The quest of the Silver Fleece : a novel

A

THE QUEST OF THE
SILVER FLEECE

By the same author
THE SOULS OF BLACK FOLK

Eighth edition
Large 12mo. $1.20 net

A. C. McClurg & Co., Publishers
Chicago

' BLES, ALMOST THOU PERSUADEST ME TO BE A FOOL "

[CHAPTER XXIX]

THE QUEST OF THE
SILVER FLEECE

A NOVEL

BY

W. E. BURGHARDT DuBOIS

AUTHOR OF "THE SOULS OF BLACK FOLK"

ILLUSTRATED BY H. S. DE LAY

CHICAGO

A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1911

Copyright

A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1911

Published October, 1911

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England

M. 3F. ijall JJrttttuirj (Eampmut

TO ONE

WHOSE NAME MAY NOT BE WRITTEN BUT TO WHOSE TIRELESS
FAITH THE SHAPING OF THESE CRUDER THOUGHTS
TO FORMS MORE FITLY PERFECT IS DOUBT
LESS DUE, THIS FINISHED WORK IS
HEREWITH DEDICATED

M515780

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I DREAMS ...... 13

II THE SCHOOL 21

III Miss MARY TAYLOR .... 26

IV TOWN 33

V ZORA 44

VI COTTON ...... 54

VII THE PLACE OF DREAMS ... 66

VIII MR. HARRY CRESSWELL ... 81

IX THE PLANTING ..... 90

X MR. TAYLOR CALLS . . . .101

XI THE FLOWERING OF THE FLEECE . 119

XII THE PROMISE . . . . . 129

XIII MRS. GREY GIVES A DINNER . . 146

XIV LOVE 152

XV REVELATION . . . . .158

XVI THE GREAT REFUSAL . . .172

XVII THE RAPE OF THE FLEECE . . . 181

XVIII THE COTTON CORNER . . . 190

XIX THE DYING OF ELSPETH . . .200

XX THE WEAVING OF THE SILVER FLEECE . 213

XXI THE MARRIAGE MORNING . . . 223

XXII Miss CAROLINE WYNN . . . 232

XXIII THE TRAINING OF ZORA . . .244

XXIV THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN . . 253
XXV THE CAMPAIGN .... 266

XXVI CONGRESSMAN CRESSWELL . . . 282

XXVII THE VISION OF ZORA , 293

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

XXVIII THE ANNUNCIATION . .

XXIX A MASTER OF FATE . .

XXX THE RETURN OF ZORA

XXXI A PARTING OF WAYS .

XXXII ZORA'S WAY

XXXIII THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP

XXXIV THE RETURN OF ALWYN .
XXXV THE COTTON MILL .

XXXVI THE LAND . .

XXXVII THE MOB . .

XXXVIII ATONEMENT

PAGE

303

326
337
3£5
363
376
389
402
418
426

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE
"Bles, almost thou persuadest me to be a fool"

Frontispiece

They together, back in the swamp, shadowed by
the foliage, began to fashion the wonderful gar
ment 50

" Can it be, Bles Alwyn," she said, " that you don't
know the sort of a girl she is?" . . . 168

"I am not worthy of her," he answered, sinking
before her . 430

NOTE

HE who would tell a tale must look toward three ideals : \
to tell it well, to tell it beautifully, and to tell the
truth.

The first is the Gift of God, the second is the Vision
of Genius, but the third is the Reward of Honesty.

In The Quest of the Silver Fleece there is little, I ween,
divine or ingenious ; but, at least, I have been honest. In
no fact or picture have I consciously set down aught the
counterpart of which I have not seen or known ; and what
ever the finished picture may lack of completeness, this
lack is due now to the story-teller, now to the artist, but
never to the herald of the Truth.

NEW YORK CITY, THE AUTHOK.

August 15, 1911.

THE QUEST OF
THE SILVER FLEECE

CHAPTER I

DREAMS

NIGHT fell. The red waters of the swamp grew
sinister and sullen. The tall pines lost their
slimness and stood in wide blurred blotches all
across the way, and a great shadowy bird arose, wheeled
and melted, murmuring, into the black-green sky.

The boy wearily dropped his heavy bundle and stood
still, listening as the voice of crickets split the shadows
and made the silence audible. A tear wandered down
his brown cheek. They were at supper now, he whis
pered — the father and old mother, away back yonder
beyond the night. They were far away; they would
never be as near as once they had been, for he had
stepped into the world. And the cat and Old Billy —
ah, but the world was a lonely thing, so wide and tall
and empty ! And so bare, so bitter bare ! Somehow he
had never dreamed of the world as lonely before; he had
fared forth to beckoning hands and luring, and to the
eager hum of human voices, as of some great, swelling
music.

[13]

14 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Yet now he was alone; the empty night was closing
all about him here in a strange land, and he was afraid.
The bundle with his earthly treasure had hung heavy
and heavier on his shoulder; his little horde of money
was tightly wadded in his sock, and the school lay hid
den somewhere far away in the shadows. He wondered
how far it was ; he looked and harkened, starting at his
own heartbeats, and fearing more and more the long dark
fingers of the night.

Then of a sudden up from the darkness came music.
It was human music, but of a wildness and a weirdness that
startled the boy as it fluttered and danced across the
dull red waters of the swamp. He hesitated, then im
pelled by some strange power, left the highway and
slipped into the forest of the swamp, shrinking, yet fol
lowing the song hungrily and half forgetting his fear. A
harsher, shriller note struck in as of many and ruder
voices; but above it flew the first sweet music, birdlike,
abandoned, and the boy crept closer.

The cabin crouched ragged and black at the edge of
black waters. An old chimney leaned drunkenly against
it, raging with fire and smoke, while through the chinks
winked red gleams of warmth and wild cheer. With a
revel of shouting and noise, the music suddenly ceased.
\f Hoarse staccato cries and peals of laughter shook the
old hut, and as the boy stood there peering through the
black trees, abruptly the door flew open and a flood of
light illumined the wood.

Amid this mighty halo, as on clouds of flame^ a girl
was dancing. She was black, and lithe, and tall, and
willowy. % Her garments Twined and flew around the deli
cate moulding of her dark, young, half-naked limbs. A
heavy mass of hair clung motionless to her wide fore-

DREAMS 15

head. Her arms twirled and flickered, and body and
soul seemed quivering and whirring in the poetry of her
motion.

As she danced she sang. He heard her voice as be
fore, fluttering like a bird's in the full sweetness of her
utter music. It was no tune nor melody, it was just form
less, boundless music. The boy forgot himself and all
the world besides. All his darkness was sudden light;
dazzled he crept forward, bewildered, fascinated, until with
one last wild whirl the elf-girl paused. The crimson light
fell full upon the warm and velvet bronze of her face —
her midnight eyes were aglow, her full purple lips apart,
her half hid bosom panting, and all the music dead. In
voluntarily the boy gave a gasping cry and awoke to
swamp and night and fire, while a white face, drawn, red-
eyed peering outward from some hidden throng within
the cabin.

" Who 's that? " a harsh voice cried.

"Where?" "Who is it?" and pale crowding faces
blurred the light.

The boy wheeled blindly and fled in terror stumbling
through the swamp, hearing strange sounds and feeling
stealthy creeping hands and arms and whispering voices.
On he toiled in mad haste, struggling toward the road
and losing it until finally beneath the shadows of a mighty
oak he sank exhausted. There he lay a while trembling
and at last drifted into dreamless sleep.

It was morning when he awoke and threw a startled
glance upward to the twisted branches of the oak that
bent above, sifting down sunshine on his brown face and
close curled hair. Slowly he remembered the loneliness,
the fear and wild running through the dark. He laughed
in the bold courage of day and stretched himself.

16 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Then suddenly he bethought him again of that vision
of the night — the waving arms and flying limbs of the
girl, and her great black eyes looking into the night and
calling him. He could hear her now, and hear that
wondrous savage music. Had it been real? Had he
dreamed? Or had it been some witch-vision of the night,
come to tempt and lure him to his undoing? Where was
that black and flaming cabin ? Where was the girl — the
soul that had called him? She must have been real; she
had to live and dance and sing; he must again look into
the mystery of her great eyes. And he sat up in sudden
determination, and, lo ! gazed straight into the very eyes
of his dreaming.

She sat not four feet from him, leaning against the
great tree, her eyes now languorously abstracted, now alert
and quizzical with mischief. She seemed but half-clothed,
and her warm, dark flesh peeped furtively through the
rent gown ; her thick, crisp hair was frowsy and rumpled,
and the long curves of her bare young arms gleamed in
the morning sunshine, glowing with vigor and life. A
little mocking smile came and sat upon her lips.

" What you run for ? " she asked, with dancing mis
chief in her eyes.

" Because — " he hesitated, and his cheeks grew hot.

" I knows," she said, with impish glee, laughing low
music.

" Why? " he challenged, sturdily.

" You was a-feared."

He bridled. " Well, I reckon you 'd be a-feared if you
was caught out in the black dark all alone."

" Pooh ! " she scoffed and hugged her knees. " Pooh !
I'se stayed out all alone heaps o' nights."

He looked at her with a curious awe.

DREAMS 17

" I don't believe you," he asserted ; but she tossed her
head and her eyes grew scornful.

"Who's a-f eared of the dark? I love night." Her
eyes grew soft.

He watched her silently, till, waking from her day
dream, she abruptly asked:

"Where you from?"

" Georgia."

"Where's that?"

He looked at her in surprise, but she seemed matter-
of-fact.

" It 's away over yonder," he answered.

" Behind where the sun comes up ? "

" Oh, no ! "

" Then it ain't so far," she declared. " I knows where
the sun rises, and I knows where it sets." She looked
up at its gleaming splendor glinting through the leaves,
and, noting its height, announced abruptly:

" I'se hungry."

" So 'm I," answered the boy, fumbling at his bundle ;
and then, timidly: "Will you eat with me?"

" Yes," she said, and watched him with eager eyes.

Untying the strips of cloth, he opened his box, and
disclosed chicken and biscuits, ham and corn-bread. She
clapped her hands in glee.

" Is there any water near ? " he asked.

Without a word, she bounded up and flitted off like a
brown bird, gleaming dull-golden in the sun, glancing in
and out among the trees, till she paused above a tiny
black pool, and then came tripping and swaying back
with hands held cupwise and dripping with cool water.

" Drink," she cried. Obediently he bent over the little
hands that seemed so soft and thin. He took a deep

18 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

draught; and then to drain the last drop, his hands
touched hers and the shock of flesh first meeting flesh
startled them both, while the water rained through. A
moment their eyes looked deep into each other's — - a timid,
startled gleam in hers; a wonder in his. Then she said
dreamily :

" We'se known us all our lives, and — before, ain't
we?"

He hesitated.

"Ye — es — I reckon," he slowly returned. And then,
brightening, he asked gayly : " And we '11 be friends al
ways, won't we? "

" Yes," she said at last, slowly and solemnly, and an
other brief moment they stood still.

Then the mischief danced in her eyes, and a song
bubbled on her lips. She hopped to the tree.

" Come • — eat ! " she cried. And they nestled together
amid the big black roots of the oak, laughing and talk
ing while they ate.

" What 's over there ? " he asked pointing northward.

" Cresswell's big house."

" And yonder to the west ? "

"The school."

He started joyfully.

"The school! What school?"

" Old Miss' School."

"Miss Smith's school?"

" Yes." The tone was disdainful.

" Why, that 's where I 'm going. I was a-feared it
was a long way off; I must have passed it in the night."

" I hate it ! " cried the girl, her lips tense.

" But I '11 be so near," he explained. " And why do
you hate it? "

DREAMS 19

"Yes — you'll be near," she admitted; "that'll be
nice ; but — " she glanced westward, and the fierce look
faded. Soft joy crept to her face again, and she sat
once more dreaming.

" Yon way 's nicest," she said.

"Why, what's there?"

" The swamp," she said mysteriously.

" And what 's beyond the swamp ? "

She crouched beside him and whispered in eager, tense
tones : " Dreams ! "

He looked at her, puzzled.

" Dreams ? " vaguely — " dreams ? Why, dreams ain't
— nothing."

" Oh, yes they is ! " she insisted, her eyes flaming in
misty radiance as she sat staring beyond the shadows
of the swamp. " Yes they is ! There ain't nothing but
dreams — that is, nothing much.

" And over yonder behind the swamps is great fields
full of dreams, piled high and burning; and right amongst
them the sun, when he 's tired o' night, whispers and
drops red things, 'cept when devils make 'em black."

The boy stared at her; he knew not whether to jeer
or wonder.

" How you know? " he asked at last, skeptically.

" Promise you won't tell? "

" Yes," he answered.

She cuddled into a little heap, nursing her knees, and
answered slowly.

" I goes there sometimes. I creeps in 'mongst the
dreams ; they hangs there like big flowers, dripping dew
and sugar and blood — red, red blood. And there 's
little fairies there that hop about and sing, and devils —
great, ugly devils that grabs at you and roasts and eats

20 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

you if they gits you ; but they do n't git me. Some devils
is big and white, like ha'nts ; some is long and shiny, like
creepy, slippery snakes; and some is little and broad
and black, and they yells — "

The boy was listening in incredulous curiosity, half
minded to laugh, half minded to edge away from the
black-red radiance of yonder dusky swamp. He glanced
furtively backward, and his heart gave a great bound.

