The Quest of the Silver Fleece | Page 5

"but
what sort of folks?"
"God's sort."
"Oh, well--"
But Miss Smith had the bit in her teeth and could not have stopped. She
was paying high for the privilege of talking, but it had to be said.
"God's sort, Mrs. Vanderpool--not the sort that think of the world as
arranged for their exclusive benefit and comfort."
"Well, I do want to count--"
Miss Smith bent forward--not a beautiful pose, but earnest.
"I want you to count, and I want to count, too; but I don't want us to be

the only ones that count. I want to live in a world where every soul
counts--white, black, and yellow--all. _That's_ what I'm teaching these
children here--to count, and not to be like dumb, driven cattle. If you
don't believe in this, of course you cannot help us."
"Your spirit is admirable, Miss Smith," she had said very softly; "I only
wish I could feel as you do. Good-afternoon," and she had rustled
gently down the narrow stairs, leaving an all but imperceptible
suggestion of perfume. Miss Smith could smell it yet as she went down
this morning.
The breakfast bell jangled. "Five thousand dollars," she kept repeating
to herself, greeting the teachers absently--"five thousand dollars." And
then on the porch she was suddenly aware of the awaiting boy. She
eyed him critically: black, fifteen, country-bred, strong, clear-eyed.
"Well?" she asked in that brusque manner wherewith her natural
timidity was wont to mask her kindness. "Well, sir?"
"I've come to school."
"Humph--we can't teach boys for nothing."
The boy straightened. "I can pay my way," he returned.
"You mean you can pay what we ask?"
"Why, yes. Ain't that all?"
"No. The rest is gathered from the crumbs of Dives' table."
Then he saw the twinkle in her eyes. She laid her hand gently upon his
shoulder.
"If you don't hurry you'll be late to breakfast," she said with an air of
confidence. "See those boys over there? Follow them, and at noon
come to the office--wait! What's your name?"
"Blessed Alwyn," he answered, and the passing teachers smiled.

Three MISS MARY TAYLOR
Miss Mary Taylor did not take a college course for the purpose of
teaching Negroes. Not that she objected to Negroes as human
beings--quite the contrary. In the debate between the senior societies
her defence of the Fifteenth Amendment had been not only a notable
bit of reasoning, but delivered with real enthusiasm. Nevertheless,
when the end of the summer came and the only opening facing her was
the teaching of children at Miss Smith's experiment in the Alabama
swamps, it must be frankly confessed that Miss Taylor was
disappointed.
Her dream had been a post-graduate course at Bryn Mawr; but that was
out of the question until money was earned. She had pictured herself
earning this by teaching one or two of her "specialties" in some private
school near New York or Boston, or even in a Western college. The
South she had not thought of seriously; and yet, knowing of its
delightful hospitality and mild climate, she was not averse to
Charleston or New Orleans. But from the offer that came to teach
Negroes--country Negroes, and little ones at that--she shrank, and,
indeed, probably would have refused it out of hand had it not been for
her queer brother, John. John Taylor, who had supported her through
college, was interested in cotton. Having certain schemes in mind, he
had been struck by the fact that the Smith School was in the midst of
the Alabama cotton-belt.
"Better go," he had counselled, sententiously. "Might learn something
useful down there."
She had been not a little dismayed by the outlook, and had protested
against his blunt insistence.
"But, John, there's no society--just elementary work--"
John had met this objection with, "Humph!" as he left for his office.
Next day he had returned to the subject.

"Been looking up Tooms County. Find some Cresswells there--big
plantations--rated at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Some
others, too; big cotton county."
"You ought to know, John, if I teach Negroes I'll scarcely see much of
people in my own class."
"Nonsense! Butt in. Show off. Give 'em your Greek--and study Cotton.
At any rate, I say go."
And so, howsoever reluctantly, she had gone.
The trial was all she had anticipated, and possibly a bit more. She was a
pretty young woman of twenty-three, fair and rather daintily moulded.
In favorable surroundings, she would have been an aristocrat and an
epicure. Here she was teaching dirty children, and the smell of
confused odors and bodily perspiration was to her at times unbearable.
Then there was the fact of their color: it was a fact so insistent, so fatal
she almost said at times, that she could not escape it. Theoretically she
had always treated