All night Miss Smith lay holding the quivering form of Zora close to her
breast, staring wide-eyed into the darkness--thinking, thinking. In the
morning the party would come. There would be Mrs. Grey and Mary Taylor,
Mrs. Vanderpool, who had left her so coldly in the lurch before, and
some of the Cresswells. They would come well fed and impressed with the
charming hospitality of their hosts, and rather more than willing to see
through those host's eyes. They would be in a hurry to return to some
social function, and would give her work but casual attention.
It seemed so dark an ending to so bright a dream. Never for her had a
fall opened as gloriously. The love of this boy and girl, blossoming as
it had beneath her tender care, had been a sacred, wonderful history
that revived within her memories of long-forgotten days. But above lay
the vision of her school, redeemed and enlarged, its future safe, its
usefulness broadened--small wonder that to Sarah Smith the future had
seemed in November almost golden.
Then things began to go wrong. The transfer of the Tolliver land had not
yet been effected; the money was ready, but Mr. Tolliver seemed busy or
hesitating. Next came this news of Mrs. Grey's probable conditions. So
here it was Christmas time, and Sarah Smith's castles lay almost in
ruins about her.
The girl moaned in her fitful sleep and Miss Smith soothed her. Poor
child! here too was work--a strange strong soul cruelly stricken in her
youth. Could she be brought back to a useful life? How she needed such a
strong, clear-eyed helper in this crisis of her work! Would Zora make
one or would this blow send her to perdition? Not if Sarah Smith could
save her, she resolved, and stared out the window where the pale red
dawn was sending its first rays on the white-pillared mansion of the
Cresswells.
Mrs. Grey saw the light on the columns, too, as she lay lazily in her
soft white bed. There was a certain delicious languor in the late
lingering fall of Alabama that suited her perfectly. Then, too, she
liked the house and its appointments; there was not, to be sure, all the
luxury that she was used to in her New York mansion, but there was a
certain finish about it, an elegance and staid old-fashioned hospitality
that appealed to her tremendously. Mrs. Grey's heart warmed to the sight
of Helen in her moments of spasmodic caring for the sick and afflicted
on the estate. No better guardian of her philanthropies could be found
than these same Cresswells. She must, of course, go over and see dear
Sarah Smith; but really there was not much to say or to look at.
The prospects seemed most alluring. Later, Mr. Easterly talked a while
on routine business, saying, as he turned away:
"I am more and more impressed, Mrs. Grey, with your wisdom in placing
large investments in the South. With peaceful social conditions the
returns will be large."
Mrs. Grey heard this delicate flattery complacently. She had her streak
of thrift, and wanted her business capacity recognized. She listened
attentively.
"For this reason, I trust you will handle your Negro philanthropies
judicially, as I know you will. There's dynamite in this race problem
for amateur reformers, but fortunately you have at hand wise and
sympathetic advisers in the Cresswells."
Mrs. Grey agreed entirely.
Mary Taylor, alone of the committee, took her commission so seriously as
to be anxious to begin work.
"We are to visit the school this morning, you know," she reminded the
others, looking at her watch; "I'm afraid we're late already."
The remark created mild consternation. It seemed that Mr. Vanderpool had
gone hunting and his wife had not yet arisen. Dr. Boldish was very
hoarse, Mr. Easterly was going to look over some plantations with
Colonel Cresswell, and Mr. Bocombe was engrossed in a novel.
"Clever, but not true to life," he said.
Finally the clergyman and Mr. Bocombe, Mrs. Grey and Mrs. Vanderpool and
Miss Taylor started for the school, with Harry Cresswell, about an hour
after lunch. The delay and suppressed excitement among the little folks
had upset things considerably there, but at the sight of the visitors at
the gate Miss Smith rang the bell.
The party came in, laughing and chatting. They greeted Miss Smith
cordially. Dr. Boldish was beginning to tell a good story when a silence
fell.
The children had gathered, quietly, almost timidly, and before the
distinguished company realized it, they turned to meet that battery of
four hundred eyes. A human eye is a wonderful thing when it simply waits
and watches. Not one of these little things alone would have been worth
more than a glance, but together, they became mighty, portentous. Mr.
Bocombe got out his note-book and wrote furiously therein. Dr. Boldish,
naturally the appointed spokesman, looked helplessly about and whispered
to Mrs. Vanderpool:
"What on earth shall I talk about?"