" Some is little and broad and black, and they yells — "
chanted the girl. And as she chanted, deep, harsh tones
came booming through the forest:

" Zo-ra! Zo-ra! 0 — o — oh, Zora ! "

He saw far behind him, toward the shadows of the
swamp, an old woman — short, broad, black and wrinkled,
with fangs and pendulous lips and red, wicked eyes. His
heart bounded in sudden fear; he wheeled toward the
girl, and caught only the uncertain flash of her garments
— the wood was silent, and he was alone.

He arose, startled, quickly gathered his bundle, arid
looked around him. The sun was strong and high, the
morning fresh and vigorous. Stamping one foot angrily,
he strode jauntily out of the wood toward the big road.

But ever and .anon he glanced curiously back. Had
he seen a haunt? Or was the elf-girl real? And then he
thought of her words:

" We'se known us all our lives."

CHAPTER II

THE SCHOOL

DAY was breaking above the white buildings of the
Negro school and throwing long, low lines of gold
in at Miss Sarah Smith's front window. She lay
in the stupor of her last morning nap, after a night of
harrowing worry. Then, even as she partially awoke,
she lay still with closed eyes, feeling the shadow of some
great burden, yet daring not to rouse herself and recall
its exact form; slowly again she drifted toward uncon
sciousness.

" Bang! bang! bang! " hard knuckles were beating
upon the door below.

She heard drowsily, and dreamed that it was the nail
ing up of all her doors; but she did not care much, and
but feebly warded the blows away, for she was very tired.

" Bang! bang! bang! " persisted the hard knuckles.

She started up, and her eye fell upon a letter lying
on her bureau. Back she sank with a sigh, and lay star
ing at the ceiling — a gaunt, flat, sad-eyed creature,
with wisps of gray hair half-covering her baldness, and
a face furrowed with care and gathering years.

It was thirty years ago this day, she recalled, since
she first came to this broad land of shade and shine in
Alabama to teach black folks.

[21]

g£ THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

It had been a hard beginning with suspicion and
squalor around; with poverty within and without the
first white walls of the new school home. Yet somehow
the struggle then with all its helplessness and disappoint
ment had not seemed so bitter as to-day: then failure
meant but little, now it seemed to mean everything; then
it meant disappointment to a score of ragged urchins,
now it meant two hundred boys and girls, the spirits of
a thousand gone before and the hopes of thousands to
come, fin her imagination the significance of these half
dozen gleaming buildings perched aloft seemed porten
tous — big with the destiny not simply of a county and
a State, but of a race — a nation — a world. It was
God's own cause^Tand yet —

"Bang! bangTbang! " again went the hard knuckles
down there at the front.

Miss Smith slowly arose, shivering a bit and wonder
ing who could possibly be rapping at that time in the
morning. She sniffed the chilling air and was sure she
caught some lingering perfume from Mrs. Vanderpool's
gown. She had brought this rich and rare-apparelled
lady up here yesterday, because it was more private, and
here she had poured forth her needs. She had talked
long and in deadly earnest. She had not spoken of the
endowment for which she had hoped so desperately dur
ing a quarter of a century — no, only for the five thousand
dollars to buy the long needed new land. It was so little
• — so little beside what this woman squandered —

The insistent knocking was repeated louder than before.

" Sakes alive," cried Miss Smith, throwing a shawl
about her and leaning out the window. " Who is itf and
what do you want?"

THE SCHOOL 23

" Please, ma'am, I 've come to school," answered a
tall black boy with a bundle.

"Well, why don't you go to the office?" Then she
saw his face and hesitated. She felt again the old
motherly instinct to be the first to welcome the new pupil ;
a luxury which, in later years, the endless push of details
had denied her.

" Wait ! " she cried shortly, and began to dress.

A new boy, she mused. Yes, every day they straggled
in ; every day came the call for more, more — this great,
growing thirst to know — to do — to be. And yet that
woman had sat right here, aloof, imperturbable, listen
ing only courteously. When Miss Smith finished, she
had paused and, flicking her glove,—

" My dear Miss Smith," she had said softly, with a
tone that just escaped a drawl — " My dear Miss Smith,
your work is interesting and your faith — marvellous ;
but, frankly, I cannot make myself believe in it. f You
are trying to treat these funny little monkeys just as
you would your own children — or even mine. It 's quite
heroic, of course, but it 's sheer madness, and I do not
feel that I ought to encourage itA I would not mind a
thousand or so to train a good cook for the Cresswells,
or a clean faithful maid for myself — for Helene has
faults — or indeed deft and tractable laboring-folk for
any one^Jput I'm quite through trying to turn natural
servants into masters of me and mine. I — hope I 'm
not too blunt; I hope I make myself clear. You know,
statistics show — "

" Drat statistics ! " Miss Smith had flashed impatiently.
" These are folks."

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled indulgently. " To be sure,"
she murmured, " but what sort of folks ? '\

24 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" 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 chil
dren here — to count, and not to be like dumb, driven
cattle. If you don't believe in this, of course you can
not 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 ab
sently — " 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?"

THE SCHOOL 25

"I've come to school."

" Humph — we can't teach boys for nothing."

The boy straightened. " I can pay my way," he re
turned.

" 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 '11 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?"

" Bleaspd Alwyn," he answered, and the passing teach
ers smiled.

CHAPTER III

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 teach
ing 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, in
deed, probably would have refused it out of hand had
it not been for her queer brother, John. John Taylor,

[26]

MISS MARY TAYLOR 27

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 Cress-
wells 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. L 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
it with disdainful ease.

28 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" What 's the mere color of a human soul's skin," she
had cried to a Wellesley audience and the audience had
applauded with enthusiasm. But here in Alabama,
brought closely and intimately in touch with these dark
skinned children, their color struck her at first with a
sort of terror — it seemed ominous and forbidding. She
found herself shrinking away and gripping herself lest
they should perceive. She could not help but think that
in most other things they were as different from her as
in color.j She groped for new ways to teach colored
brains and marshal colored thoughts and the result was
puzzling both to teacher and student. With the other
teachers she had little commerce. They were in no sense
her sort of folk. Miss Smith represented the older New
England of her parents — honest, inscrutable, determined,
with a conscience which she worshipped, and utterly un
selfish. She appealed to Miss Taylor's ruddier and
daintier vision but dimly and distantly as some memory
of the past. The other teachers were indistinct person
alities, always very busy and very tired, and talking
" school-room " with their meals. Miss Taylor was soon
starving for human companionship, for the lighter
touches of life and some of its warmth and laughter.
She wanted a glance of the new books and periodicals
and talk of great philanthropies and reforms. She felt
out of the world, shut in and mentally anaemic ;Tj?reat
as the " Negro Problem " might be as a world problem,
it looked sordid and small at close rangeT^ So for the
hundredth time she was thinking to-day, as she walked
alone up the lane back of the barn, and then slowly down
through the bottoms. She paused a moment and nodded
to the two boys at work in a young cotton field.

"Cotton!"

MISS MARY TAYLOR 29

She paused. She remembered with what interest she had
always read of this little thread of the world. She had
almost forgotten that it was here within touch and sight.
For a moment something of the vision of Cotton was
mirrored in her mind. The glimmering sea of delicate
leaves whispered and murmured before her, stretching
away to the Northward. She remembered that beyond
this little world it stretched on and on — how far she
did not know — but on and on in a great trembling sea,
and the foam of its mighty waters would one time flood
the ends of the earth.

She glimpsed all this with parted lips, and then sighed
impatiently. There might be a bit of poetry here and'
there, but most of this place was such desperate prose.

She glanced absently at the boys.

One was Bles Alwyn, a tall black lad. (Bles, she mused,
— now who would think of naming a boy " Blessed," save
these incomprehensible creatures ! ) Her regard shifted
to the green stalks and leaves again, and she started to
move away. Then her New England conscience stepped
in. She ought not to pass these students without a word
of encouragement or instruction.

" Cotton is a wonderful thing, is it not, boys ? " she
said rather primly. The boys touched their hats and
murmured something indistinctly. Miss Taylor did not
know much about cotton, but at least one more remark
seemed called for.

" How long before the stalks will be ready to cut ? "
she asked carelessly. The farther boy coughed and Bles
raised his eyes and looked at her ; then after a pause he
answered slowly. (Oh! these people were so slow — now
a New England boy would have answered and asked a
half-dozen questions in the time.)

30 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

"I — I don't know," he faltered.

"Don't know! Well, of all things!" inwardly com
mented Miss Taylor — " literally born in cotton, and —
Oh, well," as much as to ask, "What's the use?" She
turned again to go.

"What is planted over there?" she asked, although
she really did n't care.

" Goobers," answered the smaller boy.

66 Goobers? " uncomprehendingly.

" Peanuts," Bles specified.

" Oh ! " murmured Miss Taylor. " I see there are none
on the vines yet. I suppose, though, it 's too early for
them."

Then came the explosion. The smaller boy just snorted
with irrepressible laughter and bolted across the fields.
And Bles — was Miss Taylor deceived? — or was he
chuckling? She reddened, drew herself up, and then,
dropping her primness, rippled with laughter.

"What is the matter, Bles?" she asked.

He looked at her with twinkling eyes.

" Well, you see, Miss Taylor, it 's like this : farming
don't seem to be your specialty."

The word was often on Miss Taylor's lips, and she
recognized it. Despite herself she smiled again.

"Of course, it isn't — I don't know anything about
farming. But what did I say so funny? "

Bles was now laughing outright.

"Why, Miss Taylor! I declare! Goobers don't grow
on the tops of vines, but underground on the roots —
like yams."

"Is that so?"

" Yes, and we — we don't pick cotton stalks except
for kindling."

MISS MARY TAYLOR 31

" I must have been thinking of hemp. But tell me
more about cotton."

His eyes lighted, for cotton was to him a very real
and beautiful thing, and a life-long companion, yet not
one whose friendship had been coarsened and killed by
heavy toil. He leaned against his hoe and talked half
dreamily — where had he learned so well that dream-
talk?

" We turn up the earth and sow it soon after Christmas.
Then pretty soon there comes a sort of greenness on the
black land and it swells and grows and, and — shivers.
Then stalks shoot up with three or four leaves. That 's
the way it is now, see? After that we chop out the weak
stalks, and the strong ones grow tall and dark, till I think
it must be like the ocean — all green and billowy ; then come
little flecks here and there and the sea is all filled with
flowers — flowers like little bells, blue and purple and
white."

" Ah ! that must be beautiful," sighed Miss Taylor,
wistfully, sinking to the ground and clasping her hands
about her knees.

" Yes, ma'am. But it 's prettiest when the bolls come
and swell and burst, and the cotton covers the field like
foam, all misty -

She bent wondering over the pale plants. The poetry
of the thing began to sing within her, awakening her un-
poetic imagination, and she murmured:

" The Golden Fleece — it 's the Silver Fleece ! "

He barkened.

"What's that?" he asked.

" Have you never heard of the Golden Fleece, Bles ? "

" No, ma'am," he said eagerly ; then glancing up to
ward the Cresswell fields, he saw two white men watch-

32 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

ing them. He grasped his hoe and started briskly to
work.

" Some time you '11 tell me, please, won't you ? "

She glanced at her watch in surprise and arose hastily.

" Yes, with pleasure," she said moving away — at first
very fast, and then more and more slowly up the lane,
with a puzzled look on her face.

She began to realize that in this pleasant little chat
the fact of the boy's color had quite escaped her; and
what especially puzzled her was that this had not hap
pened before. She had been here four months, and yet
every moment up to now she seemed to have been vividly,
almost painfully conscious, that she was a white woman
talking to black folk. Now, for one little half-hour she
had been a woman talking to a boy — no, not even that :
she had been talking — just talking; there were no per
sons in the conversation, just things — one thing : Cotton.

She started thinking of cotton — but at once she pulled
herself back to the other aspect. \Always befcrre she had
been veiled from these folk: who had put the veil there?
Had she herself hung it before her soul, or had they hid
den timidly behind its other side? Or was it simply a
brute fact, regardless of both of them A

The longer she thought, the more bewildered she grew.
There seemed no analogy that she knew. Here was a
unique thing, and she climbed to her bedroom and stared
at the stars.

CHAPTER IV
TOWN

JOHN TAYLOR had written to his sister. He wanted
information, very definite information, about Tooms
County cotton; about its stores, its people —
especially its people. He propounded a dozen questions,
sharp, searching questions, and he wanted the answers to
morrow. Impossible ! thought Miss Taylor. He had
calculated on her getting this letter yesterday, forgetting
that their mail was fetched once a day from the town,
four miles away. Then, too, she did not know all these
matters and knew no one who did. Did John think she
had nothing else to do? And sighing at the thought of
to-morrow's drudgery, she determined to consult Miss
Smith in the morning.

Miss Smith suggested a drive to town — Bles could
take her in the top-buggy after school — and she could
consult some of the merchants and business men. She
could then write her letter and mail it there; it would
be but a day or so late getting to New York.

" Of course," said Miss Smith drily, slowly folding
her napkin, " of course, the only people here are the
Cresswells."

