERS BROKEN DOWNIT was the evening of a beautiful day some three years later, and all was bustle and confusion at Roselands.Major Brown had returned from Europe, but not simply the Major Brown that had left them three years ago, but the man who had already made himself felt in the literary world.How well Miss Haven remembered the coming of that first letter which contained the cheque from the great London paper."Dear Friend," the letter ran, "I send the enclosed cheque to you, not so much that I hope to repay you in any measure for the money and strength and love you have expended upon me, but because I know you will feel, by my article having been accepted by this paper, I am proving, in some small way, to the world that your faith in the black man has not been a fruitless one."I cannot tell you what the receiving of this cheque meant to me; not because of the money value, although I was glad enough for that, but to feel myself a man who could do something, if not to mould thought, at least to arrest attention. The editor asks for another article along the same line, and I want you to tell my dear old mammy that her boy will yet be able to take care of her without her doing any more work—"Miss Haven could read no more: she seized the cheque and rushed out of the house down to Aunt Chloe's cabin.She heard the old woman softly singing;
"Steal away, steal away, steal away to
Jesus. Steal away home.
I ain't got long to stay here.""Aunt Chloe! Aunt Chloe!" Sibyl Haven exclaimed, "See, see what Major has sent!"The old woman looked at the little piece of blue paper in perfect amazement."Why, Missy Sibyl, Aunt Chloe don't know what you mean.""It is a cheque, Aunt Chloe, a cheque for a hundred dollars, and Major earned it by writing a few of his own thoughts for a great English paper. Think of it! And he says, too, I am to tell you that he will yet take care of you, and that you will not have to work any more."Aunt Chloe held up her hands in amazement."Bless you, honey, but you must be crazy. Just 'magine ole mammy doin' nothin'; why, she'd die fo'suah! No, no; ole mammy'll work as long as she has breff, an' den she hopes de dea' Lawd '11 let her hab de white robes to wash in Hebben."But, honey," and the old face fairly glowed with tenderness, "ole mammy was nebber so proud ob nuffin' befo' in her life as she is ob her crippled boy this minnit."'De worl' will heah from dat boy:' dem are yore very words, Miss Haven, an' dem words are truf. But let ole mammy take de bit ob paper in her han's."Lovingly and tenderly, as if it had been a sacred thing, she handled it."SEE, SEE WHAT MAJOR HAS SENT!"Illustration in body of Davis's "Major Brown""My boy's tho'ts," she said softly to herself.""Deah Hebbenly Fader, ole mammy tanks you for gibbin' Thyself to her boy, her little lamb, her crippled chile."Over her face came a strange, rapt expression. She sank down upon her knees. Sibyl Haven quietly arose and left her in that close communion with God which is His greatest gift to the negro race.A few days later came another surprise to the people at Roselands. This was a letter from Rose Thurston, in which she said that, if Mrs. Prescott still desired it, she would like very much to come home for a visit to Roselands."Desire it!" exclaimed Mrs. Prescott. "It is the one thing needful to complete my happiness.""Poor child, it will be hard for her, but what a joy for us to have her in the old home once more."But she never dreamed what a struggle the writing of that letter had cost Rose.She had, after all, a great deal of the inborn prejudice of a Southern white woman toward the black race. Could she go back and live on terms of perfect equality with black people?Then, too, she realised how entirely she would be misunderstood and condemned for treating this woman as an equal, and she could never treat her otherwise.She knew, without being told, that not a single family of the Southern whites had in any way recognised the new owner of Roselands, and they would despise her for doing so; for they would never understand her motives. Oh, she could not do it!"But, after all," the girl reasoned, "Mrs. Prescott is cultured, refined, educated; and surely Mildred is
F2

as sweet and lovely a girl as I have ever seen, and they are my relatives." Her face burned at that thought. Then came another. They were also relatives of Fred Prescott, and he was not ashamed of the relationship. Why should she be?And then she thought of the brave struggle that this woman had made in the battle of life for all these years."I will go," she cried passionately; "I am a Christian girl. Society and prejudice, and this awful caste spirit, have no right to stand between me and my plain Christian duty.Her aunt and cousins strongly objected to her return to the South. She could make her fortune at nursing. The North was the place in which to make money and to succeed. Mrs. Prescott's recommendation would secure her at once any number of places, and her father and mother would not have her take this step for all the world, if they had been living.Rose felt this to be true, and it meant far more to her than all the remainder of their arguments."And yet," she reasoned, "would they have felt so had they understood the black people? We have never tried to become acquainted with this type of negro. Do not I owe it to myself and to my family to do what I can to change this wrong relationship that has existed for all these years between the black people of culture and the white people? Yes, I will be true to my highest convictions, and do what one feeble girl can do to effect a change."But she was very sure that she never could have done it, had it not been for the help of the Prescotts. They were people of such established position and

wealth that when the Mitchells learned of their relation to Rose's aunt, as the girl persisted in calling her, they were obliged to cease urging Rose not to recognise her.Mrs. Prescott and Rose had called many times upon the new corners to M. Avenue. They had found Mrs. Bronson to be a woman of great refinement, and even Mrs. Prescott's home, beautiful as it was, showed no more cultivated taste in the trifles which reveal innate refinement and fineness of character than did the home of this coloured woman.Rose found that when Mr. and Mrs. Bronson were abroad, they had become acquainted with her aunt."She is a wonderful woman," Mrs. Bronson exclaimed excitedly, "and her daughter Mildred has a voice that was coveted by the best singers on the Continent. We owe very much of our enjoyment abroad to Mrs. Prescott, for in her delightful home we met the most charming people."I am sure that in Paris it was counted a very great honour to be invited to a dinner at Mrs. Prescott's."Rose thought of the people in Eucada who were unwilling even to recognise this woman as a human being, and she resolved that, come what might, she would be true to her better self and her aunt; and very glad she was of this resolution when, a few weeks later, she found herself folded in her aunt's loving arms."I will be true to her, come what may," she said again.But her resolution was severely tested in the days and weeks that followed.When it was known that Rose Thurston had returned to Roselands, society was on the qui vive to know what it meant.Old friends at once called upon the girl, but when she, in her sweet, calm way, introduced one and all to her aunt, Mrs. Prescott, they made their calls very short, and hurried away."How shocking for a girl to defy social customs in such a way as that! How dare she introduce them to a black woman and call her by the sacred name of aunt! They knew that woman's history. She had been a slave, and where did she get any right to the name of Prescott? They were all disgraced by having such a woman in the neighbourhood.And so, one by one they dropped away, and Rose found that her friends must be almost entirely those of the black race.But there was one man who, with his wife, stood true to Rose.Old General Harwood had been a warm friend of her father's; had served in the Confederate army, had lost an arm in fighting for what he believed to be his rights, and now he was an old man, too old, he said, to be false to his old friend's daughter simply because she had the courage to acknowledge a relationship which he knew, and they all knew, really existed.And Rose had her own dear old black mammy again, and what that was to her only a Southern girl can tell.But Rose found that her life at Roselands was very far from being a lonely one.Mrs. Prescott had a mind of great strength, and her friends were the choicest souls of all the ages.

She had also a taste for art, and even Rose could see that her work showed no small skill, and Rose esteemed it a great privilege to have such a teacher.Mildred, too, was far her superior in her knowledge of books and of music; and the two girls became inseparable as they read together, sang together, and together taught in Mildred's kindergarten, which had outgrown the management of a single teacher.Miss Haven still remained at Roselands, and her broad character and sterling qualities were of inestimable value to the younger women. But one day Mrs. Prescott came to Rose with a very troubled face."I do not understand it," she said, "but I have received word from my husband's nephew, who is coming South, and wishes to call upon me."Rose coloured deeply, but Mrs. Prescott did not notice it."I have never told you much of my early life, have I, dear? Those days were so full of sorrow for me that I have not wished to bring their darkness into your young life."It was in New Orleans that I first met Mr. Prescott, soon after the war. I was working in a hospital there, and he was very sick. I cared for him through the awful plague of yellow fever, and when he recovered he asked me to be his wife."I do not think it seemed strange to him to ask me to marry him. He was a Northern white man and I was a Southern black woman, but he loved me and I loved him, and he always regarded and treated me as his equal."We went North and were married, then we

sailed for England and remained there until after Mildred's birth."The greater part of our married life was spent in France, but after Mr. Prescott's death, I so longed for the South that at last Mildred and I came to South Carolina, and there, in our beautiful but secluded home, we lived until word came to us that Roselands was for sale. I did not know much of Mr. Prescott's family. He had a brother living in Boston, but I never saw him. I never even asked Henry if his brother knew that I was coloured; I could not."But probably he never knew it, for surely the son could not know
that his uncle's wife belongs to a despised race, or he would not wish
to see me."The dark eyes filled with tears, and an expression of passionate grief came over the handsome face.Rose longed to tell her all she knew, but she had promised that she would not speak of her acquaintance with the Prescotts until after Fred's arrival."Auntie," she cried, her eyes flashing, "do not talk so. It is a shame, a burning shame, that such things can be true, and I despise myself for ever having had such feelings; but let him come, and, when he learns to know you, he will love you even as I do."Mrs. Prescott shook her head sadly."No, dear, you do not understand the world. He is a Northern man, and in one way would not have the bitter prejudice against me that a Southern man might have. You know with the Southern people it is largely the position that makes the dislike. The Southern white child loves its old black mammy; the Southern white woman never forgets her old coloured nurse. But the Northern white child shrinks away

from our colour, and there is the same shrinking away on the part of the grown-up man and woman. They do not mean to have this feeling, but deep in their hearts is this inborn dislike of us, and all because they do not know us. I dread his coming more than I can tell you, but there is no other way than to write and invite him to come."And yet how can I bear the look of contempt that will surely come into his face when he looks upon my face."Rose sprang to her feet and threw her arms around her aunt's neck, kissing her and soothing her as a mother might have done a child."Oh, Auntie, I never realised the sorrow that comes from the wickedness of human hearts! But I am sure that you have nothing to fear from his coming; yet I do despise myself for the past, and I do wish I could make you realise how much your love is to me, and how deeply I love you in return.""Thank you, dear, thank you. I used to so long, after Mr. Prescott's death, that Mildred and I could go with him, but I am glad that I lived to know and to love you. You are helping, with your tender affection for me, to solve one of the hardest problems that is to be solved to-day."Do you know, dear, that all over this South land there are those who have this mixed blood in their veins, belonging as much to the white race as to the black race?"And there are those who are purely negro, and yet so refined, so sensitive, so scholarly, that they ought to find friends among the very best of the white people. One of my daughter's teachers in South Carolina, a man of the greatest ability, a man who