"The brotherhood of man?" suggested the lady.
"Hardly advisable," returned Dr. Boldish, seriously, "in our friend's
presence,"--with a glance toward Cresswell. Then he arose.
"My friends," he said, touching his finger-tips and using blank verse in
A minor. "This is an auspicious day. You should be thankful for the
gifts of the Lord. His bounty surrounds you--the trees, the fields, the
glorious sun. He gives cotton to clothe you, corn to eat, devoted
friends to teach you. Be joyful. Be good. Above all, be thrifty and save
your money, and do not complain and whine at your apparent
disadvantages. Remember that God did not create men equal but unequal,
and set metes and bounds. It is not for us to question the wisdom of the
Almighty, but to bow humbly to His will.
"Remember that the slavery of your people was not necessarily a crime.
It was a school of work and love. It gave you noble friends, like Mr.
Cresswell here." A restless stirring, and the battery of eyes was turned
upon that imperturbable gentleman, as if he were some strange animal.
"Love and serve them. Remember that we get, after all, little education
from books; rather in the fields, at the plough and in the kitchen. Let
your ambition be to serve rather than rule, to be humble followers of
the lowly Jesus."
With an upward glance the Rev. Dr. Boldish sat down amid a silence a
shade more intense than that which had greeted him. Then slowly from the
far corner rose a thin voice, tremulously. It wavered on the air and
almost broke, then swelled in sweet, low music. Other and stronger
voices gathered themselves to it, until two hundred were singing a soft
minor wail that gripped the hearts and tingled in the ears of the
hearers. Mr. Bocombe groped with a puzzled expression to find the pocket
for his note-book; Harry Cresswell dropped his eyes, and on Mrs.
Vanderpool's lips the smile died. Mary Taylor flushed, and Mrs. Grey
cried frankly:
"Poor things!" she whispered.
"Now," said Mrs. Grey, turning about, "we haven't but just a moment and
we want to take a little look at your work." She smiled graciously upon
Miss Smith.
Mrs. Grey thought the cooking-school very nice.
"I suppose," she said, "that you furnish cooks for the county."
"Largely," said Miss Smith. Mrs. Vanderpool looked surprised, but Miss
Smith added: "This county, you know, is mostly black." Mrs. Grey did not
catch the point.
The dormitories were neat and the ladies expressed great pleasure in
them.
"It is certainly nice for them to know what a clean place is," commented
Mrs. Grey. Mr. Cresswell, however, looked at a bath-room and smiled.
"How practical!" he said.
"Can you not stop and see some of the classes?" Sarah Smith knew in her
heart that the visit was a failure, still she would do her part to the
end.
"I doubt if we shall have time," Mrs. Grey returned, as they walked on.
"Mr. Cresswell expects friends to dinner."
"What a magnificent intelligence office," remarked Mr. Bocombe, "for
furnishing servants to the nation. I saw splendid material for cooks and
maids."
"And plough-boys," added Cresswell.
"And singers," said Mary Taylor.
"Well, now that's just my idea," said Mrs. Grey, "that these schools
should furnish trained servants and laborers for the South. Isn't that
your idea, Miss Smith?"
"Not exactly," the lady replied, "or at least I shouldn't put it just
that way. My idea is that this school should furnish men and women who
can work and earn an honest living, train up families aright, and
perform their duties as fathers, mothers, and citizens."
"Yes--yes, precisely," said Mrs. Grey, "that's what I meant."
"I think the whites can attend to the duties of citizenship without
help," observed Mr. Cresswell.
"Don't let the blacks meddle in politics," said Dr. Boldish.
"I want to make these children full-fledged men and women, strong,
self-reliant, honest, without any 'ifs' and 'ands' to their
development," insisted Miss Smith.
"Of course, and that is just what Mr. Cresswell wants. Isn't it, Mr.
Cresswell?" asked Mrs. Grey.
"I think I may say yes," Mr. Cresswell agreed. "I certainly want these
people to develop as far as they can, although Miss Smith and I would
differ as to their possibilities. But it is not so much in the general
theory of Negro education as in its particular applications where our
chief differences would lie. I may agree that a boy should learn higher
arithmetic, yet object to his loafing in plough-time. I might want to
educate some girls but not girls like Zora."