" Oh, yes," said Miss Taylor invitingly. There was an

[33]

34 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

allurement about this all-pervasive name; it held her by
a growing fascination and she was anxious for the older
woman to amplify. Miss Smith, however, remained pro-
vokingly silent, so Miss Taylor essayed further.

" What sort of people are the Cresswells? " she asked.

" The old man 's a fool ; the young one a rascal ; the
girl a ninny," was Miss Smith's succinct and acid classi
fication of the county's first family ; adding, as she rose,
" but they own us body and soul." She hurried out of
the dining-room without further remark. Miss Smith
was more patient with black folk than with white.

The sun was hanging just above the tallest trees of
the swamp when Miss Taylor, weary with the day's work,
climbed into the buggy beside Bles. They wheeled com
fortably down the road, leaving the sombre swamp, with
its black-green, to the right, and heading toward the
golden-green of waving cotton fields. Miss Taylor lay
back, listlessly, and drank the soft warm air of the lan
guorous Spring. She thought of the golden sheen of the
cotton, and the cold March winds of New England; of
her brother who apparently noted nothing of leaves and
winds and seasons ; and of the mighty Cresswells whom
Miss Smith so evidently disliked. Suddenly she became
aware of her long silence and the silence of the boy.

" Bles," she began didactically, " where are you from? "

He glanced across at her and answered shortly:

" Georgia, ma'am," and was silent.

The girl tried again.

"Georgia is a large State," — tentatively.

" Yes, ma'am."

"Are you going back there when you finish?"

"I don't know."

" I think you ought to — and work for your people."

TOWN 35

" Yes, ma'am."

She stopped, puzzled, and looked about. The old horse
jogged lazily on, and Bles switched him unavailingly.
Somehow she had missed the way to-day. The Veil hung
thick, sombre, impenetrable. Well, she had done her
duty, and slowly she nestled back and watched the far-off
green and golden radiance of the cotton.

" Bles," she said impulsively, " shall I tell you of the
Golden Fleece?"

He glanced at her again.

" Yes'm, please," he said.

She settled herself almost luxuriously, and began the
/ story of Jason and the Argonauts.

ss"*rhe Boy remained silent. And when she had finished,
he still sat silent, elbow on knee, absently flicking the
jogging horse and staring ahead at the horizon. She
looked at him doubtfully with some disappointment that
his hearing had apparently shared so little of the joy of
her telling; and, too, there was mingled a vague sense of
having lowered herself to too familiar fellowship with this
— this boy. She straightened herself instinctively and
thought of some remark that would restore proper rela
tions. She had not found it before he said, slowly:

" All yon is Jason's."

" What? " she asked, puzzled.

He pointed with one sweep of his long arm to the
quivering mass of green-gold foliage that swept from
swamp to horizon.

" All yon golden fleece is Jason's now," he repeated.

" I thought it was — Cresswell's," she said.

" That 's what I mean."

She suddenly understood that the story had sunk
deeply.

36 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" I am glad to hear you say that," she said methodically,
" for Jason was a brave adventurer — "

" I thought he was a thief."

" Oh, well — those were other times."

" The Cresswells are thieves now."

Miss Taylor answered sharply.

" Bles, I am ashamed to hear you talk so of your
neighbors simply because they are white."

But Bles continued.

" This is the Black Sea," he said, pointing to the dull
cabins that crouched here and there upon the earth, with
the dark twinkling of their black folk darting out to see
the strangers ride by.

Despite herself Miss Taylor caught the allegory and
half whispered, " Lo ! the King himself ! " as a black man
almost rose from the tangled earth at their side. He was
tall and thin and sombre-hued, with a carven face and thick
gray hair.

" Your servant, mistress," he said, with a sweeping
bow as he strode toward the swamp. Miss Taylor stopped
him, for he looked interesting, and might answer some
of her brother's questions. He turned back and stood
regarding her with sorrowful eyes and ugly mouth.

" Do you live about here ? " she asked.

" I'se lived here a hundred years," he answered. She
did not believe it; he might be seventy, eighty, or even
ninety — indeed, there was about him that indefinable
sense of age — some shadow of endless living ; but a
hundred seemed absurd.

" You know the people pretty well, then? "

" I knows dem all. I knows most of 'em better dan
dey knows demselves. I knows a heap of tings in dis
world and in de next."

TOWN 37

" This is a great cotton country? "

" Dey don't raise no cotton now to what dey used to
when old Gen'rel Cresswell fust come from Carolina; den
it was a bale and a half to the acre on stalks dat looked
like young brushwood. Dat was cotton."

" You know the Cresswells, then? "

" Know dem? I knowed dem afore dey was born."

" They are — wealthy people ? "

" Dey rolls in money and dey'se quality, too. No
shoddy upstarts dem, but born to purple, lady, born to
purple. Old Gen'ral Cresswell had niggers and acres no
end back dere in Carolina. He brung a part of dem here
and here his son, de father of dis Colonel Cresswell, was
born. De son — I knowed him well — he had a tousand
niggers and ten tousand acres afore de war."

" Were they kind to their slaves ? "

" Oh, yaas, yaas, ma'am, dey was careful of de're nig
gers and would n't let de drivers whip 'em much."

" And these Cresswells to-day? "

"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
I 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."

38 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

"And who is Elspeth? "

" She lives in the swamp — she 's a kind of witch, I
reckon, like — like — "

"Like Medea?"

" Yes — only — I do n'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

TOWN 39

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 comfort
ing 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 water
ing 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 sorrow
ful 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 im
posing, 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

40 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

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 Tay
lor 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 fifty thousand acres. They may be considered rep
resentative types. Then, Mr. Maxwell has ten thousand
acres and Mr. Tolliver a thousand."

Miss Taylor wrote rapidly. "And cotton?" she
asked.

" We raise considerable cotton, but not nearly what we
ought to ; nigger labor is too worthless."

"Oh! The Negroes are not, then, very efficient?"

"Efficient!" snorted Mr. Caldwell; at last she had
broached a phase of the problem upon which he could
dilate with fervor. " They 're the lowest-down, ornriest —

TOWN 41

begging your pardon — good-for-nothing loafers you
ever heard of. Why, we just have to carry them and
care for them like children. Look yonder," he pointed
across the square to the court-house. It was an old
square brick-and-stucco building, sombre and stilted and
very dirty. Out of it filed a stream of men — some black
and shackled ; some white and swaggering and liberal with
tobacco- juice; some white and shaven and stiff. " Court 's
just out," pursued Mr. Caldwell, " and them niggers have
just been sent to the gang — young ones, too; educated
but good for nothing. They 're all that way."

Miss Taylor looked up a little puzzled, and became
aware of a battery of eyes and ears. Everybody seemed
craning and listening, and she felt a sudden embarrass
ment and a sense of half-veiled hostility in the air. With
one or two further perfunctory questions, and a hasty
expression of thanks, she escaped into the air.

The whole square seemed loafing and lolling — the white
world perched on stoops and chairs, in doorways and
windows ; the black world filtering down from doorways
to side-walk and curb. The hot, dusty quadrangle
stretched in dreary deadness toward the temple of the
town, as if doing obeisance to the court-house. Down the
court-house steps the sheriff, with Winchester on shoulder,
was bringing the last prisoner — a curly-headed boy with
golden face and big brown frightened eyes.

" It 's one of Dunn's boys," said Bles. " He 's drunk
again, and they say he 's been stealing. I expect he was
hungry." And they wheeled out of the square.

Miss Taylor was tired, and the hastily scribbled letter
which she dropped into the post in passing was not as
clearly expressed as she could wish.

A great-voiced giant, brown and bearded, drove past

42 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

them, roaring a hymn. He greeted Bles with a compre
hensive wave of the hand.

" I guess Tylor has been paid off," said Bles, but Miss
Taylor was too disgusted to answer. Further on they
overtook a tall young yellow boy walking awkwardly be
side a handsome, bold-faced girl. Two white men came
riding by. One leered at the girl, and she laughed back,
while the yellow boy strode sullenly ahead. As the two
white riders approached the buggy one said to the other:

" Who 's that nigger with? "

" One of them nigger teachers."

" Well, they '11 stop this damn riding around or they '11
hear something," and they rode slowly by.

Miss Taylor felt rather than heard their words, and
she was uncomfortable. The sun fell fast ; the long shad
ows of the swamp swept soft coolness on the red road.
Then afar in front a curled cloud of white dust arose and
out of it came the sound of galloping horses.

" Who 's this? " asked Miss Taylor.

" The Cress wells, I think ; they usually ride to town
about this time." But already Miss Taylor had descried
the brown and tawny sides of the speeding horses.

" Good gracious ! " she thought. " The Cresswells ! "
And with it came a sudden desire not to meet them — just
then. She glanced toward the swamp. The sun was sift
ing blood-red lances through the trees. A little wagon-
road entered the wood and disappeared. Miss Taylor
saw it.

" Let 's see the sunset in the swamp," she said suddenly.
On came the galloping horses. Bles looked up in surprise,
then silently turned into the swamp. The horses flew by,
their hoof-beats dying in the distance. A dark green
silence lay about them lit by mighty crimson glories be-

TOWN 43

yond. Miss Taylor leaned back and watched it dreamily
till a sense of oppression grew on her. The sun was
sinking fast.

" Where does this road come out? " she asked at last.

" It does n't come out."

"Where does it go?"

" It goes to Elspeth's."

" Why, we must turn back immediately. I thought —
But Bles was already turning. They were approaching
the main road again when there came a fluttering as of a
great bird beating its wings amid the forest. Then a
girl, lithe, dark brown, and tall, leaped lightly into the
path with greetings on her lips for Bles. At the sight of
the lady she drew suddenly back and stood motionless
regarding Miss Taylor, searching her with wide black
liquid eyes. Miss Taylor was a little startled.

" Good — good-evening," she said, straightening her
self.

The girl was still silent and the horse stopped. One
tense moment pulsed through all the swamp. Then the
girl, still motionless — still looking Miss Taylor through
and through — said with slow deliberateness :

" I hates you."

The teacher in Miss Taylor strove to rebuke this un
conventional greeting but the woman in her spoke first
and asked almost before she knew it —

"Why?"

CHAPTER V
ZORA

ZORA, child of the swamp, was a heathen hoyden of
twelve wayward, untrained years. Slight, straight,
strong, full-blooded, she had dreamed her life
away in wilful wandering through her dark and sombre
kingdom until she was one with it in all its moods; mis-
'chievous, secretive, brooding; full of great and awful
visions, steeped body and soul In wood-lore. Her home
was out of doors, the cabin of Elspeth her port of call for
talking and eating. She had not known, she had scarcely
seen, a child of her own age until Bles Alwyn had fled from
her dancing in the night, and she had searched and found
him sleeping in the misty morning light. It was to her a
strange new thing to see a fellow of like years with her
self, and she gripped him to her soul in wild interest and
new curiosity. Yet this childish friendship was so new
and incomprehensible a thing to her that she did not know
how to express it. At first she pounced upon him in
mirthful, almost impish glee, teasing and mocking and half
scaring him, despite his fifteen years of young manhood.
" Yes, they is devils down yonder behind the swamp,"
she would whisper, warningly, when, after the first meet
ing, he had crept back again and again, half fascinated,
half amused to greet her ; " I'se seen 'em, I'se heard 'em,
'cause my mammy is a witch."

[44]

ZORA 45

The boy would sit and watch her wonderingly as she
lay curled along the low branch of the mighty oak, cling
ing with little curved limbs and flying fingers. Possessed
by the spirit of her vision, she would chant, low-voiced,
tremulous, mischievous :

" One night a devil come to me on blue fire out of a big
red flower that grows in the south swamp; he was tall
and big and strong as anything, and when he spoke the
trees shook and the stars fell. Even mammy was afeared ;
and it takes a lot to make mammy afeared, 'cause she 's a
witch and can conjure. He said, 'I'll come when you
die — I'll come when you die, and take the conjure off
you,' and then he went away on a big fire."

" Shucks ! " the boy would say, trying to express scorn
ful disbelief when, in 'truth, he was awed and doubtful.
Always he would glance involuntarily back along the path
behind him. Then her low birdlike laughter would rise
and ring through the trees.

So passed a year, and there came the time when her
wayward teasing and the almost painful thrill of her
tale-telling nettled him and drove him away. For long
months he did not meet her, until one day he saw her
deep eyes fixed longingly upon him from a thicket in the
swamp. He went and greeted her. But she said no
word, sitting nested among the greenwood with passion
ate, proud silence, until he had sued long for peace ; then
in sudden new friendship she had taken his hand and led
him through the swamp, showing him all the beauty of
her swamp-world — - great shadowy oaks and limpid pools,
lone, naked trees and sweet flowers ; the whispering and
flitting of wild things, and the winging of furtive birds.
She had dropped the impish mischief of her way, and up
from beneath it rose a wistful, visionary tenderness; a

46 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

mighty half-confessed, half-concealed, striving for un
known things. He seemed to have found a new friend.

And to-day, after he had taken Miss Taylor home and
supped, he came out in the twilight under the new moon
and whistled the tremulous note that always brought her.

" Why did you speak so to Miss Taylor ? " he asked,
reproachfully. She considered the matter a moment.