has held thousands breathless as they have hung upon his words; this man, who has, perhaps, the broadest intellect in the South to-day, told me that it was impossible, when he has gone North to lecture in the summer assemblies, to get anything to eat in the best hotels south of Mason and Dixon's line."And in the North, also, there is much of the same unreasonable prejudice, for while they did not dare to openly refuse him, every excuse possible was made in order to get rid of him.""But it is so unnecessary, Auntie; it is because we have never thought or realised what it meant for you to be so cruelly treated. I believe that, after all, it will be the South that will first change, for we do, in spite of our contemptuous pride, love the black people."All the brightest recollections of my childhood are associated with them, and education, with its refining influences, should surely make them more than less loveable."Rose began now to be very anxious about Fred Prescott's coming. She had told Miss Haven the whole story, and the keen-eyed teacher had quickly seen that the young man had already won a very large place in the heart of the girl. Yet she rejoiced, more than she could put into words, at the thought that Mrs. Prescott would see that there were those of the North who had nothing of the caste spirit which had made her life so sad.But Hiss Haven and Rose never had realised the pathos of Mrs. Prescott's life as they did upon the evening of Fred Prescott's arrival.They were all gathered in the wide, old-fashioned hall, when the sound of carriage wheels drew them to the door.Rose knew at once that it was Fred Prescott who was coming. She looked at her aunt. She, too, realised who it was; yet she stood there, calm and self-poised, but Rose could see that it was by a mighty effort.Mrs. Prescott that night was dressed in a dainty pearl-grey silk. Her snowy hair was rolled back from her broad brow and fastened with silver combs. Her dark eyes were intense in their earnest, inquiring expression. A deep red rose was at her throat, and the slender brown hands that held the loose, fleecy shawl thrown about her shoulders, trembled with her emotion.Rose sprang forward and was the first to greet Fred Prescott. Then, turning to her aunt, she said:"Auntie, dear, I have never told you, but your nephew is a friend of mine, and he comes knowing your whole story."Fred Prescott took both of his aunt's hands in his, and raising them to his lips, kissed them.This tenderness was too much for Mrs. Prescott. Her life had been so full of pain and heart-aches and the shrinking away of a sensitive soul from slight, that to be treated in this way by this young man, whom she knew belonged to one of the most aristocratic of families, broke down her forced composure.For one moment the dark, handsome face rested on the young man's shoulder, and then the tears were brushed away, and she was her graceful, courteous self once more, as she made him acquainted with her daughter and with Miss Haven.In the days and weeks that followed Fred Prescott studied this new aunt of his.His mother had always been his ideal of womanhood, but surely this woman was his mother's equal. Her intense love of truth had led her to read more than it is possible for most women to read. She had received the polish of travel, and her intercourse, though necessarily limited to few, had been with those of the broadest culture and loftiest ideals. These she had found to exist among the educated men and women of the black race as well as among the whites."It is not that the black people cannot find congenial companionship among themselves," she had said to Fred Prescott, "but the injustice of the white people in withholding themselves from us because of our education is what we find hard to bear."But Fred Prescott realised better the full force of his aunt's words when one day a very simple thing brought the whole problem before him. He had been out to drive with Uncle Josiah. The old man was a source of constant enjoyment to Fred Prescott. He was so genuine, so earnest, and yet so charming in his childlike simplicity. He was so full of information concerning the South, and so zealous in his desires for the betterment of his own people.He had learned to read, after he became free, from an old spelling-book that he carried in his bosom all the days of the war.Uncle Josiah could use fairly good English, but when deeply moved or excited he always returned to the dialect of his boyhood. This he often used as an illustration of the danger of forming bad habits.But Fred Prescott felt in Uncle Josiah's presence as if he was now with one who had been taught of God.Upon the day in question, they had been out driving, and as the air was so warm, Fred Prescott stopped in front of an elegant ice-cream parlour in order to get some ices.He said nothing concerning his intention to Uncle Josiah, only stopped and asked the old man to come with him into the parlour.Without the faintest thought of its being anything out of the way, Fred Prescott ordered ices for two.The proprietor glanced from him to old Uncle Josiah, upon whose face there was dawning a very amused expression."Excuse me, sir, but—a-hem—we do not serve black people here; it is against our rules."Fred Prescott for a moment could not speak a word, then turning to the proprietor he said:"And may I ask your reason for not serving them?""Certainly, sir; it would destroy our trade.""But why?" the young man persisted."Because white ladies and gentlemen would not come here if they were in danger of having to sit down with 'niggers.'""I see that you have black waiters in this establishment.""Oh, yes, sir; white people, of course, are quite accustomed to being waited upon by the blacks.""They handle the dishes, and serve the ices, and stand by the chairs, and their presence is not objectionable?""Oh, no, sir; not at all.""Then why, in the name of common sense, do you object to this old man, who is a minister, a servant of God, sitting down at one of your tables and eating an ice with me?""You are a Northerner, I perceive," said the proprietor.""Yes, thank God, I am!" said Fred, hotly."Well, sir, let me ask you a question. Why is it that in the city of New York no black man is allowed to join the trades unions, and in the city of Boston, when a black man has a tailor's shop, he is obliged to have white men, and white men only, to do his work?"Fred Prescott crimsoned."It is exactly for the same reason that you do as you do—a miserable caste spirit that may we be forgiven for harbouring."With these words he left the man, who smiled grimly, saying to himself, "People who live in glass houses needn't throw stones."That night Fred Prescott wrote a long account of these things to his mother, and in a few days received a reply, in which the whole question was discussed; and then she said that his father and she had decided that, if it were convenient, they would also pay a visit to their brother's wife.Rose's heart beat a little faster at this intelligence, for now the people of Eucada would be obliged to recognise the fact that her aunt certainly had a right to the name of Prescott."But," the letter went on to say, "we cannot make our home at Roselands, as we learn that old General Harwood is living now in Eucada. He is a warm friend of Mr. Prescott's, and has visited us many times in Boston, and has always insisted that we should return the visit."The very next day General Harwood and his wife called at Roselands.The stately, courteous old man was more than

polite to Mrs. Prescott, and his wife was so glad to know that the brother of Mrs. Prescott's husband was a very dear friend of theirs; they had spent many delightful weeks at their home in Boston, and had never dreamed that young Mr. Prescott, who was now visiting at Roselands, was the son of their old friend until they received his father's letter.They sincerely hoped that Mrs. Prescott would overlook their seeming neglect, which really was unpardonable, and they would be so delighted to have her bring the young people the next day to meet a few special friends at a little dinner party at their home.Well, they went, and the few special friends proved to be the most aristocratic people in Eucada, and Mrs. Prescott, much to her astonishment, found herself and daughter in society.The impassable barrier had been broken down, for whatever General Harwood and his wife did always became the social law of Eucada.And so when, a few weeks later, Mr. Prescott and his wife came from Boston, and old General Harwood's wife tendered them a reception, everybody who was invited attended, and some went so far as to say that Mrs. Prescott, of Roselands, was certainly a very charming woman.These were the existing conditions when Major Brown came home to Eucada.CHAPTER
VIII.WHITE OR BLACK FOR CONGRESS?MAJOR BROWN, or rather Doctor Brown, as we must now call him, as he had received his degree of Doctor of Philosophy from a German university, came back to Eucada with his heart filled with one intense purpose, and that was to live and work for his people.Even his love for Mildred, great and true as it was, seemed secondary to this purpose.He had spent the years abroad in the closest application, and he had already made himself known in the literary world.Upon his arrival in America, some of the most flattering invitations awaited him for positions in Northern colleges. He might accept a most remunerative place in his "alma mater," but even this had no attractions for him.At once a position was offered him in the Eucada College. This he accepted, and went to work with a will.It was nearly a year after his home-coming that one day Aunt Chloe went to Miss Haven with a wonderful bit of information."Just tink ob it, Missy Sibyl, dey has axed my boy to speak nex' Sunday at de 'sembly.""What do you mean, Aunt Chloe?""Why, you see, honey, dat de great Bishop or sumfin' dat dey 'spected f'om de Norf has failed, an'

dere ain't nobody dat could take his place ceptin' Major, an' so dey's axed him.""Do you mean to say, Aunt Chloe, that Major is to speak at the Springs before the great assembly?""Dat's what I does mean, Missy Sibyl, an' he wanted me to come an' tell you all dat he can't come over dis evening cause ob dat. Oh, honey, honey, tink ob what you hab made my boy!""No, no, Aunt Chloe. Major, with God's help, has made himself a power for good in this Southland, but I must run and tell Mildred."The next Sunday morning was a wondrously beautiful one. A Chautauqua assembly was in session at the Springs. For ten days people from far and near had been gathered at this popular Southern resort. The old Chautauqua idea was carried out in this beautiful place, and teachers, taking notes, had been attending the lectures on philosophy, history, and literature.Older people had gone to sleep under the magic spell of learning. The young folks had flirted to their hearts' content as they went to and from the lectures, and then stole away for a row upon the river.The children had romped and played under the trees and swung in the hammocks until, weary and sleepy, they had crawled into the tents and fallen asleep.But Sunday was a little different from any other day.There is nothing that quite equals a Sabbath-day at a Chautauqua assembly. The open heavens seem to bring the glory of God very near to the hearts of the people. The Sabbath stillness is felt there as
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nowhere else in the wide world. It is the most natural thing under such conditions to worship God. Men and women must be strangely hardened not to feel the thrill of His presence in such a place at such a time.But this particular Sabbath morning had a peculiar excitement in it for the people at the Springs.The man who was to have preached for them had failed; he was one of the great Bishops from the North, and in his place there was to be a black man, one of the new teachers at the coloured college in Eucada.It was an unheard of proceeding, and some of the wealthy Southerners felt themselves to be grossly insulted.But the subtle charm of the morning, and the spell of the woods, and the enchantment of the outdoor life, made them feel a trifle more kindly toward the new order of things.The announcement had also been made that this man had been recognised by some of the greatest English journals. He had received his degree from a German university; he might, after all, have something to say worthy of their hearing; he was such an exceptional "nigger."And so a very much larger audience gathered to hear the crippled black man than would have gathered to hear the Northern bishop.A choir of more than a hundred voices were singing, "All hail the power of Jesus' name," as a slender man dressed in plain black stepped upon the platform.He leaned upon his crutch, and his movements were a little slow, but he showed not the slightest

