The Quest of the Silver Fleece | Page 9

niggers and wouldn't
let de drivers whip 'em much."
"And these Cresswells today?"
"Oh, dey're quality--high-blooded folks--dey'se lost some land and
niggers, but, lordy, nuttin' can buy de Cresswells, dey naturally owns
de world."
"Are they honest and kind?"
"Oh, yaas, ma'am--dey'se good white folks."
"Good white folk?"
"Oh, yaas, ma'am--course you knows white folks will be white
folks--white folks will be white folks. Your servant, ma'am." And the
swamp swallowed him.
The boy's eyes followed him as he whipped up the horse.
"He's going to Elspeth's," he said.
"Who is he?"
"We just call him Old Pappy--he's a preacher, and some folks say a
conjure man, too."

"And who is Elspeth?"
"She lives in the swamp--she's a kind of witch, I reckon, like--like--"
"Like Medea?"
"Yes--only--I don't know--" and he grew thoughtful.
The road turned now and far away to the eastward rose the first
straggling cabins of the town. Creeping toward them down the road
rolled a dark squat figure. It grew and spread slowly on the horizon
until it became a fat old black woman, hooded and aproned, with great
round hips and massive bosom. Her face was heavy and homely until
she looked up and lifted the drooping cheeks, and then kindly old eyes
beamed on the young teacher, as she curtsied and cried:
"Good-evening, honey! Good-evening! You sure is pretty dis evening."
"Why, Aunt Rachel, how are you?" There was genuine pleasure in the
girl's tone.
"Just tolerable, honey, bless de Lord! Rumatiz is kind o' bad and Aunt
Rachel ain't so young as she use ter be."
"And what brings you to town afoot this time of day?"
The face fell again to dull care and the old eyes crept away. She
fumbled with her cane.
"It's de boys again, honey," she returned solemnly; "dey'se good boys,
dey is good to de're old mammy, but dey'se high strung and dey gits
fighting and drinking and--and--last Saturday night dey got took up
again. I'se been to Jedge Grey--I use to tote him on my knee,
honey--I'se been to him to plead him not to let 'em go on de gang,
'cause you see, honey," and she stroked the girl's sleeve as if pleading
with her, too, "you see it done ruins boys to put 'em on de gang."
Miss Taylor tried hard to think of something comforting to say, but
words seemed inadequate to cheer the old soul; but after a few

moments they rode on, leaving the kind face again beaming and
dimpling.
And now the country town of Toomsville lifted itself above the cotton
and corn, fringed with dirty straggling cabins of black folk. The road
swung past the iron watering trough, turned sharply and, after passing
two or three pert cottages and a stately house, old and faded, opened
into the wide square. Here pulsed the very life and being of the land.
Yonder great bales of cotton, yellow-white in its soiled sacking, piled
in lofty, dusty mountains, lay listening for the train that, twice a day,
ran out to the greater world. Round about, tied to the well-gnawed
hitching rails, were rows of mules--mules with back cloths; mules with
saddles; mules hitched to long wagons, buggies, and rickety gigs;
mules munching golden ears of corn, and mules drooping their heads in
sorrowful memory of better days.
Beyond the cotton warehouse smoked the chimneys of the seed-mill
and the cotton-gin; a red livery-stable faced them and all about three
sides of the square ran stores; big stores and small wide-windowed,
narrow stores. Some had old steps above the worn clay side-walks, and
some were flush with the ground. All had a general sense of
dilapidation--save one, the largest and most imposing, a three-story
brick. This was Caldwell's "Emporium"; and here Bles stopped and
Miss Taylor entered.
Mr. Caldwell himself hurried forward; and the whole store, clerks and
customers, stood at attention, for Miss Taylor was yet new to the
county.
She bought a few trifles and then approached her main business.
"My brother wants some information about the county, Mr. Caldwell,
and I am only a teacher, and do not know much about conditions here."
"Ah! where do you teach?" asked Mr. Caldwell. He was certain he
knew the teachers of all the white schools in the county. Miss Taylor
told him. He stiffened slightly but perceptibly, like a man clicking the
buckles of his ready armor, and two townswomen who listened

gradually turned their backs, but remained near.
"Yes--yes," he said, with uncomfortable haste.
"Any--er--information--of course--" Miss Taylor got out her notes.
"The leading land-owners," she began, sorting the notes searchingly, "I
should like to know something about them."
"Well, Colonel Cresswell is, of course, our greatest landlord--a
high-bred gentleman of the old school. He and his son--a worthy
successor to the name--hold some