" You don't understand," she said. " You can't never
understand. I can see right through people. You can't.
You never had a witch for a mammy — did you ? "

" No."

" Well, then, you see I have to take care of you and
see things for you."

" Zora," he said thoughtfully, " you must learn to
read."

"What for?"

" So that you can read books and know lots of things."

"Don't white folks make books?"

" Yes — most of the books."

" Pooh ! I knows more than they do now — a heap
more."

" In some ways you do ; but they know things that give
them power and wealth and make them rule."

"No, no. They don't really rule; they just thinks
they rule. They just got things, — heavy, dead things.
We black folks is got the spirit. We'se lighter and cun-
ninger ; we fly right through them ; we go and come again
just as we wants to. Black folks is wonderful."

He did not understand what she meant; but he knew
what he wanted and he tried again.

"Even if white folks don't know everything they know
different things from us, and we ought to know what they
know."

ZORA 47

This appealed to her somewhat.

" I don't believe they know much," she concluded ; " but
1 '11 learn to read and just see."

" It will be hard work," he warned. But he had come
prepared for acquiescence. He took a primer from his
pocket and, lighting a match, showed her the alphabet.

" Learn those," he said.

"What for?" she asked, looking at the letters
disdainfully.

" Because that 's the way," he said, as the light flared
and went out.

"I don't believe it," she disputed, disappearing in the
wood and returning with a pine-knot. They lighted it
and its smoky flame threw wavering shadows about. She
turned the leaves till she came to a picture which she
studied intently.

" Is this about this ? " she asked, pointing alternately
to reading and picture.

" Yes. And if you learn — "

" Read it," she commanded. He read the page.

" Again," she said, making him point out each word.
Then she read it after him, accurately, with more perfect
expression. He stared at her. She took the book, and
with a nod was gone.

It was Saturday and dark. She never asked Bles to
her home — to that mysterious black cabin in mid-swamp.
He thought her ashamed of it, and delicately refrained
from going. So to-night she slipped away, stopped and
listened till she heard his footsteps on the pike, and then
flew homeward. Presently the old black cabin loomed be
fore her with its wide flapping door. The old woman
was bending over the fire, stirring some savory mess, and
a yellow girl with a white baby on one arm was placing

48 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

dishes on a rickety wooden table when Zora suddenly and
noiselessly entered the door.

"Come, is you? I 'lowed victuals would fetch you,"
grumbled the hag.

But Zora deigned no answer. She walked placidly to
the table, where she took up a handful of cold corn-bread
and meat, and then went over and curled up by the fire.

Elspeth and the girl talked and laughed coarsely, and
the. night wore on.

By and by loud laughter and tramping came from the
road — a sound of numerous footsteps. Zora listened,
leapt to her feet and started to the door. The old crone
threw an epithet after her; but she flashed through the
lighted doorway and was gone, followed by the oath and
shouts from the approaching men. In the hut night fled
with wild song and revel, and day dawned again. Out from
some fastness of the wood crept Zora. She stopped and
bathed in a pool and combed her close-clung hair, then
entered silently to breakfast.

Thus began in the dark swamp that primal battle with
the Word. She hated it and despised it, but her pride
was in arms and her one great life friendship in the
balance. She fought her way with a dogged persistence
that brought word after word of praise and interest from
Bles. Then, once well begun, her busy, eager mind flew
with a rapidity that startled; the stories especially she
devoured — tales of strange things and countries and
men gripped her imagination and clung to her memory.

" Did n't I tell you there was lots to learn? " he asked
once.

" I knew it all," she retorted ; " every bit. I'se thought
it all before; only the little things is different — and I
like the little, strange things."

ZORA 49

Spring ripened to summer. She was reading well and
writing some.

" Zora," he announced one morning under their forest
oak, " you must go to school."

She eyed him, surprised.

"Why?"

" You 've found some things worth knowing in this
world, haven't you, Zora? "

" Yes," she admitted.

" But there are more — many, many more — worlds
on worlds of things — you have not dreamed of."

She stared at him, open-eyed, and a wonder crept upon
her face battling with the old assurance. Then she looked
down at her bare brown feet and torn gown.

" I 've got a little money, Zora," he said quickly.

But she lifted her head.

" I '11 earn mine," she said. t

" How? " he asked doubtfully.

" I '11 pick cotton."

"Can you?"

" Course I can."

" It 's hard work."

She hesitated.

"I don't like to work," she mused. "You see,
mammy's pappy was a king's son, and kings don't work.
I don't work; mostly I dreams. But I can work, and I
will — for the wonder things — and for you."

So the summer yellowed and silvered into fall. All the
vacation days Bles worked on the farm, and Zora read
and dreamed and studied in the wood, until the land lay
white with harvest. Then, without warning, she appeared
in the cotton-field beside Bles, and picked.

It was hot, sore work. The sun blazed; her bent and

50 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

untrained back pained, and the soft little hands bled. But
no complaint passed her lips; her hands never wavered,
and her eyes met his steadily and gravely. She bade him
good-night, cheerily, and then stole away to the wood,
crouching beneath the great oak, and biting back the
groans that trembled on her lips. Often, she fell supper-
less to sleep, with two great tears creeping down her tired
cheeks.

When school-time came there was not yet money
enough, for cotton-picking was not far advanced. Yet
Zora would take no money from Bles, and worked ear
nestly away.

Meantime there occurred to the boy the momentous
question of clothes. Had Zora thought of them? He
feared not. She knew little of clothes and cared less. So
one day in town he dropped into CaldwelPs "Emporium "
and glanced hesitantly at certain ready-made dresses.
One caught his eye. It came from the great Easterly
mills in New England and was red — a vivid red. The
glowing warmth of this cloth of cotton caught the eye of
Bles, and he bought the gown for a dollar and a half.

He carried it to Zora in the wood, and unrolled it be
fore her eyes that danced with glad tears. Of course, it
was long and wide ; but he fetched needle and thread and
scissors, too. It was a full month after school had begun
when they, together back in the swamp, shadowed by the
foliage, began to fashion the wonderful garment. At the
same time she laid ten dollars of her first hard-earned
money in his hands.

" You can finish the first year with this money," Bles
assured her, delighted, " and then next year you must
come in to board ; because, you see, when you 're educated
you won't want to live in the swamp."

THEY TOGETHER, BACK IN THE SWAMP, SHADOWED BY
THE FOLIAGE, BEGAN TO FASHION THE WONDERFUL

GARMENT

ZORA 51

" I wants to live here always."

" But not at Elspeth's."

" No-o — not there, not there." And a troubled ques
tioning trembled in her eyes, but brought no answering
thought in his, for he was busy with his plans.

" Then, you see, Zora, if you stay here you '11 need a
new house, and you '11 want to learn how to make it
beautiful."

" Yes, a beautiful, great castle here in the swamp," she
dreamed ; " but," and her face fell, " I can't get money
enough to board in ; and I don't want to board in — I
wants to be free."

He looked at her, curled down so earnestly at her
puzzling task, and a pity for the more than motherless
child swept over him. He bent over her, nervously,
eagerly, and she laid down her sewing and sat silent and
passive with dark, burning eyes.

" Zora," he said, " I want you to do all this — for me."

" I will, if you wants me to," she said quietly, but with
something in her voice that made him look half startled
into her beautiful eyes and feel a queer flushing in his
face. He stretched his hand out and taking hers held it
lightly till she quivered and drew away, bending again
over her sewing.

Then a nameless exaltation rose within his heart.

" Zora," he whispered, " I 've got a plan."

" What is it? " she asked, still with bowed head.

" Listen, till I tell you of the Golden Fleece."

Then she too heard the story of Jason. Breathless she
listened, dropping her sewing and leaning forward, eager-
eyed. Then her face clouded.

" Do you s'pose mammy 's the witch? " she asked
dubiously.

52 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" No ; she would n't give her own flesh and blood to
help the thieving Jason."

She looked at him searchingly.

" Yes, she would, too," affirmed the girl, and then she
paused, still intently watching him. She was troubled,
and again a question eagerly hovered on her lips. But he
continued :

" Then we must escape her," he said gayly. " See !
yonder lies the Silver Fleece spread across the brown back
of the world ; let 's get a bit of it, and hide it here in
the swamp, and comb it, and tend it, and make it the
beautifullest bit of all. Then we can sell it, and send you
to school."

She sat silently bent forward, turning the picture in
her mind. Suddenly forgetting her trouble, she bubbled
with laughter, and leaping up clapped her hands.

" And I knows just the place ! " she cried eagerly, look
ing at him with a flash of the old teasing mischief —
" down in the heart of the swamp — where dreams and
devils lives."

Up at the school-house Miss Taylor was musing. She
had been invited to spend the summer with Mrs. Grey at
Lake George, and such a summer ! — silken clothes and
dainty food, motoring and golf, well-groomed men and
elegant women. She would not have put it in just that
way, but the vision came very close to spelling heaven to
her mind. Not that she would come to it vacant-minded,
but rather as a trained woman, starved for companion
ship and wanting something of the beauty and ease of
life. She sat dreaming of it here with rows of dark faces
before her, and the singsong wail of a little black reader
with his head aslant and his patched kneepants.

ZORA 53

The day was warm and languorous, and the last pale
mist of the Silver Fleece peeped in at the windows. She
tried to follow the third-reader lesson with her finger, but
persistently off she went, dreaming, to some exquisite
little parlor with its green and gold, the clink of dainty
china and hum of low voices, and the blue lake in the
window ; she would glance up, the door would open softly
and —

Just here she did glance up, and all the school glanced
with her. The drone of the reader hushed. The door
opened softly, and upon the threshold stood Zora. Her
small feet and slender ankles were black and bare; her
dark, round, and broad-browed head and strangely beauti
ful face were poised almost defiantly, crowned with a
misty mass of waveless hair, and lit by the velvet radiance
of two wonderful eyes. And hanging from shoulder to
ankle, in formless, clinging folds, blazed the scarlet gown.

CHAPTER VI

COTTON

THE cry of the naked was sweeping the world.
From the peasant toiling in Russia, the lady
lolling in London, the chieftain burning in Africa,
and the Esquimaux freezing in Alaska ; from long lines of
hungry men, from patient sad-eyed women, from old folk
and creeping children went up the cry, "Clothes, clothes ! "
Far away the wide black land that belts the South, where
Miss Smith worked and Miss Taylor drudged and Bles
and Zora dreamed, the dense black land sensed the cry
and heard the bound of answering life within the vast dark
breast. All that dark earth heaved in mighty travail with
the bursting bolls of the cotton while black attendant
earth spirits swarmed above, sweating and crooning to its
birth pains.

After the miracle of the bursting bolls, when the land
was brightest with the piled mist of the Fleece, and when
the cry of the naked was loudest in the mouths of men,
a sudden cloud of workers swarmed between the Cotton
and the Naked, spinning and weaving and sewing and
carrying the Fleece and mining and minting and bringing
the Silver till the Song of Service filled the world and the
poetry of Toil was in the souls of the laborers. Yet ever
and alway there were tense silent white-faced men moving

[54]

COTTON 55

in that swarm who felt no poetry and heard no song, and
one of these was John Taylor.

He was tall, thin, cold, and tireless and he moved among
the Watchers of this World of Trade. In the rich Wall
Street officers of Grey and Easterly, Brokers, Mr. Taylor,
as chief and confidential clerk surveyed the world's naked
ness and the supply of cotton to clothe it. The object of
his watching was frankly stated to himself and to his
world. He purposed going into business neither for his
own health nor for the healing or clothing of the peoples
but to apply his knowledge of the world's nakedness and
of black men's toil in such a way as to bring himself wealth.
In this he was but following the teaching of his highest
ideal, lately deceased, Mr. Job Grey. Mr. Grey had so
successfully manipulated the cotton market that while
black men who made the cotton starved in Alabama and
white men who bought it froze in Siberia, he himself sat —

"High on a throne of royal state
That far outshone the wealth
Of Ormuz or of Ind."

Notwithstanding this he died eventually, leaving the bur
den of his wealth to his bewildered wife, and his business
to the astute Mr. Easterly; not simply to Mr. Easterly,
but in a sense to his spiritual heir, John Taylor.

To be sure Mr. Taylor had but a modest salary and no
financial interest in the business, but he had knowledge and
business daring — effrontery even — and the determina
tion was fixed in his mind to be a millionaire at no distant
date. Some cautious fliers on the market gave him enough
surplus to send his sister Mary through the high school
of his country home in New Hampshire, and afterward
through Wellesley College; although just why a woman

56 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

should want to go through college was inexplicable to
John Taylor, and he was still uncertain as to the wisdom
of his charity.

When she had an offer to teach in the South, John
Taylor hurried her off for two reasons : he was profoundly
interested in the cotton-belt, and there she might be of
service to him ; and secondly, he had spent all the money
on her that he intended to at present, and he wanted her
to go to work. As an investment he did not consider Mary
a success. Her letters intimated very strongly her in
tention not to return to Miss Smith's School; but they
also brought information — disjointed and incomplete, to
be sure — which mightily interested Mr. Taylor and sent
him to atlases, encyclopaedias, and census-reports. When
he went to that little lunch with old Mrs. Grey he was not
sure that he wanted his sister to leave the cotton-belt just
yet. After lunch he was sure that he did not want her to
leave.