 "
"FOR OVER TWO HOURS THE BLACK MAN STOOD THERE LEANING UPON HIS CRUTCH"Illustration in body of Davis's "Major Brown"
trace of embarrassment. For a moment he stood by the desk in silent prayer, and then he opened the large Bible and announced the lesson for the day.The vast audience became very quiet as he read, for no voice in that great tabernacle had ever been heard to equal that voice. There was a melancholy sweetness about it, a volume and power, that are seldom heard in a human voice.The people looked in amazement at the slender form and crippled body; at the dark face and fiat nose and large mouth, and then at the broad, high forehead, the piercing eyes, and the closely curling hair."The Angel Gabriel himself, clothed in black," muttered an old man to his wife."Hush!" she said, "I want to hear every word."A glorious anthem had been sung, and the young man had given out his text: "And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul."A strange thrill went through Sibyl Haven as she heard the words of the text."His whole life and the life of his race will be in that sermon," she thought, and then she thought of herself no more, for she was thinking his thoughts.For over two hours the black man stood there leaning upon his crutch. For over two hours, in that great tabernacle, sat the largest audience that it had ever held, and the listeners scarcely breathed.Major Brown had never felt, as he felt then, what it meant to be a man, created in God's image, and transformed by His breath into a living soul. No one in that vast audience had ever realised it before

as he realised it then. The speaker held them spell-bound; he moved them at his will; they laughed; they cried; they sobbed; they turned pale; they exulted. But when he spoke of the living soul, made alive by the breath of God, dwelling in the black temple; when he poured out his whole soul in a passionate appeal that God should be recognised in him also, they rose to their feet and shouted "Amen and amen!""But what has the living soul that was created by the breath of God become in this man?" ,continued Major Brown."He has been trained in the vices of mankind. His pagan virtues have been corrupted and enlarged, and intensified into meaner vices."It was not thought of any consequence when he stole in the days of slavery. It was not thought that he could consort under the law in marriage, and keep the marriage tie sacred and holy. He was not taught to do this."Slavery did not set before the negro one decent, respectable thought in morals or in intellectual life."It trained him to think that the black race was inferior, that the black man carried on his forehead the doom of Almighty God, and he must for ever be an inferior."It taught him he must be an underling. He must be a serf. He must be a thing."And so, when freedom came, the man in this creature, instead of coming into liberty trained, educated, disciplined, and prepared for liberty, this man was, as a distinguished writer said of the lower classes of England, 'damned into the world of

liberty,' and his childish and foolish thought read 'not liberty but libertinism.'"It was but natural. He was nothing but a child, and an ignorant child at that, so that he went forth with wrong notions of labour, with wrong notions of man, with wrong notions of God. He went forth with wrong notions of everything that enters into a complex society, and of everything that enters into the heaven above."He had to begin anew. He had to start with the first principles of life. This man that had served for more than two centuries like one of 'the dumb driven cattle,' who had heard only by day and by night the wailing bark of the bloodhounds of death, whose teacher was a slave driver, whose morals were the morals of the taught in libertinism; this man had to be born again."God had to take this emaciated and this crushed creature and again breathe into his nostrils the breath of a divine life, and set before him a new example, so that he might look up into the heavens, into the face of God, like a man, and be a man."The country that used him so long refused to educate him immediately after the war, and the Church had to undertake it. It was a tremendous undertaking."No man can depict the condition of the negro more truly than I myself. No man can say worse things concerning him than I can say. I came from his blood. I know what he was. I know what he had been. And all that you can say touching his bad morals, his ignorance, his depravity, his looseness, his worthlessness, all that you can say does not fully describe some cases."I have gone into the country districts and seen the negro there, with his blank eye, with his dead orehead and his meaningless cheek, and his long arms hanging down toward his knees—a thing. And then I have seen that thing dragged into the school-room and a good thought given, and I have seen the ong arms shrink, and the bending shoulders become erect. I have seen that eye become sparkling with intelligence until that, which was supposed to be a thing, stands up crowned with the dignity of a clothed man."It is impossible, therefore, to characterise the marvellous result that has taken place. To produce a single family, to produce a single home, to breathe into a single heart, to bring to pass a single revolution, so that there shall be a single gentleman, marks a change far surpassing in magnitude the revolutions that we are told took place in the geological world."But everywhere to-day, in every church, in every school-house, you will find Christian men and Christian women, educated men and educated women, into whom God has breathed the breath of life, and they have become living souls."I appeal to you to-day, as God has thus openly manifested His fatherhood in us, ought you not also to manifest your brotherhood? Let us pray."At last it was over. The great crowd had slowly dispersed, the slender form in the big armchair had silently clasped the hand of one after another of the true, generous-hearted white men of the South. But now Major trembled like a leaf as old Aunt Chloe and Sibyl Haven and Mr. and Mrs. Prescott and Fred, with Mildred and her mother and Rose, clustered around him.Old mammy threw her arms around his neck and sobbed as if her heart would break."Oh, Major, chile, ole mammy's heart is mos broke fo' joy to think her darlin' could a' done dat."The young man drew the old wrinkled face close to his breast and kissed it."Thank you, mammy; your words are sweetest of all," but his eyes were looking into Mildred's. Then putting her tenderly from him he gave his hand to the other friends.Mildred's mother for a moment said nothing, and then she whispered brokenly, "Thank God, Major, our people have an interpreter at last."Sibyl Haven's eyes glowed with pride and exultation."I knew that you could do it, Major," she said quietly; "it has been in you all these years."Mildred's eyes were full of a loving pride which meant everything to the man who loved her.From that morning Dr. Brown's fame spread abroad. The papers were full of the talented negro. He began to receive calls for lectures from all parts of the United States. An enterprising agent in England, even, wished to conduct a series of lectures for him there.But to the most of these he did not respond for lack of time and strength. He had quietly determined to work out his problem in the old home where he had been born and reared.It would mean little to his people if he accepted the professorship tendered him in the North. It would mean much to him, but the problem that he was trying to help solve in the South would not be helped at all toward a solution.Influential Southern white men now began to call upon him. They treated him very kindly and courteously, complimenting him upon his published articles, upon his oratory, upon this thing and that, but not one of them invited him to their homes.He did not mind this on his own account, his time was so fully occupied.His only relaxation from work came to him in the evenings spent at Roselands.Mr. and Mrs. Prescott were at present in Eucada, having completed a tour of the Southern States.Rumour said that they would remain until after the wedding of their son Fred and Rose Thurston.To Rose there was not a shadow of fear in giving the whole wealth of her love to Fred Prescott, for, in his treatment of her aunt, she saw the noble qualities of his character.Fred had decided to remain in the South, entering upon business there; but the chief thing that made him decide upon this was the thought that he and Rose could greatly aid Dr. Brown in his work for the coloured people.Old General Harwood and his wife were more than kind to Major. Meeting him in their frequent visits to Roselands, they were brought under the charm of his personal magnetism, and they first admired, and then loved him.But now society began to talk. It was openly declared that a new era had begun in Eucada. White people were associating with "niggers" on terms of perfect equality. There was even a thought of sending a "nigger" to Congress.The man who wrote that article for the city paper rather overreached himself. There really had been

no thought of sending Dr. Brown to Congress, but after the article was read, many asked the question, why not? There was not another man in the community who could so well represent them or who would do them such honour.There were some white men who really believed that in intellectual strength Dr. Brown did not have his equal in the whole South.Why should he not be sent to Congress?The black people took up the idea with enthusiasm. Here at last was a representative man of their own race.Politicians consulted with one another. How would he run? They verily believed that he might carry the election! But would it be wise to establish such a precedent? If the negro should be represented in Congress, would he not always thereafter demand such representation?Some went even so far as to say that it was high time that he had such representation.Then there was a perfect furore.In the midst of it all, a great public mass-meeting was called, at which Dr. Brown was invited to speak, together with a Mr. Huntingdon, who was a very prominent white democrat.The past life of this man would not bear investigation. He had been untrue to all the ties of a husband and father. He had broken most of the ten commandments, but he was a man of vast wealth and of high social position.He did not belong to the class of great Southern statesmen; he was not a statesman at all, he was simply a skilful politician and a man who had perfect confidence in his own ability. But, notwithstanding

these things, he had a keen mind, and, had his lower nature been kept under, he might have been a second Henry Clay.As it was, he was no mean antagonist in point of energy and skilful adroitness.Dr. Brown was also a democrat. In the college which he had attended in the North, and in his work abroad, he had become thoroughly indoctrinated in the principles of free trade.In theory at least he was sure that he was right. Believing with his whole soul in the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man, he could not endure the limitations of sectional lines.The Republicans would very willingly have nominated him, but he could not be true to himself and accept their nomination. If he ran for Congress it must be on the democratic ticket, although he esteemed the Republican party for the stand it took upon the question of slavery.The mass-meeting was called to allow the voters to judge of the comparative fitness of these two men to represent them.The friends and admirers of Huntingdon had at first scoffed at the bare thought of their candidate discussing any question with a "nigger." Huntingdon himself positively refused to do this. But when they began to realise how strong was the following of this same "nigger," they concluded that it might be as well to have him publicly annihilated by Mr. Huntingdon.Dr. Brown's personal appearance was certainly against him. The twisted shoulders and helpless limb, how unfavourably they compared with the strong, perfectly developed form of Charles Huntingdon!But there was no doubt that the thing which militated most against Dr. Brown was his colour. He was black!But Dr. Brown did not care that he was black that day. He cared not that he was crippled. He was to discuss great principles that appealed to the best that was in him, and he was to do this, not for himself, but for his race, on a platform of perfect equality with a white man.Old General Harwood had been chosen as the presiding officer. Mr. Huntingdon was to make the opening speech.General Harwood arose and made a most eloquent and complimentary introduction of Mr. Huntingdon.As Charles Huntingdon stepped out upon the platform, he was greeted with cheer after cheer.He was a magnificent looking man, dressed in perfect taste.At ease upon any platform, he seemed almost superciliously so to-day as he faced his black opponent. Fred Prescott could think of nothing else than the meeting of Goliath with David.They were each to cover the principles of the democratic party in the present crisis.Mr. Huntingdon was a man of middle age, very careful in his statement of his opinions, conservative to a degree, and his argument was clear and sound, if not deep.The principles that he represented appealed to his intellect if they did not appeal to his heart. When he sat down amid loud and continuous applause, the almost unanimous verdict of the assembly was that he was the man to represent them in Congress.When the applause had subsided, old General Harwood arose to introduce Dr. Brown.He spoke of the boy who had sprung from the very lowest station in social life; of the boy who had overcome the terrible inheritance of a crippled body; of the boy who had taken the first honours in one of the first colleges of the nation; of the man whose name was known and honoured in the literary world; of the man who had drawn the eyes of the world to the little place where he was born. The old man's voice began to tremble then, as he said distinctly:"Once I fought and gave my right arm to keep such a man, or the man who had in him the possibility of becoming such a man, in slavery."To-day I would willingly sacrifice the other one to give him his rights, if a seat in Congress is his right; I do not say it is," he continued, bowing to Mr. Huntingdon, "it is for you, fellow citizens, to decide that. But this I want to say, for I have a right to say it: that neither his colour nor his crippled body should be for one moment considered. It is not the colour of the skin that weighs and judges and decides great questions; and, remember, fellow citizens, that the strongest intellect of the South sat in the invalid's chair of Alexander H. Stevens!" A perfect storm of applause followed this speech, and upon the wave of heartfelt enthusiasm, Dr. Brown was carried out before the people.Charles Huntingdon had stood before them in the self-possession of a man who is accustomed to this sort of thing.Dr. Brown stood before them in the self-possession of a man who has forgotten self in a great theme.He began to speak, and there was silence, a silence that could almost be felt, as he briefly sketched the foundation principles of his party. Then he began his argument.He was a born orator; nothing else in the wide world describes his power. He spoke with the ease and grace of a Burke, but with the fire of a Wendell Phillips.Those listening were forced to give themselves up to him; those, even, who hated him forgot, for the time being, their hatred, and were carried along with the rest. If he paused, they would not have it so.Cries of "Go on, go on!" were heard on every side.At last, utterly exhausted, but in a perfect whirlwind of applause, he sank into his chair.The band began playing, the meeting was over, and Dr. Brown had won the nomination, and, for the time being, the hearts of the people.His friends said that the nomination was equivalent to an election, but Major Brown knew that every inch of ground would be marked by a struggle. It was but the beginning of a mighty conflict. He knew the forces against which he had to contend: hatred, malice, bitterness, dislike of him personally, and the greater dislike of his race; these were arrayed against him.Yet he gave himself to the conflict.His friends at Roselands and General Harwood were as deeply interested in the outcome as was Dr. Brown himself.Every item in the papers concerning him was read aloud. Not one single word derogatory to him could be said, excepting that he was black.That was said in every conceivable form, until at last Rose Thurston declared that she considered it a disgrace to be white.One evening she was reading to old General Harwood an article ridiculing "the black nigger who is running for Congress.""A fine thing it would be," the writer went on to say, "to have our representative obliged to ride in the nigger's car upon the road, and to sit with the servants at the hotel tables, unable even to get a glass of soda-water in a decent place, for nobody on earth wants to wait on a nigger.""Cannot they see," exclaimed Rose, angrily, "that every one of these things disgraces not the black man but the white man? Shall we never be free from the curse that we brought upon ourselves by keeping another race in bondage?""Yes, Miss Rose," said Dr. Brown, quietly, as he came in unannounced, "you will be free whenever the black people are free. I believe that it is God's thought for us that 'We rise or fall together, dwarfed or God-like, bond or free.'""The negro is here in the South because he was brought here, but he is here to stay, and just what his relation to the white race is to be, I do not know. But this I do know, that the negro cannot be kept a slave in a land of freedom. He cannot be kept a servant, for in a land of liberty, if he possesses God-given qualities of strength, he will rise above his surroundings and prove himself a man of strength."But I have been wondering why it is that as a people we are so thoroughly misunderstood."I can remember that, when in Boston, a dear old lady invited me to her home and gave a dinner