Mrs. Vanderpool glanced at Mr. Cresswell, smiling to herself.
Mrs. Grey broke in, beaming:
"That's just it, dear Miss Smith,--just it. Your heart is good, but you
need strong practical advice. You know we weak women are so impractical,
as my poor Job so often said. Now, I'm going to arrange to endow this
school with at least--at least a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. One
condition is that my friend, Mr. Cresswell here, and these other
gentlemen, including sound Northern business men like Mr. Easterly,
shall hold this money in trust, and expend it for your school as they
think best."
"Mr. Cresswell would be their local representative?" asked Miss Smith
slowly with white face.
"Why yes--yes, of course."
There was a long, tense silence. Then the firm reply,
"Mrs. Grey, I thank you, but I cannot accept your offer."
Sarah Smith's voice was strong, the tremor had left her hands. She had
expected something like this, of course; yet when it came--somehow it
failed to stun. She would not turn over the direction of the school, or
the direction of the education of these people, to those who were most
opposed to their education. Therefore, there was no need to hesitate;
there was no need to think the thing over--she had thought it over--and
she looked into Mrs. Grey's eyes and with gathering tears in her own
said:
"Again, I thank you very much, Mrs. Grey."
Mrs. Grey was a picture of the most emphatic surprise, and Mr. Cresswell
moved to the window. Mrs. Grey looked helplessly at her companions.
"But--I don't understand, Miss Smith--why can't you accept my offer?"
"Because you ask me to put my school in control of those who do not wish
for the best interests of black folk, and in particular I object to Mr.
Cresswell," said Miss Smith, slowly but very distinctly, "because his
relation to the forces of evil in this community has been such that he
can direct no school of mine." Mrs. Vanderpool moved toward the door and
Mr. Cresswell bowing slightly followed. Dr. Boldish looked indignant and
Mr. Bocombe dove after his note-book. Mary Taylor, her head in a whirl,
came forward. She felt that in some way she was responsible for this
dreadful situation and she wanted desperately to save matters from final
disaster.
"Come," she said, "Mrs. Grey, we'll talk this matter over again later. I
am sure Miss Smith does not mean quite all she says--she is tired and
nervous. You join the others and don't wait for me and I will be along
directly."
Mrs. Grey was only too glad to escape and Mr. Bocombe got a chance to
talk. He drew out his note-book.
"Awfully interesting," he said, "awfully. Now--er--let's see--oh, yes.
Did you notice how unhealthy the children looked? Race is undoubtedly
dying out; fact. No hope. Weak. No spontaneity either--rather languid,
did you notice? Yes, and their heads--small and narrow--no brain
capacity. They can't concentrate; notice how some slept when Dr. Boldish
was speaking? Mr. Cresswell says they own almost no land here; think of
it? This land was worth only ten dollars an acre a decade ago, he says.
Negroes might have bought all and been rich. Very shiftless--and that
singing. Now, I wonder where they got the music? Imitation, of course."
And so he rattled on, noting not the silence of the others.
As the carriage drove off Mary turned to Miss Smith.
"Now, Miss Smith," she began--but Miss Smith looked at her, and said
sternly, "Sit down."
Mary Taylor sat down. She had been so used to lecturing the older woman
that the sudden summoning of her well known sternness against herself
took her breath, and she sat awkwardly like the school girl that she was
waiting for Miss Smith to speak. She felt suddenly very young and very
helpless--she who had so jauntily set out to solve this mighty problem
by a waving of her wand. She saw with a swelling of pity the drawn and
stricken face of her old friend and she started up.
"Sit down," repeated Miss Smith harshly. "Mary Taylor, you are a fool.
You are not foolish, for the foolish learn; you are simply a fool. You
will never learn; you have blundered into this life work of mine and
well nigh ruined it. Whether I can yet save it God alone knows. You have
blundered into the lives of two loving children, and sent one wandering
aimless on the face of the earth and the other moaning in yonder chamber
with death in her heart. You are going to marry the man that sought
Zora's ruin when she was yet a child because you think of his
aristocratic pose and pretensions built on the poverty, crime, and
exploitation of six generations of serfs. You'll marry him and--"
But Miss Taylor leapt to her feet with blazing cheeks.
"How dare you?" she screamed, beside herself.
"But God in heaven help you if you do," finished Miss Smith, calmly.
_Seventeen_