The rich Mrs. Grey was at the crisis of her fortunes.
She was an elderly lady, in those uncertain years beyond
fifty, and had been left suddenly with more millions than
she could easily count. Personally she was inclined to
spend her money in bettering the world right off, in such
ways as might from time to time seem attractive. This
course, to her husband's former partner and present ex
ecutor, Mr. Edward Easterly, was not only foolish but
wicked, and, incidentally, distinctly unprofitable to him.
He had expressed himself strongly to Mrs. Grey last night
at dinner and had reinforced his argument by a pointed
letter written this morning.

To John Taylor Mrs. Grey's disposal of the income was
unbelievable blasphemy against the memory of a mighty
man. He did not put this in words to Mrs. Grey — he

COTTON 57

was only head clerk in her late husband's office — but he
became watchful and thoughtful. He ate his soup in
silence when she descanted on various benevolent schemes.

" Now, what do you know," she asked finally, " about
Negroes — about educating them ? " Mr. Taylor over his
fish was about to deny all knowledge of any sort on the
subject, but all at once he recollected his sister, and a sud
den gleam of light radiated his mental gloom.

" Have a sister who is — er — devoting herself to
teaching them," he said.

" Is that so! " cried Mrs. Grey, joyfully. " Where is
she?"

" In Tooms County, Alabama — in — " Mr. Taylor
consulted a remote mental pocket — " in Miss Sarah
Smith's school."

" Why, how fortunate ! I 'm so glad I mentioned the
matter. You see, Miss Smith is a sister of a friend of
ours, Congressman Smith of New Jersey, and she has just
written to me for help ; a very touching letter, too, about
the poor blacks. My father set great store by blacks and
was a leading abolitionist before he died."

Mr. Taylor was thinking fast. Yes, the name of Con
gressman Peter Smith was quite familiar. Mr. Easterly,
as chairman of the Republican State Committee of New
Jersey, had been compelled to discipline Mr. Smith pretty
severely for certain socialistic votes in the House, and
consequently his future career was uncertain. It was im
portant that such a man should not have too much to do
with Mrs. Grey's philanthropies — at least, in his present
position.

" Should like to have you meet and talk with my sister,
Mrs. Grey ; she 's a Wellesley graduate," said Taylor,
finally.

58 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Mrs. Grey was delighted. It was a combination which
she felt she needed. Here was a college-girl who could
direct her philanthropies and her etiquette during the
summer. Forthwith Mary Taylor received an intimation
from her brother that vast interests depended on her
summer vacation.

Thus it had happened that Miss Taylor came to Lake
George for her vacation after the first year at the Smith
School, and she and Miss Smith had silently agreed as she
left that it would be better for her not to return. But the
gods of lower Broadway thought otherwise. Not that
Mary Taylor did not believe in Miss Smith's work, she
was too honest not to believe in education; but she was
sure that this was not her work, and she had not as yet
perfected in her own mind any theory of the world into
which black folk fitted. She was rather taken back, there
fore, to be regarded as an expert on the problem. First
her brother attacked her, not simply on cotton, but, to
her great surprise, on Negro education; and after listen
ing to her halting uncertain remarks, he suggested to her
certain matters which it would be better for her to believe
when Mrs. Grey talked to her.

" Interested in darkies, you see," he concluded, " and
looks to you to tell things. Better go easy and suggest a
waiting-game before she goes in heavy."

" But Miss Smith needs money — " the New England
conscience prompted. John Taylor cut in sharply:

" We all need money, and I know people who need Mrs.
Grey's more than Miss Smith does at present."

Miss Taylor found the Lake George colony charming.
It was not ultra-fashionable, but it had wealth and leisure
and some breeding. Especially was this true of a cir
cumscribed, rather exclusive, set which centred around

COTTON 59

the Vanderpools of New York and Boston. They, or
rather Mr. Vanderpool's connections, were of old Dutch
New York stock ; his father it was who had built the Lake
George cottage.

Mrs. Vanderpool was a Wells of Boston, and endured
Lake George now and then during the summer for her
husband's sake, although she regarded it all as rather
a joke. This summer promised to be unusually lonesome
for her, and she was meditating a retreat to the Massa
chusetts north shore when she chanced to meet Mary
Taylor, at a miscellaneous dinner, and found her inter
esting. She discovered that this young woman knew
things, that she could talk books, and that she was rather
pretty. To be sure she knew no people, but Mrs. Vander
pool knew enough to even things.

" By the bye, I met some charming Alabama people
last winter, in Montgomery — the Cresswells ; do you
know them? " she asked one day, as they were lounging
in wicker chairs on the Vanderpool porch. Then she an
swered the query herself : " No, of course you could not.
It is too bad that your work deprives you of the society
of people of your class. Now my ideal is a set of Negro
schools where the white teachers could know the Cress-
wells."

"Why, yes — " faltered Miss Taylor; " but -
would n't that be difficult? "

"Why should it be? "

" I mean, would the Cresswells approve of educating
Negroes? "

" Oh, ' educating ' ! The word conceals so much. Now,
I take it the Cresswells would object to instructing them
in French and in dinner etiquette and tea-gowns, and so,
in fact, would I ; but teach them how to handle a hoe and

60 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

to sew and cook. I have reason to know that people like
the Cresswells would be delighted."

" And with the teachers of it ? "

"Why not? — provided, of course, they were — well,
gentlefolk and associated accordingly."

" But one must associate with one's pupils."

"Oh, certainly, certainly; just as one must associate
with one's maids and chauffeurs and dressmakers — cor
dially and kindly, but with a difference."

" But — but, dear Mrs. Vanderpool, you would n't
want your children trained that way, would you? "

" Certainly not, my dear. But these are not my chil
dren, they are the children of Negroes; we can't quite
forget that, can we ? "

" No, I suppose not," Miss Taylor admitted, a little
helplessly. " But — it seems to me — that 's the modern
idea of taking culture to the masses."

" Frankly, then, the modern idea is not my idea ; it is
too socialistic. And as for culture applied to the masses,
you utter a paradox. The masses and work is the truth
one must face."

"And culture and work?"

" Quite incompatible, I assure you, my dear." She
stretched her silken limbs, lazily, while Miss Taylor sat
silently staring at the waters.

Just then Mrs. Grey drove up in her new red motor.

Up to the time of Mary Taylor's arrival the acquaint
ance of the Vanderpools and Mrs. Grey had been a matter
chiefly of smiling bows. After Miss Taylor came there
had been calls and casual intercourse, to Mrs. Grey's great
gratification and Mrs. Vanderpool's mingled amusement
and annoyance. Mrs. Grey announced the arrival of the
Easterlys and John Taylor for the week-end. As Mrs.

COTTON 61

Vanderpool could think of nothing less boring, she con
sented to dine.

The atmosphere of Mrs. Grey's ornate cottage was dif
ferent from that of the Vanderpools. The display of
wealth and splendor had a touch of the barbaric. Mary
Taylor liked it, although she found the Vanderpool at
mosphere more subtly satisfying. There was a certain
grim power beneath the Greys' mahogany and velvets that
thrilled while it appalled. Precisely that side of the thing
appealed to her brother. He would have seen little or
nothing in the plain elegance yonder, while here he saw a
Japanese vase that cost no cent less than a thousand dol
lars. He meant to be able to duplicate it some day. He
knew that Grey was poor and less knowing than he sixty
years ago.

The dead millionaire had begun his fortune by buying
and selling cotton — travelling in the South in recon
struction times, and sending his agents. In this way he
made his thousands. Then he took a step forward, and
instead of following the prices induced the prices to fol
low him. Two or three small cotton corners brought him
his tens of thousands. About this time Easterly joined
him and pointed out a new road — the buying and selling
of stock in various cotton-mills and other industrial en
terprises. Grey hesitated, but Easterly pushed him on
and he made his hundreds of thousands. Then Easterly
proposed buying controlling interests in certain large
mills and gradually consolidating them. The plan grew
and succeeded, and Grey made his millions.

Then Grey stopped; he had money enough, and he
would venture no farther. He " was going to retire and
eat peanuts," he said with a chuckle.

Easterly was disgusted. He, too, had made millions —

62 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

not as many as Grey, but a few. It was not, however,
simply money that he wanted, but power. The lust of
financial dominion had gripped his soul, and he had a
vision of a vast trust of cotton manufacturing covering
the land. He talked this incessantly into Grey, but Grey
continued to shake his head ; the thing was too big for his
imagination. He was bent on retiring, and just as he
had set the date a year hence he inadvertently died. On
the whole, Mr. Easterly was glad of his partner's definite
withdrawal, since he left his capital behind him, until he
found his vast plans about to be circumvented by Mrs.
Grey withdrawing this capital from his control. " To
give it to niggers and Chinamen," he snorted to John
Taylor, and strode up and down the veranda. John
Taylor removed his coat, lighted a black cigar, and ele
vated his heels. The ladies were in the parlor, where the
female Easterlys were prostrating themselves before Mrs.
Vanderpool.

" Just what is your plan ? " asked Taylor, quite as if
he did not know.

" Why, man, the transfer of a hundred millions of
stock would give me control of the cotton-mills of
America. Think of it ! — the biggest trust next to steel."

" Why not bigger? " asked Taylor, imperturbably puf
fing away. Mr. Easterly eyed him. He had regarded
Taylor hitherto as a very valuable asset to the business
— had relied on his knowledge of routine, his judgment
and his honesty; but he detected to-night a new tone in
his clerk, something almost authoritative and self-reliant.
He paused and smiled at him.

"Bigger?"

But John Taylor was dead in earnest. He did not
smile.

COTTON 63

" First, there 's England — and all Europe ; why not
bring them into the trust? "

" Possibly, later ; but first, America. Of course, I 've
got my eyes on the European situation and feelers out;
but such matters are more difficult and slower of adjust
ment over there — so damned much law and gospel."

" But there 's another side."

"What's that?"

" You are planning to combine and control the manu
facture of cotton — '

" Yes."

" But how about your raw material? The steel trust
owns its iron mines."

" Of course — mines could be monopolized and hold the
trust up ; but our raw material is perfectly safe — farms
growing smaller, farms isolated, and we fixing the price.
It 's a cinch."

" Are you sure?" Taylor surveyed him with a nar
rowed look.

" Certain."

" I' m not. I 've been looking up things, and there are
three points you 'd better study : First, cotton farms are
not getting smaller; they're getting bigger almighty
fast, and there 's a big cotton-land monopoly in sight.
Second, the banks and wholesale houses in the South can
control the cotton output if they work together. Third,
watch the Southern ' Farmers' League ' of big landlords."

Mr. Easterly threw away his cigar and sat down.
Taylor straightened up, switched on the porch light, and
took a Bundle of papers from his coat pocket.

"Here are census figures," he said, "commercial re
ports and letters." They pored over them a half hour.
Then Easterly arose.

64 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" There 's something in it," he admitted, " but what
can we do ? What do you propose ? "

" Monopolize the growth as well as the manufacture of
cotton, and use the first to club European manufacturers
into submission."

Easterly stared at him.

" Good Lord! " he ejaculated; " you 're crazy ! "

But Taylor smiled a slow, thin smile, and put away his
papers. Easterly continued to stare at his subordinate
with a sort of fascination, with the awe that one feels
when genius unexpectedly reveals itself from a source
hitherto regarded as entirely ordinary. At last he drew a
long breath, remarking indefinitely:

" I '11 think it over."

A stir in the parlor indicated departure.

" Well, you watch the Farmers' League, and note its
success and methods," counselled John Taylor, his tone
and manner unchanged. " Then figure what it might do
in the hands of — let us say, friends."

"Who's running it?"

" A Colonel Cresswell is its head, and happens also to
be the force behind it. Aristocratic family — big planter
— near where my sister teaches."

" H'm — well, we '11 watch him."

" And say," as Easterly was turning away, " you know
Congressman Smith? "

" I should say I did."

" Well, Mrs. Grey seems to be depending on him for
advice in distributing some of her charity funds."

Easterly appeared startled.

" She is, is she ! " he exclaimed. " But here come the
ladies." He went forward at once, but John Taylor
drew back. He noted Mrs. Vanderpool, and thought her

COTTON 65

too thin and pale. The dashing young Miss Easterly was
more to his taste. He intended to have a wife like that
one of these days.

" Mary," said he to his sister as he finally rose to go,
" tell me about the Cress wells."

Mary explained to him at length the impossibility of
her knowing much about the local white aristocracy of
Tooms County, and then told him all she had heard.

"Mrs. Grey talked to you much?"

" Yes."

"About darky schools?"

" Yes."

"What does she intend to do?"

" I think she will aid Miss Smith first."

" Did you suggest anything? "

" Well, I told her what I thought about cooperating
with the local white people."

"The Cresswells?"

"Yes — you see Mrs. Vanderpool knows the Cress-
wells."

"Does, eh? Good! Say, that's a good point. You
just bear heavy on it — cooperate with the Cresswells."

"Why, yes. But — you see, John, I don't just know
whether one could cooperate with the Cresswells or not —
one hears such contradictory stories of them. But there
must be some other white people — "

" Stuff ! It 's the Cresswells we want."