party in my honour. Every conceivable attention was heaped upon me, not because I amounted to anything one way or another, but because I was black, and her husband had been a distinguished Abolitionist."She seemed to fancy that I in a sense reflected the glory of his good deeds; and yet she herself shrank away from me. I could detect it in the clasp of her hand."And once I heard Prof. Boyeson, the scholarly Norwegian, lecture, and in speaking of 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' he said that 'before leaving Norway he had read the book, and from the study of Uncle Tom he had supposed that the negro was more saint than human, but since coming to America he had found that the negro did not measure up to his pre-conceived ideal.'"Now," taking the paper from which Rose had been reading, "see what this Southern writer thinks of us. But, after all, he is the one most nearly right. We are not saints like Mrs. Stowe's idealised Uncle Tom; we are not heroes, as the dear old lady in Boston seemed to think; we are simply black men who have been slaves and are not to-day; and we have the odium of the past to overcome in the opportunities of the present."But I wish that people could realise that it is only a fair chance for which we ask. It is not to be made more or less of because of our colour or previous condition, but it is to stand on a level with other men, and be allowed to work out our own fortunes in the same way and manner."But what do you think, General?" he asked, turning to the old man."I think you are right, Dr. Brown, and I believe that Bishop Haygood understood you better than any other man in the South. It is his influence to-day that has made your present position possible. How well I recollect his telling me that the law of mortality buries the bitterest prejudices in the grave, and that there should be a different social relation between the white man and the black man."He said that this social problem could be worked out only on the basis of the Ten Commandments and the Sermon on the Mount. Upon any lower platform we should fail, and always fail.""Yes, he was right," said Dr. Brown, "and a true friend he was to the black race; but times are changing even now, for do you know, Miss Rose, I am invited to-morrow to old Colonel Seavers to meet some of the most influential men of the South? Of course, I understand that it is to be a gathering of men only; the Southern ladies have not yet recognised the black man, but thank God that one of the truest white women upon the earth has already recognised him," and, bending his head, he raised the hand of Rose to his lips and kissed it.He did it as reverently and gently as a mother might have raised the hand of her babe, and it seemed to Rose like a benediction.CHAPTER
IX.A SOUTHERN PLOT.IT was the evening before election day, and a suppressed excitement could be felt everywhere.But nowhere was it so intense, so bitter, so full of hatred, as in the city of Eucada and its immediate vicinity.The resentment that had slumbered through the preceding weeks was no longer concealed; it was open, bitter, deadly.Threats could be heard, made openly, on all sides, with no thought of restraint.They would not be represented by a nigger! It was monstrous, and fatal to all Southern institutions! And yet the election of Major Brown was certain. To a man the black people would vote for him, but, what was worse, a very large majority of the white men, upon whom they had counted as supporting Mr. Huntingdon in his independent candidature, had openly declared for Dr. Brown because of his eminent fitness for the office. Eminent fitness! Think of it! A nigger he was, and, what was worse, a miserably crippled nigger! It was outrageous, they would not endure it! Yet what could they do?But it had not been left for the evening before the election for this question to be asked. Weeks before, two men meeting in private conference had asked the same question.One of these men was a Northern man and the

other a Southern man. Captain Kimball was a Northerner by birth. He had once run a boat on the Mississippi, and thus secured his title. Coarse and brutal in his appearance, he had a kind of bulldog strength and courage that made a place for him, when, a few years ago, he drifted into Georgia.When he first went into the South he had tried being a Republican, and forcing the black man to follow him; but when he found that he was utterly unable to do this, he became an ardent democrat, with an awful hatred of the niggers.In this political mood he fell in with a certain pettifogger, Dern by name.Dern had risen from a miserable family, and had amassed considerable money in rather questionable ways.These two men had a common ground of meeting. They hated the nigger! He was black, and they hated him for that. He had no business to rise, and they hated him for rising. He had no business to be decent. They hated him for trying to be.These two men had sworn that a nigger should not enter Congress. But here they were on the eve of an election at which they felt sure that a nigger would be elected.They had thought of every possible plan for preventing it, but one and all had failed. They could not stuff the ballot box, they could not prevent the black vote, they could not hinder an honest count.They were cowards, both of them, but there are degrees of cowardice, and Dern was by far the greater coward of the two.Coarse and brutal as Kimball was, he was outspoken in his coarseness and brutality.Dern was a hypocrite. He was a member of a Southern Church, and the only time that he was ever punished by the law—which he usually obeyed to the letter—was when, in a prayer-meeting, he so prayed for one of the other church members that the next day the man had him arrested for slander, and he was found guilty and obliged to pay a heavy fine.But under the cloak of religion he lived a life of base scheming. Abusing his wife and children in the home, he was so sanctimonious abroad that many people were deceived as to his real character. But he was no hypocrite when he said he hated the black man. It was the one thing in which he threw off his cloak of hypocrisy; and it was with a heart burning with hatred that he met Captain Kimball in a small grove, at the right of the town, on the evening before election day.They were not alone; with them were ten other men, whose faces bore the marks of dissipation and lawlessness.For a moment they sat in silence, looking moodily upon the ground. At last Kimball said angrily to Lawyer Dern:"It's no use, Jim; it's got to be done. It's the only way. We've given him every chance, and he won't hear to reason. I've written him more than a score of letters, an' he pays no more attention than nothing. He means to run for Congress, an' so he'll have to be run up."The others laughed coarsely."But it isn't going to be an easy thing to do, either," said Lawyer Dern, anxiously. "Times have gone wrong here in the South, and it is getting so that
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a man has to be mighty careful of what he does, even to a nigger. I don't believe that it's quite safe even to try to stir up a mob and fix him. Things aren't as they were fifteen or twenty years ago. Why, we could have done it then without a bit of trouble, but it cannot be done now.""Can't!" said Kimball, scornfully, "it just can, and it will. Aren't niggers lynched every day of the week, an' no trouble comes out of it?""Yes, but this man isn't a common nigger. He's well known; he has position and friends.""All the more reason that he deserves to be hanged," muttered one of the men."Niggers are all common," interrupted Kimball, "every one of them, and every one of them deserves to be hanged that tries to be anything else. It's according to Scripture, and we have a right to do it. Yes, he's got to git out of the way. He's had fair warnin', and he deserves to die.""But how can we manage it, Kimball?" asked Dern, anxiously. "It will have to be an awful big mob, or they will spot us, and can we get enough? You see, Kimball, we have always had the best people with us against the niggers before, and so the law was made all right, but they won't be with us in this, and you must be sure that you've got enough.""Enough? of course," said Kimball, contemptuously. "You don't suppose that I've been all these weeks doing nothing, do you? There's nothing so easy as stirring up a mob. The fellow is over at Roselands this evenin'. You, Dern, go over to the Court House steps and make a speech. The better the place the better the deed, you know."Wade into this new order of things, you know—

black folks and white folks going together as if they was all alike an' nothin' different, you know. A nigger woman mistress of Roselands, you know, and niggers getting to think that nothin' is good enough for them, you know, but colleges and lawyers' offices and judges benches. Then just top off with this fellow a runnin' for Congress, and sure to be elected to-morrow, if he's alive, and then ask 'em if they are in for bein' represented by a miserable lame nigger? But be sure to make it plain, and mighty plain, too, that he'll be elected if he's alive to-morrow.""There'll be some niggers around, but they won't know what to do, and there will be three hundred armed fellows just a-waitin' to start, an' the rabble will follow on from the saloons, and there will be some drunken niggers in it, and maybe we can make it appear as if they had a hand in it too. Why, it's as easy as fallin' off a log.""All right," said Dern. "I'll make the speech and stir them up, but you've got to do the killing. I'm not equal to murder yet."Kimball laughed scornfully."Murder, do you call it? Killing a nigger that deserves it ain't murder, an' no jury in the land would call it that."Don't you remember that case in Atlanta, when there wasn't no mob nor nothing, when the conductor went up behind the nigger and shot him in the back, and the jury brought in the verdict of 'Not guilty?'"I guess that this is a white man's country yet. But nobody will know who did it. It's a mob, just a mob—my! I've seen it worked again and again against the niggers. Sometimes they deserved to

die, and again they didn't, but it's always the same verdict, 'Killed by a mob.'"Mob law is a splendid thing when you ain't got any other on your side, Dern."The lawyer smiled grimly."Well, if the thing has to be done, let us do it," he said, doggedly, "but I hate the cursed fellow that makes it necessary.""Yes, that is it," said Kimball; "it's awful business that he has put us to, but it's got to be done, and we're the fellows that have got to do it, so come on."CHAPTER
X.HERO AND MARTYR.THAT evening, as Dr. Brown went slowly up the broad walk leading to Roselands, he felt his heart glow within him."What a beautiful world this is," he thought, "and how good my heavenly Father has been to me!"His mind went back to his starved and struggling childhood, and he felt how wondrously he had been guided and blessed. Then his quick fancy took up the morrow. Surely he was master of the situation; there could be no doubt of it. He would be elected, and in Washington, with Mildred and Mrs. Prescott, what could he not do for his people!It was all planned. There was to be a double wedding at Roselands, and he and Mildred were to go with the Prescotts to Boston, and from thence they would go to Washington.But he stopped thinking, for there was Mildred waiting for him on the steps.Never had she looked more lovely. The dark eyes were lustrous with excitement, her cheeks were like the roses in her belt."Oh, dearest," she exclaimed, "I thought that you would never come!"Dr. Brown bent down and kissed the lips upraised to his, and with the kiss went a prayer of great thankfulness to God for the priceless gift of this girl's love.For one brief hour they were alone together, and for that hour Mildred thanked God as long as she lived.Dr. Brown, of late so grave, was not so to-night; he was his own bright, joyous self. They talked of the future that seemed so full of light; of what their home would be, filled with the love which they had in their hearts for each other; but, most of all, of what that home should mean as they worked for their people."Mildred, darling," said Major, caressingly, "it will not simply be black people who will gather there; I know how the white people, too, will learn to love you. We will try together to solve the problem of the relation which cultured people should sustain to each other, regardless of colour."But come, sweetheart, sing once more the ballad that you sang when first you made me love you.""No, no, Major, not that; I could not sing that song to-night, it is too sad; we want something that exults and is glad!""You are right, dearest, but something even more than that do we want to-night. Let us sing one of these beautiful old hymns. You know that our black poet says:
"A song is but a little thing,And yet what joy it is to sing!In hours of toil it gives me zest,And when at eve I long for rest; When cows come home along the bars,And in the fold I hear the bell,As Night, the shepherd, herds his stars,I sing my song, and all is well.""How sweet that is, Major, and so are many of the other lyrics. I have so enjoyed the thought of

our having a negro who could write something that one would read for its own merit, and not simply because it was written by a black man. But it makes me recall the time when mother and I were in Moscow. They had just erected there a statue to Alexander Poushkin, who was, I suppose, the greatest negro poet who has ever lived. It seems strange, however, to speak of him as a negro at all, and yet, of course, he would be so reckoned in the South, for his great grandfather on his mother's side was a negro. And one drop of negro blood outweighs in value ninety-nine drops of Anglo-Saxon. At least it seems as though that must be true, for we are negroes if we possess but the one drop.Major laughed."Yes, Mildred, that is so. Negro blood is of such value that it must be traced as the gold of the mine. But have you read these songs?" he asked, taking up the little book of Dunbar's 'Lyrics.'"Yes," said Mildred, "every one of them. I read them aloud to mother. She especially enjoyed the dialect pieces, and said the poem, 'When de Co'n Pone's Hot,' was a gem in its way. You do not know, Major, how odd the dialect sounds to me; but mother loves it, she says it is so musical. I have not heard it much; I love it as your dear old grandmother uses it, and old Uncle Josiah. Isn't it funny how he lapses every now and again into his old ways of speech?""Yes," said Major, "the dear old man will never entirely overcome the lack of teaching in his youth and manhood, but the old dialect will soon be a thing of the past with us, and I am glad to have it preserved in such a beautiful way in these

lyrics. But we are getting away from our singing."Major opened the book and selected a hymn, and soon their voices filled the house with the strains of:
"Guide me, oh, Thou great Jehovah,Pilgrim through this barren land:I am weak, but Thou art mighty;Hold me with Thy powerful hand."The strains caused Miss Haven to drop her book and hasten to the parlour, where she met Mrs. Prescott and Rose just entering.The strains caused old General Harwood, who, with Fred and Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, were coming up the walk, to hasten their footsteps.Soon the parlours were filled.Roselands had become known as Dr. Brown's head-quarters, and one after another of Major's intimate friends dropped in, "to extend their congratulations," they said.The professors from the college were there, as well as many Southern white men, who had thrown aside race prejudice and were interested in the outcome of the morrow.Some of these men had learned to greatly admire this crippled man.Old General Harwood stood with his arm thrown round Dr. Brown's shoulder, as he, with at least a dozen others, listened to his words, when Rose's old mammy rushed into the room."Oh, Massa Harwood! Massa Harwood! dey is comin' after Dr. Brown! I seed dem a-comin' wid my own eyes! Hundreds an' thousan's of dem dere are, an' some of dem wid their faces covered! Dey're comin' to kill you, honey; dey is, suah."All stared in amazement at mammy, who, with

her eyes nearly protruding from their sockets, stood in the middle of the floor, the very picture of fright."Why, mammy," said Dr. Brown, "what do you mean?"But her meaning was made clear enough without another word.A cry went up from the outside, a rough, hoarse, blood-curdling cry, a cry that drove the colour from the face and made the heart beat faster.Dr. Brown thought of the anonymous letters he had been receiving for weeks, as he reached for his crutch. But old General Harwood stopped him."Wait," he said, "let me speak to them. I know what it means, and they will listen to me."The stately old soldier stepped out upon the balcony. He saw at a glance that the house was surrounded by a mob. Missiles were hurled at him. They were mad with rage and liquor, and in that fierce excitement in which all the basest of passions are let loose. General Harwood stood in the light shining from the windows of the front parlour. His white hair was tossed back from his brow, and his commanding voice at once made itself felt."Men and brothers, you know not what you do.""Rats!" they snarled."You are mad," he continued calmly, "to violate the law that is made for your own protection and that of your wives and children. No home is safe under mob law. By, your surrounding this home to-night you open the way for any home to be thus surrounded in this whole State."(Cries of "No, no, we don't associate with niggers.")The old man's anger now overpowered his reason."Niggers!" he thundered, "who is the nigger now? The man who is noble, and upright, and manly, as is Dr. Brown, or you cowards who come skulking around in the darkness trying to do a dastardly deed?"I would rather be as black as midnight in face, than I would be such craven cowards in heart!"A shower of stones greeted this outbreak, and the windows of the parlour were shattered.The old general was struck with a stone, but, wiping away the blood that flowed from his brow, he would have proceeded had not a firm but gentle hand been laid on his shoulder, and he knew that Dr. Brown stood by his side.When the old general first stepped out upon the balcony, Major's friends besought him to conceal himself, but he knew full well that blood would be shed, and the house burned if they did not find him.For a moment he was overcome with terror.The negro shrinks from pain even more than the white man; he has something of the sensitive shrinking of the child from suffering, and Dr. Brown was peculiarly sensitive in this respect.But in a moment it was over."God bless you," he said to Sibyl Haven, and then for one moment he clasped Mildred Prescott to his heart."Good-bye, dearest, until we meet with God," he said, and, kissing her pale lips, he laid her fainting form in her mother's arms.Then he stood by the side of old General Harwood."For heaven's sake, Major," said the old man, "go back!""No," he said, "It is I who must answer them, for they seek me, and thus only will any of you be spared."A muffled roar from the crowd proved the truth of his words.But he began to speak, and no living man could withstand the power of that voice.In a moment they were as still as death."Fellow-men," said Dr. Brown—and in his voice there was no tremor, "you come to take my life; it is at your disposal if I have forfeited the right to live. But I ask to be heard before you kill me."("Hear him! Hear him!" came from the crowd)."In the first place," said Major, calmly, "I ask you to consider what you have already done in striking that old man who gave his life-blood to uphold your rights and the honour of your State. The empty sleeve that hangs at his side ought to have been his protection. Be it said to your shame that it was not!"The innocent members of yonder household should be held sacred by you, for they are dependent women, too feeble to strike back, and no American should be a Turk, making war upon defenceless women and children!"(Cries of "No, no, they are safe.")"Then upon me, and me alone, let your vengeance rest; but first let me tell you why I am willing to die."I am not the first man who has died for a principle, neither shall I be the last. Human history is written in blood, and the civil war did not end the struggle of the black man for freedom."Fellow-men, I appeal to you as men—not as brothers, not as fellow-citizens, but simply on the plane of a common manhood—have I not the right to be? Have I not the right to be what I am?"I confess to you that I am black."In yonder cabin is the old, wrinkled, careworn woman whom I call my grandmother. She is the only mother that I have ever known. My own mother gave me to her—gave me, a puny, crying, crippled babe—too feeble and crippled to be of any use to anybody in this world."I had no grandfather. My grandfather did not belong to the black race—therefore he did not belong to me."Cast off by both father and mother, I became the idol of that poor old grandmother. For me she has toiled when her fingers were knotted with pain and her back bent with the burden and heat of the day. For me she has poured out her life-blood, drop by drop. Have I not the right to try to be somebody for her sake? Again, in this home is a woman. To you, she belongs to that hated class called 'nigger teachers;' to me she belongs to that rare, rare class of noble, unselfish women who have left beautiful homes in the North to come here and work, like the little coral insects, deep down under the surface, while the waves of public sentiment have rolled tumultuously over their heads. She came to build up the character of the black child; God gave mine into her hands, and she moulded it. She gave her time, her strength, her money to me. She sent me to a Northern college. She opened homes of culture to me. She made it possible for me to become something of a scholar. She sent me abroad. She

watched over me; she prayed for me. Fellow men—I appeal to your manhood—have I not the right, in view of that noble unselfishness, to try to be somebody for her sake? In this home, too, is the woman that I love, the woman whom I hoped in a few days to call by the sacred name of wife. Her young life has not been free from sorrow, for she, too, belongs to the despised black race; but she has given to me the great wealth of her love. Have I not the right, because of that gift, to try to be somebody for her sake? Again, in this home are friends, friends whom I have grown to love and trust; in their number are both white and black. There are men who, like that old white-haired soldier, have defied public sentiment in order to become my friends. They forgot to ask the question whether I was black or whether I was white, but believed in my manhood, in my integrity of purpose, in my honesty of character, in my purity of life. I appeal to you as men, have I not the right to be all that their faith in me calls for me to be? Fellowmen, I have the right."("That's all right," said a voice from the crowd, "but you ain't no right to represent us.")A smile of supreme scorn passed over the face of Dr. Brown."Represent you! Could I ever do that! But I know what you mean. You mean that I, a black man, have no right to enter Congress as the representative of both white and black men. You mean that it is all right for a white man to represent both races, but it is all wrong for a black man. I declare to you, as I expect soon to be judged by a just God, that I cannot see a bit more right in the one case than in the other. It is not a question of whiteness