"Well," Mary was very dubious, "they are — the most
important."

CHAPTER VII

THE PLACE OF DREAMS

WHEN she went South late in September, Mary
Taylor had two definite but allied objects: she
was to get all possible business information
concerning the Cresswells, and she was to induce Miss
Smith to prepare for Mrs. Grey's benevolence by inter
esting the local whites in her work. The programme
attracted Miss Taylor. She felt in touch, even if dimly
and slightly, with great industrial movements, and she
felt, too, like a discerning pioneer in philanthropy. Both
roles she liked. Besides, they held, each, certain promises
of social prestige, and society, Miss Taylor argued, one
must have even in Alabama.

Bles Alwyn met her at the train. He was growing
to be a big fine bronze giant, and Mary was glad to
see him. She especially tried, in the first few weeks of
opening school, to glean as much information as possible
concerning the community, and particularly the Cress-
wells. She found the Negro youth quicker, surer, and
more intelligent in his answers than those she questioned
elsewhere, and she gained real enjoyment from her long
talks with him.

"Isn't Bles developing splendidly?" she said to Miss
Smith one afternoon. There was an unmistakable note

[66]

THE PLACE OF DREAMS 67

of enthusiasm in her voice. Miss Smith slowly closed
her letter-file but did not look up.

" Yes," she said crisply. " He 's eighteen now — quite
a man."

" And most interesting to talk with."

" H'm — very " — drily. Mary was busy with her
own thoughts, and she did not notice the other woman's
manner.

" Do you know," she pursued, " I 'm a little afraid
of one thing."

" So am I."

" Oh, you 've noted it, too ? — his friendship for that
impossible girl, Zora? "

Miss Smith gave her a searching look.

"What of it?" she demanded.

" She is so far beneath him."

"How so?"

" She is a bold, godless thing; I don't understand her."

" The two are not quite the same."

" Of course not ; but she is unnaturally forward."

" Too bright," Miss Smith amplified.

" Yes ; she knows quite too much. You surely remem
ber that awful scarlet dress? Well, all her clothes have
arrived, or remained, at a simplicity and vividness that
is — well — immodest."

" Does she think them immodest? "

" What she thinks is a problem."

" The problem, you mean ? "

" Well, yes."

They paused a moment. Then Miss Smith said slowly :
" What I don't understand, I don't judge."

" No, but you can't always help seeing and meeting
it," laughed Miss Taylor.

68 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

"Certainly not. I don't try; I court the meeting and
seeing. It is the only way."

" Well, perhaps, for us — but not for a boy like Bles,
and a girl like Zora."

"True; men and women must exercise judgment in
their intercourse and " — she glanced sharply at Miss
Taylor — " my dear, you yourself must not forget that
Bles Alwyn is a man."

Far up the road came a low, long, musical shouting;
then with creaking and straining of wagons, four great
black mules dashed into sight with twelve bursting bales
of yellowish cotton looming and swaying behind. The
drivers and helpers were lolling and laughing and sing
ing, but Miss Taylor did not hear nor see. She had sat
suddenly upright; her face had flamed crimson, and then
went dead white.

" Miss — Miss Smith ! " she gasped, overwhelmed with
dismay, a picture of wounded pride and consternation.

Miss Smith turned around very methodically and took
her hand; but while she spoke the girl merely stared at
her in stony silence.

"Now, dear, don't mean more than I do. I'm an
old woman, and I 've seen many things. This is but a
little corner of the world, and yet many people pass here
in thirty years. The trouble with new teachers who come
is, that like you, they cannot see black folk as human.
All to them are either impossible Zoras, or else lovable
Blessings. They forget that Zora is not to be annihilated,
but studied and understood, and that Bles is a young
man of eighteen and not a clod."

" But that he should dare — " Mary began breath
lessly.

" He has n't dared," Miss Smith went gently on. " No

THE PLACE OF DREAMS 69

thought of you but as a teacher has yet entered his dear,
simple head. But, my point is simply this : he 's a man,
and a human one, and if you keep on making much over
him, and talking to him and petting him, he '11 have the
right to interpret your manner in his own way — the
same that any young man would."

" But — but, he 's a — a — "

" A Negro. To be sure, he is ; and a man in addition.
Now, dear, don't take this too much to heart; this is
not a rebuke, but a clumsy warning. I am simply try
ing to make clear to you why you should be careful.
Treat poor Zora a little more lovingly, and Bles a little
less warmly. They are just human — but, oh! so
human."

Mary Taylor rose up stiffly and mumbled a brief
good-night. She went to her room, and sat down in the
dark. The mere mention of the thing was to her so
preposterous — no, loathsome, she kept repeating.

She slowly undressed in the dark, and heard the rum
bling of the cotton wagons as they swayed toward town.
The cry of the Naked was sweeping the world, and yon
der in the night black men were answering the call. They
knew not what or why they answered, but obeyed the
irresistible call, with hearts light and song upon their
lips — the Song of Service. They lashed their mules
and drank their whiskey, and all night the piled fleece
swept by Mary Taylor's window, flying — flying to that
far cry. Miss Taylor turned uneasily in her bed and
jerked the bed-clothes about her ears.

" Mrs. Variderpool is right," she confided to the night,
with something of the awe with which one suddenly com
prehends a hidden oracle ; " there must be a difference,
always, always ! That impudent Negro ! "

70 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

All night she dreamed, and all day, — especially when
trim and immaculate she sat in her chair and looked down
upon fifty dark faces — and upon Zora.

Zora sat thinking. She saw neither Miss Taylor nor
the long straight rows of desks and faces. She heard
neither the drone of the spellers nor did she hear Miss
Taylor say, "Zora!" She heard and saw none of
this. She only heard the prattle of the birds in the
wood, far down where the Silver Fleece would be planted.

For the time of cotton-planting was coming; the gray
and drizzle of December was past and the hesitation of
January. Already a certain warmth and glow had stolen
into the air, and the Swamp was calling its child with
low, seductive voice. She knew where the first leaves were
bursting, where tiny flowers nestled, and where young
living things looked upward to the light and cried and
crawled. A wistful longing was stealing into her heart.
She wanted to be free. She wanted to run and dance
and sing, but Bles wanted —

"Zora!"

This time she heard the call, but did not heed it.
Miss Taylor was very tiresome, and was forever doing
and saying silly things. So Zora paid no attention, but
sat still and thought. Yes, she would show Bles the place
that very night; she had kept it secret from him until
now, out of perverseness, out of her love of mystery
and secrets. But to-night, after school, when he met
her on the big road with the clothes, she would take him
and show him the chosen spot.

Soon she was aware that school had been dismissed,
and she leisurely gathered up her books and rose. Mary
Taylor regarded her in perplexed despair. Oh, these
people! Mrs. Vanderpool was right: culture and — some

THE PLACE OF DREAMS 71

masses, at least — were not to be linked ; and, too, cul
ture and work — were they incompatible? At any rate,
culture and this work were.

Now, there was Mrs. Vanderpool — she toiled not,
neither did she spin, and yet! If all these folk were
like poor, stupid, docile Jennie it would be simpler, but
what earthly sense was there in trying to do anything
with a girl like Zora, so stupid in some matters, so start-
lingly bright in others, and so stubborn in everything?
Here, she was doing some work twice as well and twice
as fast as the class, and other work she would not touch
because she " did n't like it." Her classification in school
was nearly as difficult as her classification in the world,
and Miss Taylor reached up impatiently and removed
the gold pin from her stock to adjust it more comfortably
when Zora sauntered past unseeing, unheeding, with that
curious gliding walk which Miss Taylor called stealthy.
She laid the pin on the desk and on sudden impulse spoke
again to the girl as she arranged her neck trimmings.

" Zora," she said evenly, " why did n't you come to
class when I called? "

"I didn't hear you," said Zora, looking at her full-
eyed and telling the half-truth easily.

Miss Taylor was sure Zora was lying, and she knew
that she had lied to her on other occasions. Indeed, she
had found lying customary in this community, and she
had a New England horror of it. . She looked at Zora
disapprovingly, while Zora looked at her quite imperson
ally, but steadily. Then Miss Taylor braced herself,
mentally, and took the war into Africa.

" Do you ever tell lies, Zora? "

" Yes."

" Don't you know that is a wicked, bad habit ? "

72 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

"Why?"

" Because God hates them."

" How does you know He does ? " Zora's tone was still
impersonal.

" He hates all evil."

"But why is lies evil?"

" Because they make us deceive each other."

"Is that wrong?"

" Yes."

Zora bent forward and looked squarely into Miss
Taylor's blue eyes. Miss Taylor looked into the velvet
blackness of hers and wondered what they veiled.

" Is it wrong," asked Zora, " to make believe you likes
people when you don't, when you'se afeared of them and
thinks they may rub off and dirty you? "

" Why — why — yes, if you — if you, deceive."

"Then you lies sometimes, don't you?"

Miss Taylor stared helplessly at the solemn eyes that
seemed to look so deeply into her.

"Perhaps — I do, Zora; I'm sure I don't mean to,
and — I hope God will forgive me."

Zora softened.

" Oh, I reckon He will if He 's a good God, because
He 'd know that lies like that are heaps better than blab
bing the truth right out. Only," she added severely,
" you mus n't keep saying it 's wicked to lie, 'cause it
ain't. Sometimes I lies," she reflected pensively, " and
sometimes I don't — it depends."

Miss Taylor forgot her collar, and fingered the pin
on the desk. She felt at once a desperate desire to know
this girl better and to establish her own authority. Yet
how should she do it? She kept toying with the pin, and
Zora watched her. Then Miss Taylor said, absently:

THE PLACE OF DREAMS 73

"Zora, what do you propose to do when you grow
up?"

Zora considered.

" Think and walk — and rest," she concluded.

"I mean, what work?"

"Work? Oh, I sha'n't work. I don't like work -
do you ? "

Miss Taylor winced, wondering if the girl were lying
again. She said quickly:

" Why, yes — that is, I like some kinds of work."

"What kinds?"

But Miss Taylor refused to have the matter made
personal, as Zora had a disconcerting way of pointing
all their discussions.

" Everybody likes some kinds of work," she insisted.

" If you likes it, it ain't work," declared Zora ; but
Mary Taylor proceeded around her circumscribed circle:

" You might make a good cook, or a maid."

"I hate cooking. What's a maid?"

" Why, a woman who helps others."

"Helps folks that they love? I'd like that."

" It is not a question of affection," said Miss Taylor,
firmly ; " one is paid for it."

" I would n't work for pay."

" But you '11 have to, child ; you '11 have to earn a
living."

" Do you work for pay ? "

" I work to earn a living."

" Same thing, I reckon, and it ain't true. Living just
comes free, like — like sunshine."

" Stuff ! Zora, your people must learn to work and
work steadily and work hard - - " She stopped, for she
was sure Zora was not listening ; the far away look was in

74 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

her eyes and they were shining. She was beautiful as
she stood there — strangely, almost uncannily, but start-
lingly beautiful with her rich dark skin, softly moulded
features, and wonderful eyes.

"My people? — my people?" she murmured, half to
herself. " Do you know my people ? They do n't never
work; they plays. They is all little, funny dark people.
They flies and creeps and crawls, slippery-like ; and they
cries and calls. Ah, my people ! my poor little people !
they misses me these days, because they is shadowy things
that sing and smell and bloom in dark and terrible
nights — "

Miss Taylor started up. " Zora, I believe you're
crazy ! " she cried. But Zora was looking at her calmly
again.

" We'se both crazy, ain't we?" she returned, with a
simplicity that left the teacher helpless.

Miss Taylor hurried out, forgetting her pin. Zora
looked it over leisurely, and tried it on. She decided
that she liked it, and putting it in her pocket, went out
too.

School was out but the sun was still high, as Bles hur
ried from the barn up the big road beside the soft
shadows of the swamp. His head was busy with new
thoughts and his lips were whistling merrily, for to-day
Zora was to show him the long dreamed of spot for the
planting of the Silver Fleece. He hastened toward tho
Cresswell mansion, and glanced anxiously up the road.
At last he saw her coming, swinging down the road,
lithe and dark, with the big white basket of clothes poised
on her head.

" Zora," he yodled, and she waved her apron.

He eased her burden to the ground and they sat down

THE PLACE OF DREAMS 75

together, he nervous and eager; she silent, passive,
but her eyes restless. Bles was full of his plans.

" Zora," he said, " we '11 make it the finest bale ever
raised in Tooms; we'll just work it to the inch — just
love it into life."

She considered the matter intently.

" But," — presently, — " how can we sell it without the
Cresswells knowing? "

"We won't try; we'll just take it to them and give
them half, like the other tenants."

" But the swamp is mortal thick and hard to clear."

" We can do it."

Zora had sat still, listening; but now, suddenly, she
leapt to her feet.

" Corne," she said, " I '11 take the clothes home, then
we '11 go " — she glanced at him — " down where the
dreams are." And laughing, they hurried on.

Elspeth stood in the path that wound down to the
cottage, and without a word Zora dropped the basket
at her feet. She turned back; but Bles, struck by a
thought, paused. The old woman was short, broad,
black and wrinkled, with yellow fangs, red hanging lips,
and wicked eyes. She leered at them; the boy shrank
before it, but stood his ground.