or of blackness that is to be considered, but a question of manhood and of fitness. But I want to tell you now, standing as I do on the border-land between life and death, that I am prouder of one drop of the black blood that flows in my veins from the honest heart of my bent old grandmother, than I am of all the white blood that flows there from the corrupt heart of him who in God's sight was my grandfather. Him you made governor of one of your proudest Southern States; the old grandmother you will send to the grave of a broken-hearted woman. Such has been the history of the struggle between the races. Fellow men, I am ready to die, but remember this, that though you kill the body, you cannot kill the principle for which I have lived, and for which I die—the right of a black man to be a free man."Dr. Brown had held the great mob quiet as he poured forth his impassioned words, and as he ceased speaking there was silence. He stood there now without his crutch, his head thrown back, his face stern, sot, immovable. For one moment the mob wavered; then a powerful man, followed by ten other masked men, sprang to the balcony. The old general was thrown to the ground; the crippled form was flung to the mob, which, like wild beasts, fell upon it, tossing it to and fro, until at last the cold and lifeless body was hanged in mockery to a tree which sheltered the cabin of the old woman who would have given her life to have saved her crippled boy one moment of sorrow. But she never knew it. God, in His infinite pity, spared her that; for when one of the mob, a perfect fiend through liquor and rage, would have set fire to the cabin, through the

open door he saw a sight that almost froze his heart with terror. But it was a most beautiful sight—an old woman on her knees by the bedside of her boy, her hands outstretched to heaven, and the peace of God upon her face. The lifeless form knelt there, but her soul had gone to be with Him with whom there is neither bond nor free, but all are one with Christ in God.CHAPTER
XI.A CRY FOR VENGEANCE.A SOLEMN hush pervaded the city of Eucada.Old men and old women, young men and young women, black and white, all made their way quietly to the little church over which Uncle Josiah had so long presided.It was already full, but they stood in long, crowded columns, waiting for the time when they might enter and get one last look at the dead face of him, whom, until now, they knew not they so greatly loved.The sobs of the women and children could be distinctly heard, but there was no public outcry.There had been one.As the dead body of Dr. Brown lay in state in the court-house, crowds of black men had come together to avenge his death.Never on the Island of San Domingo had the black people been more eager for blood than was that crowded mass of humanity gathered together in the court room.The stifled feelings of the years burst forth; their agony must have vent; they demanded the lives of the leaders of the mob.The room was in the wildest confusion, when old General Harwood, pale as death, and with his forehead bandaged, and a tall black man, forced their way through the crowd and ascended the platform.General Harwood advanced to the front of the platform as if to address them; but as he looked at the great sea of black faces stained with tears, and heard the groans of agony wrung from those strong men, he could not speak a word.Then the tall man with whom he had entered came forward, and, pushing the old man gently into a chair, took his place.Before him rested the coffin heavily draped with black and covered with flowers, and over the rude bench upon which it rested was folded the flag of the Union.All round the room hung the portraits of Southern leaders."Brothers!" the noise subsided; the men looked up, and the most of them recognised the face of Ben Nichols, and their hearts went out to him, for had not he and their dead hero been the closest of friends?"Brothers!" again the word rang through the room, tender with loving feeling and strong with the strongest emotion."I want to talk with you to-day as I feel that he would have talked, had not for him the limited life of earth ended and the unlimited life of heaven begun."You loved him, but not one of you has ever loved him as I have done."We were boys together, and he was my inspiration."Under the old trees yonder by the branch, he laid his head upon my
breast and told me of his dreams for his people, for my people, for
your people."It seemed impossible that those dreams could ever be realised, but they have been realised in his life, and if they have been in one life, may it not be possible that they may be realised in many lives?"Ben paused, and a subdued sobbing sound was his only answer."He told me," Ben continued, "that he believed we as a race have some God-given qualities that will make us, not despised as we have been in the past, but admired and loved in the future."He spoke of the qualities that had kept us close to God, of our rare emotional temperament. It needs only to be guided by intellectual power to be made of infinite value in building up the kingdom of God."We are children now, but God grant that we may keep the same faith as we grow into the manhood of our race."And yet again he would often speak of the relation of the negro to the Anglo-Saxon."'We have been faithful to them, Ben,' he would say, 'faithful under the most trying circumstances, and it is coming, I am sure of it, the day is coming when here in the South a man shall be reckoned a man, neither because he is white nor because he is black, but because he has the qualities that constitute manhood. Tested by the same rules as the white man, the black man, in understanding, and conduct, and sympathy, will yet measure up to the same level, and this the world must recognise.'"Again and again have I heard him speak of the intense dislike which the Normans had for the Saxons, when it was degradation intensified for a Norman to associate with a Saxon."'But the barriers have been swept away!' he would cry exultingly, 'and the Normans and Saxons are Englishmen! Surely the day is coming when we shall be Americans. But the struggle for some of us will be a faint shadow of that fought by the Son of man, who was the Son of God. He died to make the world free in the liberty which comes through truth.'"Brothers, as Major lies here upon the flag which meant freedom to his people, it seems to me that his life meant a higher freedom than that of the body—it meant freedom of soul; and if those silent lips could speak to-day, would they not utter the words of the Master whom he loved, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do?'"Ben paused, and a stalwart negro, who was evidently a leader, cried out, "Forgive! Forgive! It is always forgive on the part of the black man, no matter what injustice comes to him. Dr. Brown's death shall be avenged, even if it takes every one of our lives to avenge it!"("Hear! Hear!" came from at least a hundred voices.)"Brothers," said Ben Nichols, "listen for just one moment longer. Will you destroy in an instant the work of his whole life? I do not ask that his death shall be unavenged, but let it be according to law. Do not take the law into your own hands, for then you place yourselves on a level with these men who have done this dastardly deed. If you organise, as they did, to violate law, though you have every provocation under heaven, yet the innocent will suffer with the guilty, and you yourselves become criminals.""Yes, the law, how did it treat you?" shouted back the stalwart
leader.Ben Nichols paused a moment before he replied."You have reason," he said, "to ask that question of me, and to ask it in a thousand similar cases. It has been hard for a black man to obtain a just verdict from a white jury, but the words of the judge in my case were worth all the suffering that came to me. As those twelve men brought in their verdict of 'Not guilty,' he arose from his chair and said, 'Gentlemen of the jury, you have brought in a verdict absolutely against the facts of the case, as given in the evidence, and I hope that you have conscientiously misunderstood something in the case.'"Brothers, let us remain true to the laws of our nation, for they will yet prove our strongest protection."Old General Harwood now stepped to Ben's side."Let me speak," he said, "for just one moment."I stand before you to-day as a suppliant. As I look down upon the dead face before me, I ask myself, 'Did earth hold a nobler man?'"I had learned to love him as I have loved few men. He lies in his last sleep before me, and I, in a measure, am responsible for his death."(Cries of "No, no, General, no, no!")"Yes," said the old man, solemnly, "it is true; until I knew him, I looked upon the black man as a creature designed of God to be inferior to the white man, one who could not be his equal."Instead of helping you to rise, and encouraging you when you have tried, I have used all my influence to keep you down."Men and brothers, for his sake I ask your for-

give ness, and I pledge you my word that his death shall be avenged, if it takes every penny of my fortune and every drop of my blood to avenge it."But let it be according to law. I beseech of you, be not rash, or you will obtain, not greater justice, but greater suffering. I know that you have reason to fear injustice from the courts, but not in this case! Act as you think Dr. Brown would have advised you, had he been here to advise."A strong tenor voice began singing,
"Guide me, oh, Thou great Jehovah,Pilgrim through this barren land."Voice after voice took it up, and one after another passed silently and with uncovered head by the coffin, while old General Harwood stood with his arm resting upon the shoulder of Ben Nichols, while the tears he could not check rolled down his face at the recollection of the last time he had heard that hymn.CHAPTER
XII.OVERCOMERS.THE little church at the corner was filled with Dr. Brown's intimate friends—the teachers from the college, the white men and the black men who had been most intimately associated with him, Mr. and Mrs. Prescott and Fred, and Rose Thurston and Sibyl Haven,—all were there with the exception of Mrs. Prescott, of Roselands, and Mildred. The latter had regained consciousness on that dreadful night only to fall again into another faint which lasted longer than the first. The best medical skill was summoned, but she seemed to be hovering upon the borderland of death.The church was literally covered with flowers. It was all that the faithful hearts could do to show their love, and even the little children brought their wreaths of snowy blossoms.Old Uncle Josiah stood in the pulpit with that rare, rapt expression upon his face that meant to all who knew him that he had lost sight of earth and was very near heaven.The two coffins were placed side by side—the old grandmother, who had loved her boy with a love that only such hearts as hers can ever know, and the young man who had gone with her—a conqueror—into the presence of God.To Sibyl Haven it seemed as if she could see them

together again, with a halo of glory about both of their brows.The church choir sang softly:
"Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom; 
Lead Thou me on."The minister of the Southern white church led in prayer, and then old Uncle Josiah spoke.Uncle Josiah had a strange way of choosing his text for his sermons. He would take his Bible, that was almost falling to pieces with excessive use, and would kneel with his head upon it, and pray to God for a message.Then he would rise and open it, and he always found the message marked, as it were, for him.To-day these were the words of his text: "And he that overcometh and keepeth My works unto the end, to him will I give power over the nations . . . and I will give him the morning star.""They bof overcome," he said, softly, "bof of 'em."What did Aunt Chloe overcome?"Lemme tell you. I see her, a young gal, wid eyes like stars an' a face beautiful as a rose. I see her wid a step as light as de fawn, springin' away to do de biddin' ob her mistress."I see her again, an' she's bendin' ober de cradle where sleeps her baby girl, an' de brightness has gone out ob de eyes, an' dere's no light in de face, an' dere's no spring in de walk."She bends ober de cradle an' sobs, '0 Lawd, not mine be de blame fo' de life ob de faderless lamb; not mine, 0 Lawd; oh, take us bof out ob de worl', dat's no place fo' de po' black slave; 0 Lawd, take us,' she sobs and sobs."She ain't obercome yet."But by and by she's still, an' den she says sof'ly, 'not mine, may Thy will be done.'"She's obercome, an' de wail ob anguish ceases."Again I see her, an' dis time its anoder babe in de cradle, but de years hab gone by, an' it's not a slave dat sits dere. It's Aunt Chloe, but it's Aunt Chloe free! an' in de cradle is not a baby gal, but it's a po' crippled baby boy. My, what a diffe'ence!"She t'anks de Lawd fo' dis little life, an' she prays dat de little lamb shall grow up to be a free man. Not free just in de body, but free—free—free in de mind, an' in de body, an' in de soul!"And then she gibs her 'tention to herself, and she axes de Lawd to gib her strength, to gib it to her po' ole body until her boy is free. She axes dat de back shall be made strong enuff fo' de burden until de burden is lifted. She axes dat de fingers be not made so stiff dat dey cannot work, but dat dey be nimble to do work fo' him, an' then she gibs him to de Lawd."She axes God to take him an' make him ob use in de worl'."Again," said the old man, almost in a whisper, "I see her, an' dis time she's a-kneelin' alone; but no, she's not alone; don't you see dat shinin' comp'ny wid dere harps in dere han's? Wot dey doin? Dey's a-comin' fo' her dat's obercome—dey's a-comin' fo' Aunt Chloe, who's to be clothed in white raiment an' to hab a name in her fo'head! Dey' a-comin', an' dey's a-singin' to her; but hark! hark! dere's anodder great host a-singin', and dere's