" Aunt Elspeth," he began, " Zora and I are going
to plant and tend some cotton to pay for her schooling

— just the very best cotton we can find — and I heard "

— he hesitated, — "I heard you had some wonderful
seed."

" Yes," she mumbled, " I'se got the seed — I'se got
it — wonder seed, sowed wid the three spells of Obi in
the old land ten tousand moons ago. But you could n't
plant it," with a sudden shrillness, " it would kill you."

76 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

"But — " Bles tried to object, but she waved him
away.

" Git the ground — git the ground ; dig it — pet it,
and we '11 see what we '11 see." And she disappeared.

Zora was not sure that it had been wise to tell their
secret.

" I was going to steal the seed," she said. " I knows
where it is, and I don't fear conjure."

" You must n't steal, Zora," said Bles, gravely.

"Why?" Zora quickly asked.

But before he answered, they both forgot; for their
faces were turned toward the wonder of the swamp. The
golden sun was pouring floods of glory through the slim
black trees, and the mystic sombre pools caught and
tossed back the glow in darker, duller crimson. Long
echoing cries leapt to and fro ; silent footsteps crept
hither and yonder; and the girl's eyes gleamed with a
wild new joy.

"The dreams!" she cried. "The dreams!" And
leaping ahead, she danced along the shadowed path. He
hastened after her, but she flew fast and faster; he fol
lowed, laughing, calling, pleading. He saw her twinkling
limbs a-dancing as once he saw them dance in a halo of
firelight ; but now the fire was the fire of the world. Her
garments twined and flew in shadowy drapings about the
perfect moulding of her young and dark half-naked figure.
Her heavy hair had burst its fastenings and lay in stiff
ened, straggling masses, bending reluctantly to the breeze,
like curled smoke; while all about, the mad, wild singing
rose and fell and trembled, till his head whirled. He
paused uncertainly at a parting of the paths, crying:

" Zora ! Zora ! " as for some lost soul. " Zora ! Zora ! "
echoed the cry, faintly.

THE PLACE OF DREAMS 77

Abruptly the music fell; there came a long slow-grow
ing silence; and then, with a flutter, she was beside him
again, laughing in his ears and crying with mocking
voice :

"Is you af eared, honey?"

He saw in her eyes sweet yearnings, but could speak
nothing. He could only clasp her hand tightly, and
again down they raced through the wood.

All at once the swamp changed and chilled to a dull
grayness; tall, dull trees started down upon the murky
waters ; and long pendent streamings of moss-like tears
dripped from tree to earth. Slowly and warily they
threaded their way.

"Are you sure of the path, Zora? " he once inquired
anxiously.

" I could find it asleep," she answered, skipping sure
footed onward. He continued to hold her hand tightly,
and his own pace never slackened. Around them the
gray and death-like wilderness darkened. They felt and
saw the cold white mist rising slowly from the ground,
and waters growing blacker and broader.

At last they came to what seemed the end. Silently
and dismally the half-dead forest, with its ghostly moss,
lowered and darkened, and the black waters spread into
a great silent lake of slimy ooze. The dead trunk
of a fallen tree lay straight in front, torn and twisted,
its top hidden yonder and mingled with impenetrable
undergrowth.

" Where now, Zora ? " he cried.

In a moment she had slipped her hand away and was
scrambling upon the tree trunk. The waters yawned
murkily below.

" Careful ! careful ! " he warned, struggling after her

78 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

until she disappeared amid the leaves. He followed
eagerly, but cautiously; and all at once found himself
confronting a paradise.

Before them lay a long island, opening to the south,
on the black lake, but sheltered north and east by the
dense undergrowth of the black swamp and the rampart
of dead and living trees. The soil was virgin and black,
thickly covered over with a tangle of bushes, vines, and
smaller growth all brilliant with early leaves and wild
flowers.

" A pretty tough proposition for clearing and plough
ing," said Bles, with practised eye. But Zora eagerly
surveyed the prospect.

" It 's where the Dreams lives," she whispered.

Meantime Miss Taylor had missed her brooch and
searched for it in vain. In the midst of this pursuit the
truth occurred to her — Zora had stolen it. Negroes
would steal, everybody said. Well, she must and would
have the pin, and she started for Elspeth's cabin.

On the way she met the old woman in the path, but
got little satisfaction. Elspeth merely grunted ungra
ciously while eying the white woman with suspicion.

Mary Taylor, again alone, sat down at a turn in
the path, just out of sight of the house, and waited.
Soon she saw, with a certain grim satisfaction, Zora and
Bles emerging from the swamp engaged in earnest con
versation. Here was an opportunity to overwhelm both
with an unforgettable reprimand. She rose before them
like a spectral vengeance.

" Zora, I want my pin."

Bles started and stared ; but Zora eyed her calmly with
something like disdain.

"What pin?" she returned, unmoved.

THE PLACE OF DREAMS 79

" Zora, don't deny that you took my pin from the
desk this afternoon," the teacher commanded severely.

" I did n't say I did n't take no pin."

" Persons who will lie and steal will do anything."

" Why should n't people do anything they wants to ? "

" And you knew the pin was mine."

" I saw you a-wearing of it," admitted Zora easily.

" Then you have stolen it, and you are a thief."

Still Zora appeared to be unimpressed with the heinous-
ness of her fault.

"Did you make that pin?" she asked.

" No, but it is mine."

"Why is it yours?"

" Because it was given to me."

" But you don't need it ; you 've got four other prettier
ones — I counted."

" That makes no difference."

rs,

' Yes it does — folks ain't got no right to things they
don't need."

" That makes no difference, Zora, and you know it.
The pin is mine. You stole it. If you had wanted a pin
and asked me I might have given you — "

The girl blazed.

" I don't want your old gifts," she almost hissed.
" You don't own what you don't need and can't use.
God owns it and I 'm going to send it back to Him."

With a swift motion she whipped the pin from her
pocket and raised her arm to hurl it into the swamp.
Bles caught her hand. He caught it lightly and smiled
sorrowfully into her eyes. She wavered a moment, then
the answering light sprang to her face. Dropping the
brooch into his hand, she wheeled and fled toward the
cabin.

80 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Bles handed it silently to Miss Taylor. Mary Taylor
was beside herself with impatient anger — and anger in
tensified by a conviction of utter helplessness to cope with
any strained or unusual situations between herself and
these two.

" Alwyn," she said sharply, " I shall report Zora for
stealing. And you may report yourself to Miss Smith
to-night for disrespect toward a teacher."

CHAPTER VIII

MR. HARRY CRESSWELL

THE Cresswells, father and son, were at breakfast.
The daughter was taking her coffee and rolls up
stairs in bed.

"P'sh! I don't like it!" declared Harry Cresswell,
tossing the letter back to his father. " I tell you, it is
a damned Yankee trick."

He was a man of thirty-five, smooth and white, slight,
well-bred and masterful. His father, St. John Cresswell,
was sixty, white-haired, mustached and goateed ; a stately,
kindly old man with a temper and much family pride.

" Well, well," he said, his air half preoccupied, half
unconcerned, " I suppose so — and yet " — he read the
letter again, aloud : " ' Approaching you as one of the
most influential landowners of Alabama, on a confidential
matter 9 — h'm — h'm — * a combination of capital and
power, such as this nation has never seen ' — 4 cotton
manufacturers and cotton growers.5 . . . Well, well !
Of course, I suppose there 's nothing in it. And yet,
Harry, my boy, this cotton-growing business is get
ting in a pretty tight pinch. Unless relief comes somehow
— well, we '11 just have to quit. We simply can't keep the
cost of cotton down to a remunerative figure with niggers
getting scarcer and dearer. Every year I have to pinch

[81]

82 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

'em closer and closer. I had to pay Maxwell two hundred
and fifty to get that old darky and his boys turned over to
me, and one of the young ones has run away already."

Harry lighted a cigarette.

" We must drive them more. You 're too easy, father ;
they understand that. By the way, what did that letter
say about a 'sister'?"

" Says he 's got a sister over at the nigger school whom
perhaps we know. I suppose he thinks we dine there
occasionally." The old man chuckled. " That reminds
me, Elspeth is sending her girl there."

" What 's that ? " An angry gleam shot into the
younger man's eye.

" Yes. She announced this morning, pert as you
please, that she could n't tote clothes any more — she
had to study."

" Damn it ! This thing is going too far. We can't
keep a maid or a plough-boy on the place because of this
devilish school. It 's going to ruin the whole labor
system. We 've been too mild and decent. I 'm going
to put my foot down right here. I '11 make Elspeth take
that girl out of school if I have to horse-whip her, and
I '11 warn the school against further interference with
our tenants. Here, in less than a week, go two plough-
hands — and now this girl."

The old man smiled.

" You '11 hardly miss any work Zora does," he said.

" I '11 make her work. She 's giving herself too many
damned airs. I know who 's back of this — it 's that
nigger we saw talking to the white woman in the field the
other day."

" Well, don't work yourself up. The wench don't
amount to much anyhow. By the way, though, if you

MR. HARRY CRESSWELL 83

do go to the school it won't hurt to see this Taylor's
sister and size the family up."

" Pshaw ! I 'm going to give the Smith woman such
a scare that she '11 keep her hands off our niggers." And
Harry Cresswell rode away.

Mary Taylor had charge of the office that morning,
while Miss Smith, shut up in her bedroom, went labori
ously over her accounts. Miss Mary suddenly sat up,
threw a hasty glance into the glass and felt the back
of her belt. It was — it could n't be — surely, it was
Mr. Harry Cresswell riding through the gateway on his
beautiful white mare. He kicked the gate open rather
viciously, did not stop to close it, and rode straight across
the lawn. Miss Taylor noticed his riding breeches and
leggings, his white linen and white, clean-cut, high-bred
face. Such apparitions were few about the country
lands. She felt inclined to flutter, but gripped herself.

" Good-morning," she said, a little stiffly.

Mr. Cresswell halted and stared; then lifting the hat
which he had neglected to remove in crossing the hall,
he bowed in stately grace. Miss Taylor was no ordinary
picture. Her brown hair was almost golden; her dark
eyes shone blue; her skin was clear and healthy, and her
white dress — happy coincidence ! — had been laundered
that very morning. Her half-suppressed excitement at
the sudden duty of welcoming the great aristocrat of
the county, gave a piquancy to her prettiness.

" The — devil ! " commented Mr. Harry Cresswell to
himself. But to Miss Taylor:

" I beg pardon — er — Miss Smith? "

" No — I 'in sorry. Miss Smith is engaged this morn
ing. I am Miss Taylor."

" I cannot share Miss Taylor's sorrow," returned Mr.

84 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Cresswell gravely, " for I believe I have the honor of
some correspondence with Miss Taylor's brother." Mr.
Cresswell searched for the letter, but did not find it.

" Oh ! Has John written you ? " She beamed suddenly.
" I 'm so glad. It 's more than he 's done for me this
three-month. I beg your pardon — do sit down — I
think you '11 find this one easier. Our stock of chairs
is limited.''

It was delightful to have a casual meeting receive this
social stamp ; the girl was all at once transfigured — • ani
mated, glowing, lovely; all of which did not escape the
caller's appraising inspection.

" There ! " said Mr. Cresswell. " I 've left your gate
gaping."

" Oh, don't mind . . . I hope John 's well? "

" The truth is," confessed Cresswell, " it was a busi
ness matter — cotton, you know."

" John is nothing but cotton ; I tell him his soul is
fibrous."

" He mentioned your being here and I thought I 'd
drop over and welcome you to the South."

" Thank you," returned Miss Taylor, reddening with
pleasure despite herself. There was a real sincerity in
the tone. All this confirmed so many convictions of
hers.

" Of course, you know how it is in the South," Cress-
well pursued, the opening having been so easily accom
plished.

" I understand perfectly."

" My sister would be delighted to meet you, but — "

" Oh I realize the — difficulties."

" Perhaps you would n't mind riding by some day —
it 's embarrassing to suggest this, but, you know — "

MR. HARRY CRESSWELL 85

Mary Taylor was perfectly self-possessed.

" Mr. Cresswell," she said seriously, " I know very
well that it would n't do for your sister to call here, and
I sha'n't mind a bit coming by to see her first. I don't
believe in standing on stupid ceremony."

Cresswell thanked her with quiet cordiality, and sug
gested that when he was driving by he might pick her
up in his gig some morning. Miss Taylor expressed her
pleasure at the prospect. Then the talk wandered to
general matters — the rain, the trees, the people round
about, and, inevitably — the Negro.

" Oh, by the bye," said Mr. Cresswell, frowning and
hesitating over the recollection of his errand's purpose,
" there was one matter " — he paused. Miss Taylor
leant forward, all interest. " I hardly know that I ought
to mention it, but your school — "

This charming young lady disarmed his truculent
spirit, and the usually collected and determined young man
was at a loss how to proceed. The girl, however, was
obviously impressed and pleased by his evidence of in
terest, whatever its nature; so in a manner vastly dif
ferent from the one he had intended to assume, he
continued :

" There is a way in which we may be of service to you,
and that is by enlightening you upon points concern
ing which the nature of your position — both as teacher
and socially — must keep you in the dark.