anodder ladder a-reachin' from de earth to de skies, an' just as dey bring Aunt Chloe to de top roun', de oders reach de top roun' too, an' dey mingle dere voices to-gedder; and she sees—Aunt Chloe sees—not her crippled boy—no—no—not him, but one robed in shinin' 'parel an' he's just a-receivin' ob de mornin' star dat's to be gibben to him dat obercometh."An' it's de mornin' star because dis man has been a light in de worl'—a bright light, a shining light, de light dat comes after de darkness of night an' promises de comin' ob de new day."Brothers and sisters," said the old man, solemnly, "de dear young man was dat to his people. We hab been in de darkness ob slavery, de night was ober, but it was right dusky yet when Major comes to us to gib us light. He shined so dat we began to see de faint streaks ob de mornin' when de black man shall be free."Oh, brothers and sisters, it mos' kills Uncle Josiah to tink dat his boy is gone! It mos' breaks his ole heart, but he's glad fo' Major; glad that he ain't crippled no mo', he ain't black no mo'; he's a shinin' right out in de clear light ob de mornin' sun! But tank de Lawd dat He kindled dat light in our boy befo' He took him to shine in hebben. He kindled it heah, an' we has it, an' we shall always hab it."The old man paused a moment."I'm a-thinkin' ob her dat he lubbed. I've been a-prayin' to God fo' her. Life's nothin' to her now, her life has gone wid him, but I've been askin' de Lawd to gib her anodder life, to gib her Major's work to be her life, an' I Link dat He will, fo' as I

prayed de Bible opened to de cha'iot ob fiah an' de mantle ob Elijah fallin' on Elisha."Dis is a great, sad worl'; it's full ob achin' hearts; it's full ob longings dat can't be realised; it's full ob de harvests dat nebber ripen; but, tank God, it's not de only wo'ld."Aunt Chloe an' her boy kept de works dat God gabe to dere keepin'; bof ob 'em, bof ob 'em. De years were longer fo' Aunt Chloe, but de wo'k was ha'der fo' her boy."Dey oberc ome, an' dey kep' de wo'ks; now what about de res'?"Do you doubt about it, brothers? Do you doubt about it, sisters?"Don't doubt about any ob it. De promise is such."An' what is de promise? De shinin' white robes are to be gibben, an' de name, an' de sittin' down wid Jesus, an' de mornin' star, all—all—to be gibben."Knowin' all ob dis, do we want dem back? No, no, brudders; no, no, sisters; dey is gone where dey need no mo' light, where dere's no mo' sorrow, or heartache, or pinin', an' where de wicked cease from troublin' an' de weary are at rest."But what ob de wicked here? Oh, brudders an' sisters, what ob dem? Tink ob dem to-day! Dey killed the body of our boy, but dey sent his soul to glory. But dey wilfully and maliciously killed his body, an' de Word says, after tellin' about de shinin' place where Aunt Chloe an' Major be, de Word says, 'Widout are murderers!'"The old man dropped his voice almost to a whisper."Tink ob it! Dey are not only murderers here, but dey will be murderers Jere. An' dey will be shut out fo' ebber an' ebber in de darkness away from de Presence of de Light!"Oh, de moanin' an' de wailin' an' de gnashin' ob teeth!"Don't talk about it, brudders, it's an awful thing to fall into de hans ob an offended God an' to heah him say, Vengeance is Mine, I will repay."The old man's voice was a low wail of anguish now."We will shut them out ob our lives too," he continued. "May be de law, which be a mighty power, will punish 'em, an' may be it won't; but dat makes little diffe'nce to you an' to me. We'll go on. We'll miss de strong man dat is gone; we'll miss him eberywhere, but he'll be wid us sometimes. He'll be wid us in our meditations."When we's a-sittin' by de fire an' lookin' into de light, an' won'ering about God's leadin's ob us, an' questionin' ob His ways, we'll feel a quickenin' in our hearts, an' we'll say, 'Yes, Major, we'll do what you'd a-done, an' brudders, dat will be de right thing ebery time."We'll take up his work an' go on wid it."De ole General will take it up; he lubbed him as a brudder."De frens from de Norf will take it up, an' Miss Haven, she'll go on as she's been a-goin' on fo' dose pas' twenty years, an' Ben Nichols will take it up; an' one after anodder ob us who is so weak, we'll do whatsoebber our hans fin' to do, an' de works will be kep', an' den by an' by de dear Lawd will say ob us

too, 'Ye too hab obercome; enter into de joy ob thy Lawd.'"The choir sang softly; and one by one the long file of mourners passed by the silent dead.Tears fell like rain, sobs and groans broke the stillness, but one by one they went out of the little church into the sunlight of God, feeling that the life of earth was a little more like the life of heaven because of Uncle Josiah's words.CHAPTER
XIII."VENGEANCE IS MINE, I WILL REPAY."SOME few months after Major's burial, a small group of people were gathered in the parlours of Roselands to witness the marriage of Fred Prescott to Rose Thurston.Mildred's mother had insisted that Rose should be married there, and Mildred herself had earnestly joined in the request.For many weary weeks Mildred's life had hung by a slender thread to earth; but, little by little, she began to improve; and then she was able to sit up, and soon she was going about as usual, although no one would have dreamed that she could be the same light-hearted, merry girl who sang with Dr. Brown only a few months before.Her hair was thickly streaked with grey, her eyes, though deep, and tender, and lustrous, were so sad and mournful that it almost broke the mother's heart to look upon her child.The strong young frame was wasted to a shadow, but Mildred rose from her sick bed with the determination to live.Uncle Josiah had told her of his prayer and vision. It was as the elixir of life to her. Major's mantle—yes, she would put it on.Major's work left for her to do—yes, she would do it.The colour did not come back to her cheeks nor the light to her eyes, but in their place was a subdued

peace and a deep trustfulness that almost glorified her face.She again took up her kindergarten work, and in the children she found rest.But her work did not end with the children; every home in the city wherein black people lived soon learned to know Miss Mildred.They loved her with that pathetic love which glorified her into a saint. Every one of them knew her story, every one of them would have loved her for Dr. Brown's sake, for his memory was the precious possession of each home.Before Dr. Brown's death Mildred had held herself a little aloof from poor people.It was not that she failed to sympathise with them; it was not that, but she shrank from contact with vice and ignorance in any form.But now it was different. She utterly forgot herself in the thought that it was Major's work she was doing; and was not Major's heart great enough to have taken in the whole world?She was ably seconded in her work by Miss Haven, who saw that Mildred's very life depended upon her activity.Miss Haven knew everybody, and her quick tact and intelligence were of inestimable service to the young girl, whose judgment had not been trained in many points. Instead of her giving to the poor, Miss Haven urged upon Mildred the necessity of helping them to develop an independence of character that would cause them to rely upon their own exertions.Old General Harwood was also a great help to Mildred.He and his wife could not do enough for the poor child after Dr. Brown's death, and in every way they tried to show their affection for her.True to his word, the old General had done his utmost to bring the instigators of the mob to punishment, but as yet his labour had been in vain.He found it utterly impossible to convict Lawyer Dern; for it was argued that he had done nothing but make an impassioned speech against the black man, a thing which had been done again and again by those high in authority in the South.
Kimball had disappeared utterly; not a trace of him could be found, although General Harwood had offered a large reward for any information respecting his whereabouts.The old man was greatly troubled, but he still believed that the time would come when Dr. Brown's death should be avenged.Until then he could at least do something for the living.He entered with the greatest of heartiness into all Mildred's and Miss Haven's schemes for the betterment, not only of the black people, but also of the poor whites.He and his wife would often be found at the college talking with the teachers there, asking and giving advice.The old General's example was contagious, and both white and coloured teachers soon found that the whole community of Eucada desired to be their friends.And so it happened that in the company gathered at Rose's wedding, white and black faces were almost equally divided.Very beautiful was Rose in her simple white dress, her only ornament a spray of bridal roses from "Mother's" bush.The pastor of the Southern white church, whom Rose had known the whole of her life, performed the ceremony, but old Uncle Josiah offered the prayer. Very impressive it was as the old man asked God to guide these two lives into the place of largest usefulness in the building up of His kingdom.Fred Prescott felt the slender hand of Rose tremble in his own as the old man, quite forgetful of the company assembled, asked God to let His Spirit be very near to her who was also to have gone out with him she loved upon that day, but was now wedded to the work her Saviour called her to do.But it was not until Fred Prescott saw Rose take leave of her aunt and Mildred that he realised what a choice treasure he had gained in this beautiful Southern girl.Rose had outgrown all her prejudices. Her aunt was almost as dear to her as her own mother had been. Not one single thought had she of the tinge of colour that darkened Mrs. Prescott's face. She loved her for her noble character, her great soul, her beautiful life, and no sister was ever dearer to another than was Mildred to Rose.After Rose's marriage, as Mildred put her arms about her neck and kissed her, Rose saw an expression upon Mildred's face that she never forgot. The large lustrous eyes were full of a strange, heavenly light; the face was perfectly calm, and stamped with an unutterable peace.As Mildred had listened to the marriage ceremony

it seemed to her that Major once more stood by her side; that he took her hand in his, and also repeated those beautiful words after the minister, "With this ring I thee wed, and with my worldly goods I thee endow, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." Yes, he was her husband. He had endowed her with his all, and what that all meant to her it would be impossible to put into words. All his hopes, and purposes, and longings; these were Major's endowment to her; no wonder that her face was glorified at the thought of the riches of her life.But Rose sobbed passionately as she bade Mildred good-bye. She could not understand Mildred's life at all now.Her own heart and life were so full of satisfied possession that she could not think of Mildred without the bitterest of heartache."Do not cry, darling," said Mildred, in her low, soft, voice; "it is all right, and may your life be filled with joy. Do not think of me as alone and heart-broken; life is very full of happiness even now. Mother is with me, and Major—is not far away—and he has left me his work to do. God bless you, darling, until you come back again to us."It had been arranged that Fred and Rose were to go to Boston on their wedding tour, returning to Eucada to make their home there.Fred had decided to enter upon business in Eucada, as he felt that there were wonderful opportunities in the South, and he wanted to be where he was sure he could aid in the solution of the negro problem.It was largely solved in Eucada, but Eucada was
K2

not the whole South, and he and Rose felt that their work and influence were needed there. Long and earnest had been his conversations with Ben Nichols.Ben Nichols had fulfilled many of the dreams of his boyhood. His college settlements, as he called them, were growing rapidly in their influence, as one after another of the young men and women from the college and industrial schools in Eucada graduated and went out into active life.Fred Prescott had often wondered why so many of the negroes preferred agriculture to the manufacturing interests, or to trade and commerce.But when Ben Nichols assured him that it was simply because they were shut out from these occupations by trade organisations and public sentiment, he decided that at least one cotton-mill to be built in the South should employ negro hands.And so it was with joyful anticipations of the work that had been committed to them that Fred and Rose left their friends in Eucada for a brief absence in the North.It was at this time that Fred Prescott began a thorough study of the position of the black man in the so-called Northern States.He found that there was a great difference in the expression of the feelings of the Northerners and the Southerners toward the negro. Before the courts of Massachusetts the negro was on the level with the white man. The high standard placed upon the statute book read:"Any distinction, discrimination, or restriction on account of colour or race . . . in respect to the admission of any person to, or his treatment in . . any public place of amusement, or public conveyance,

public meeting, or inn, whether licensed or not licensed, should be punishable by a fine not exceeding one hundred dollars."The letter of the law was all right; the wrong was in the spirit animating society.And yet even here he found that the entire atmosphere in civil life and privilege was different to that of the South. The Northern white man recognised in the negro a man, but he seemed to be losing his interest in aiding the black man to rise to his own high position. The present condition of the negro had in it nothing to kindle high enthusiasm, and, because of this, smaller abuses were allowed to exist without arousing the righteous indignation that had characterised the men of the North in former times.And, when he studied the political situation, he found the same thing to be true of the political parties. They simply ignored the existence of the black man.He found, too, that the work of the churches for the negro was decreasing. The Church was becoming tired of the education of the black race, expecting that in something over a quarter of a century the work should be done for the black man that it had taken centuries to do for the white man. And now, when the black man seemed to need the strong arm of the philanthropist most, it looked as if it were in a large measure to be withdrawn. On the other hand, he found a large number of cultured negroes in the North, whose society was eagerly sought by white friends in their own social circles. He found that there were black lawyers and physicians whose clients were largely white; but these were the exceptions.Occasionally white ministers of the Gospel ex-changed pulpits with their black brethren, and he was delighted, as he and Rose were spending a few weeks in the White Mountains, to enter a church at Sugar Hill, and after looking over the white and fashionably dressed congregation, to see a black preacher enter the pulpit. Upon inquiry he learned that he was their most acceptable pastor.On the other hand, in the Southern States the bark was much more to be dreaded than the bite; the letter was much more severe than the spirit of the law. The Southern white man could not suppress the promptings of his nobler nature which again and again called to his recollection the fact that it was the negro who had stood true to his loved ones when he was absent from home and fireside, trying to found a sisterhood of States whose cornerstone should be slavery.One evening as Fred and Rose were discussing these things, they were surprised to see Dr. Mitchell come in with an expression of agitation upon his usually calm face."Fred," he said, "I wish that you would come with me to the hospital. There is a man there who is dying, and he is constantly calling out in his ravings about niggers; and I have heard him say several times the name 'Dr. Brown.' It may be that in some way he was implicated in the killing of Major Brown."Fred rose immediately, and they quickly wended their way to the hospital.As they entered the room wherein the patient lay, Fred Prescott saw a sweet-faced black worn an gently smoothing the pillow and drawing the covering over

the sick man, who, in his wild ravings, was constantly rolling his head from the pillow and tossing the bed-clothes to the floor. As the doctor entered, the patient became quiet for a moment, and then he burst out with a fearful oath against the whole race of niggers. He seemed to be filled with mortal terror."There, do you see her? She's kneeling there! She is praying for him. Oh, he's hanging there! Don't you see her? Sue's praying for 'God's curse to rest upon his murderers!' Oh, its coming! It's coming!" and with a wild leap he would have sprung to the floor had not Dr. Mitchell firmly held him back.Fred Prescott looked at the bloated and distorted face. It was the face of Captain Kimball, whom he had seen many times in Eucada.He nodded his recognition of the man to Dr. Mitchell as again the man's wild ravings began."Oh, God," he cried, "have mercy! I can see his face! How he looked at me when my hand gripped his throat! Away! Away! ye fiends of hell, don't you know that we couldn't be represented by niggers?"He sank back exhausted, while Dr. Mitchell felt his pulse."He is dying," he said, solemnly, "he has only a few minutes more of earth."The sweet-faced black nurse was on her knees by the bedside, praying softly for this man who was so soon to be with his God.Fred Prescott stood there thinking of Uncle Josiah's words, "And without are murderers."But the dying man raised himself half way up, and

with an expression of fearful agony shrieked out once more. "Don't let her touch me; she's praying for him!" and then sank back upon his pillow—dead.When Fred Prescott returned to Rose she asked him if it was any one that they had known."It was Captain Kimball, dearest," he replied, shudderingly; "but
do not ask me anything more about him. Major Brown has been
avenged."CHAPTER
XIV.CLOSING SCENES.WE will take just one more glimpse of the little city of Eucada.A beautiful house has been erected near Roselands; it is the home of the proprietor of the largest cotton-mill in the South—a mill which is conducted on the co-operative plan, and whose employés are all, or nearly all, negroes.Here lived Fred and Rose Prescott.A small, winding path runs from the house to a side entrance into the cosy sitting-room of the old-fashioned mansion at Roselands.The little, uncertain steps of Major Brown Prescott are constantly being taken in this path as he goes in search of "Auntie Mildred."But Auntie Mildred is not only dear to little Major's heart, but she is Auntie Mildred to nearly every black and white child in the city.The fame of her kindergarten methods has extended over the whole South, and nobody goes to Eucada who does not visit her school.To be sure, it seemed at one time as if the infamous Sheets Bill, passed in Florida, might extend to other States, and thereby defeat this noble woman's work; but it was providentially declared unconstitutional, and her work of love goes on without fear.Those neat cottages scattered all about the mill are the homes of the working men. Nearly every man owns his own home, for he has paid for it with his share in the productive mill.Those beautiful grounds to the right are the college grounds.That large building that stands near the forest of pines is the girls' home, built by Mrs. Prescott of Roselands, and presided over by Sibyl Haven. She is a middle-aged woman now. She has given her life to a problem that she believes to-day is reaching a solution.To her the cemetery which holds the graves of Dr. Brown and Aunt Chloe is one of the most sacred spots on earth, for she has always felt that in Dr. Brown's life and death her dreams for the black man were more than realised.Mrs. Prescott has had erected there a slender white monument bearing the two names, and beneath Major's name are carved these words, "Whether White or Black, A Man!"The large building near the girls' home contains the training
school for kindergarten teachers, as also the flourishing kindergarten
over which Miss Mildred presides.Dotted over the grounds are other buildings, prominent among them being the 
"Brown Library," built and endowed by one of the noblest of men, old General Harwood.It is named after Major Brown.Before the great crowd that gathered at the dedication of this library building, General Harwood said that he wished simply to read the words of a black man at the opening of the Atlanta Exposition:"A new negro has come upon the stage of action. As you enter the main entrance of the negro building you will observe the statue of a negro with broken manacles upon his wrists. His frame is muscular and powerful; his eye is fixed upon his broken but hanging chain; his brow is knit in deep thought. This is the new negro. What is he doing? He is thinking! And by the power of thought he will think off those chains, and have both hands free to help you to build this country and make a grand destiny for himself." In generous affection for our native soil, in fealty to our institutions, and in an universal love for all men, his spirit is that of his fathers made over." Being to the manner born, he cannot be alienated in sentiment and patriotic devotion to the institutions of the South, and of the whole country." It is noteworthy, however, that this negro has had born in him the consciousness of a racial personality under the blaze of a new civilisation. With this new birth of the soul he longs for an opportunity to grow into the proportions of a new and diviner manhood, that shall take its place in the ranks of one common humanity." This negro, when educated in all the discipline of civilisation, and thoroughly trained in the arts of civilised and moral life, cannot fail to be an individual help to our American life." It is his deepest desire to rise and work man-fully, and he is willing to bide his time until the American white man shall have that conquer in him that always has conquered, namely, the love of fair play."In the classic words of Edmund Burke before

his constituents in Bristol, England, we pray : ` Applaud when we run ; console us when we fall ; cheer us when we recover ; but let us pass on, for God's sake, let us pass on ! ' "" Fellow men," said the old General, " the love of fair play has conquered the prejudice that had been for years dominant in my life, and I stand here to-day to say that we must let the negro pass on, for we cannot stop him even if we would." As one of his own race has said, ` The negro can afford to be wronged ; the white man cannot afford to wrong him.' "The large farm upon which the college buildings are located affords excellent opportunity for putting into practice the theoretical training that is given in another building located near the kindergarten.Here girls are instructed in fruit-growing, floriculture, poultry-raising, and fruit-canning.Brains are put into every stage of the work, and the common labour becomes thereby dignified and beautified.Of course, here, too, are the carpenter's shop and the blacksmith's shop, together with the large carriage manufactory.The trained hand as well as the trained mind is desired, but the best of all is that there is no inhabitant of Eucada who is not proud of this college, or, rather, university, as they call it now.White and black teachers are found working together, and their children attend the same school with no thought of difference in colour.But on the other side of the city is an institution in which Ben Nichols is greatly interested, and to

which he often sends one of the " waifs which belong to the King."This is an orphan's home, which was founded by the wife of old Uncle Josiah shortly after the old man's death.Without possessing a dollar, she established this home for the care and education of orphan black children.To-day she is taking care of nearly a hundred little ones who have no one else to look after them. The children who live in the shelter of the " old shoe," as she calls it, will surely rise up some day and call her blessed.And Ben Nichols, what of him ?Everybody loves him who knows him, from the dirtiest bootblack to the governor of that proud Southern State.For what do they love him ?Not for his culture—he has little of that. Not for his wealth—he is not rich. Not for his eloquence—he has none of that. But he is loved for his character.He believes with Terence, of Carthage, who, when asked why he had so much leisure that he could attend to the affairs of others, replied, " I am a man, and nothing that relates to man is a matter of unconcern to me."And surely nothing that is human is indifferent to Ben Nichols. He is the best known and the best loved black man in the South to-day. His whole time is spent in work for others, and, in losing his life, he has found the largest and the richest life.As we look at the city of Eucada we feel that the words of Phillips
Brooks were those of the prophet ;" Slavery must die, because out of it, and it alone, came forth the treason of the traitor and the murderer. Do not say that it is dead. It is not, while its essential spirit lives. While one man counts another man is born inferior for the colour of his skin ; while, both in North and South, prejudice and practices which the law cannot touch, but which God hates, keep alive in our people's hearts the spirit of the old iniquity ; it is not dead." The new American nature must supplant the old."THE END.LONDON: S.W
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