" For instance, all these Negroes are, as you know, of
wretchedly low morals ; but there are a few so depraved
that it would be suicidal to take them into this school.
We recognize the good you are doing, but we do not want
it more than offset by utter lack of discrimination in
choosing your material."

86 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Certainly not — have we — " Miss Mary faltered.
This beginning was a bit ominous, wholly unexpected.

" There is a girl, Zora, who has just entered, who — I
must speak candidly — who ought not to be here ; I
thought it but right to let you know."

" Thank you, so much. I '11 tell Miss Smith." Mary
Taylor suddenly felt herself a judge of character. " I
suspected that she was — not what she ought to be. Be
lieve me, we appreciate your interest."

A few more words, and Mr. Cress well, after bending
courteously over her hand with a deference no New Eng-
lander had ever shown, was riding away on his white
mare.

For a while Mary Taylor sat very quietly. It was
like a breath of air from the real world, this hour's chat
with a well-bred gentleman. She wondered how she had
done her part — had she been too eager and school-girl
ish? Had she met this stately ceremony with enough
breeding to show that she too was somebody? She
pounced upon Miss Smith the minute that lady entered
the office.

"Miss Smith, who do you think has been here?"
she burst out enthusiastically.

" I saw him on the lawn." There was a suspicious
lack of warmth in this brief affirmation.

" He was so gracious and kindly, and he knows my
brother. And oh, Miss Smith ! we 've got to send that
Zora right away."

" Indeed " — the observation was not even interroga
tory. The preceptress of the struggling school for Negro
children merely evinced patience for the younger woman's
fervency.

" Yes ; he says she 's utterly depraved."

MR. HARRY CRESSWELL 87

"Said that, did he?" Miss Smith watched her with
tranquil regard. Miss Taylor paused.

" Of course, we cannot think of keeping her."

Miss Smith pursed her lips, offering her first expres
sion of opinion.

" I guess we '11 worry along with her a little while
anyhow," she said.

The girl stared at Miss Smith in honest, if unpardon
able, amazement.

" Do you mean to say that you are going to keep in
this school a girl who not only lies and steals but is
positively — immoral? "

Miss Smith smiled, wholly unmoved.

" No ; but I mean that 7 am here to learn from those
whose ideas of right do not agree with mine, to discover
why they differ, and to let them learn of me — so far
as I am worthy."

Mary Taylor was not unappreciative of Miss Smith's
stern high-mindedness, but her heart hardened at this,
to her, misdirected zeal. Echo of the spirit of an older
day, Miss Smith seemed, to her, to be cramped and par
alyzed in an armor of prejudice and sectionalisms.
Plain-speaking was the only course, and Mary, if a little
complacent perhaps in her frankness, was sincere in her
purpose.

" I think, Miss Smith, you are making a very grave
mistake. I regard Zora as a very undesirable person
from every point of view. I look upon Mr. Cresswell's
visit to-day as almost providential. He came offering
an olive branch from the white aristocracy to this work ;
to bespeak his appreciation and safeguard the future.
Moreover," and Miss Taylor's voice gathered firmness
despite Miss Smith's inscrutable eye, " moreover, I have

88 [THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

reason to know that the disposition — indeed, the plan
— in certain quarters to help this work materially de
pends very largely on your willingness to meet the ad
vances of the Southern whites half way."

She paused for a reply or a question. Receiving neither,
she walked with dignity up the stairs. From her window
she could see Cresswell's straight shoulders, as he rode
toward town, and beyond him a black speck in the road.
But she could not see the smile on Mr. Cresswell's lips,
nor did she hear him remark twice, with seeming irrele
vance, "The devil!"

The rider, being closer to it, recognized in Mary
Taylor's " black speck " Bles Alwyn walking toward him
rapidly with axe and hoe on shoulder, whistling merrily.
They saw each other almost at the same moment and
whistle and smile faded. Mr. Cresswell knew the Negro
by sight and disliked him. He belonged in his mind to
that younger class of half-educated blacks who were im
pudent and disrespectful toward their superiors, not
even touching his hat when he met a white man. More
over, he was sure that it was Miss Taylor with whom this
boy had been talking so long and familiarly in the cotton-
field last Spring — an offence doubly heinous now that
he had seen Miss Taylor.

His first impulse was to halt the Negro then and there
and tell him a few plain truths. But he did not feel
quarrelsome at the moment, and there was, after all,
nothing very tangible to justify a berating. The fel
low's impudence was sure to increase, and then! So he
merely reined his horse to the better part of the foot
path and rode on.

Bles, too, was thinking. He knew the well-dressed
man with his milk-white face and overbearing way. He

MR. HARRY CRESSWELL 89

would expect to be greeted with raised hat but Bles bit
his lips and pulled down his cap firmly. The axe, too,
in some indistinct way felt good in his hand. He saw
the horse coming in his pathway and stepping aside in
the dust continued on his way, neither looking nor
speaking.

So they passed each other by, Mr. Cresswell to town,
Bles to the swamp, apparently ignorant of each other's
very existence. Yet, as the space widened between them,
each felt a more vindictive anger for the other.

How dares the black puppy to ignore a Cresswell on
the highway? If this went on, the day would surely come
when Negroes felt no respect or fear whatever for whites ?
And then — my God ! Mr. Cresswell struck his mare a
vicious blow and dashed toward town.

The black boy, too, went his way in silent, burning
rage. Why should he be elbowed into the roadside dust
by an insolent bully? Why had he not stood his ground?
Pshaw! All this fine frenzy was useless, and he knew
it. The sweat oozed on his forehead. It was n't man
against man, or he would have dragged the pale puppy
from his horse and rubbed his face in the earth. It
was n't even one against many, else how willingly, swing
ing his axe, he would have stood his ground before a
mob.

No, it was one against a world, a world of power, opin
ion, wealth, opportunity ; and he, the one, must cringe and
bear in silence lest the world crash about the ears of
his people. He slowly plodded on in bitter silence to
ward the swamp. But the day was balmy, the way was
beautiful; contempt slowly succeeded anger, and hope
soon triumphed over all. For yonder was Zora, poised,
waiting. And behind her lay the Field of Dreams.

CHAPTER IX

THE PLANTING

ZORA looked down upon Bles, where he stood to
his knees in mud. The toil was beyond exhilara
tion — it was sickening weariness and panting
despair. The great roots, twined in one unbroken snarl,
clung frantically to the black soil. The vines and bushes
fought back with thorn and bramble. Zora stood wiping
the blood from her hands and staring at Bles. She saw
the long gnarled fingers of the tough little trees and
they looked like the fingers of Elspeth down there be
neath the earth pulling against the boy. Slowly Zora
forgot her blood and pain. Who would win — the witch,
or Jason?

Bles looked up and saw the bleeding hands. With a
bound he was beside her.

" Zora ! " The cry seemed wrung from his heart by
contrition. Why had he not known — not seen before !
" Zora, come right out of this ! Sit down here and rest."

She looked at him unwaveringly; there was no flinch
ing of her spirit.

" I sha'n't do it," she said. " You 'se working, and I'se
going to work."

" But — Zora — you 're not used to such work, and I
am. You 're tired out."

[90]

THE PLANTING 91

" So is you," was her reply.

He looked himself over ruefully, and dropping his axe,
sat down beside her on a great log. Silently they con
templated the land; it seemed indeed a hopeless task.
Then they looked at each other in sudden, unspoken fear
of failure.

" If we only had a mule ! " he sighed. Immediately
her face lighted and her lips parted, but she said nothing.
He presently bounded to his feet.

" Never mind, Zora. To-morrow is Saturday, and I '11
work all day. We just will get it done — sometime."
His mouth closed with determination.

" We won't work any more to-day, then? " cried Zora,
her eagerness betraying itself despite her efforts to hide
it.

" You won't," affirmed Bles. " But I 've got to do just
a little — "

But Zora was adamant: he was tired; she was tired;
they would rest. To-morrow with the rising sun they
would begin again.

" There '11 be a bright moon to-night," ventured Bles.

" Then I '11 come too," Zora announced positively, and
he had to promise for her sake to rest.

They went up the path together and parted diffidently,
he watching her flit away with sorrowful eyes, a little
disturbed and puzzled at the burden he had voluntarily
assumed, but never dreaming of drawing back.

Zora did not go far. No sooner did she know herself
well out of his sight than she dropped lightly down beside
the path, listening intently until the last echo of his
footsteps had died away. Then, leaving the cabin on her
right, and the scene of their toil on her left, she cut
straight through the swamp, skirted the big road, and

92 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

in a half-hour was in the lower meadows of the Cress-
well plantations, where the tired stock was being turned
out to graze for the night. Here, in the shadow of the
wood, she lingered. Slowly, but with infinite patience,
she broke one strand after another of the barbed-wire
fencing, watching, the while, the sun grow great and
crimson, and die at last in mighty splendor behind the
dimmer westward forests.

The voices of the hands and hostlers grew fainter and
thinner in the distance of purple twilight until the last
of them disappeared. Silence fell, deep and soft; the
silence of a day sinking to sleep. Not until then did
Zora steal forth from her hiding-place.

She had chosen her mule long before — a big, black
beast, snorting over his pile of corn, — and gliding up
to him, she gathered his supper into her skirt, found a
stout halter, and fed him sparingly as he followed her.
Quickly she unfastened the pieces of the fence, led the
animal through, and spliced them again ; and then, with
fox-like caution, she guided her prize through the laby
rinthine windings of the swamp. It was dark and haunt
ing, and ever and again rose lonely night cries. The
girl trembled a little, but plodded resolutely on until
the dim silver disk of the half-moon began to glimmer
through the trees. Then she pressed on more swiftly, and
fed more scantily, until finally, with the moonlight pour
ing over them at the black lagoon, Zora attempted to
drive the animal into the still waters; but he gave a
loud protesting snort and balked. By subtle temptings
she gave him to understand that plenty lay beyond the
dark waters, and quickly swinging herself to his back she
started to ride him up and down along the edge of the
lagoon, petting and whispering to him of good things

THE PLANTING 93

beyond. Slowly her eyes grew wide; she seemed to be
riding out of dreamland on some hobgoblin beast.

Deeper and deeper they penetrated into the dark
waters. Now they entered the slime; now they stumbled
on hidden roots ; but deeper and deeper they waded until
at last, turning the animal's head with a jerk, and giv
ing him a sharp stroke of the whip, she headed straight
for the island. A moment the beast snorted and plunged ;
higher and higher the black still waters rose round the
girl. They crept up her little limbs, swirled round her
breasts and gleamed green and slimy along her shoulders.
A wild terror gripped her. Maybe she was riding the
devil's horse, and these were the yawning gates of hell,
black and sombre beneath the cold, dead radiance of the
moon. She saw again the gnarled and black and claw-
like fingers of Elspeth gripping and dragging her down.

A scream struggled in her breast, her fingers relaxed,
and the big beast, stretching his cramped neck, rose in
one mighty plunge and planted his feet on the sand of
the island.

Bles, hurrying down in the morning with new tools
and new determination, stopped and stared in blank
amazement. Zora was perched in a tree singing softly
and beneath a fat black mule was finishing his breakfast.

" Zora — " he gasped, " how — how did you do it? "

She only smiled and sang a happier measure, pausing
only to whisper:

" Dreams — dreams — it 's all dreams here, I tells
you."

Bles frowned and stood irresolute. The song proceeded
with less assurance, slower and lower, till it stopped, and
the singer dropped to the ground, watching him with

94 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

wide eyes. He looked down at her, slight, tired,
scratched, but undaunted, striving blindly toward the
light with stanch, unfaltering faith. A pity surged in
his heart. He put his arm about her shoulders and
murmured :

" You poor, brave child."

And she shivered with joy.

All day Saturday and part of Sunday they worked
feverishly. The trees crashed and the stumps groaned
and crept up into the air, the brambles blazed and
smoked; little frightened animals fled for shelter; and
a wide black patch of rich loam broadened and broad
ened till it kissed, on every side but the sheltered east,
the black waters of the lagoon. Late Sunday night the
mule again swam the slimy lagoon, and disappeared to
ward the Cresswell fields. Then Bles sat down beside
Zora, facing the fields, and gravely took her hand. She
looked at him in quick, breathless fear.

" Zora," he said, " sometimes you tell lies, don't you? "

" Yes," she said slowly ; " sometimes."

" And, Zora, sometimes you steal — you stole the pin
from Miss Taylor, and we stole Mr. Cresswell's mule for
two days."

" Yes," she said faintly, with a perplexed wrinkle in
her brows, " / stole it."

" Well, Zora, I don't want you ever to tell another
lie, or ever to take anything that does n't belong to you."

She looked at him silently with the shadow of some
thing like terror far back in the depths of her deep eyes.

" Always — tell — the truth? " she repeated slowly.

" Yes."

Her fingers worked nervously.

"All the truth?" she asked.

THE PLANTING 95

He thought a while.

" No," said he finally, " it is not necessary always to
tell all the truth ; but never tell anything that is n't the
truth."

"Never?"

" Never."

"Even if it hurts me?"

" Even if it hurts. God is good, He will not let it
hurt much."

" He 's a fair God, ain't He? " she mused, scanning the
evening sky.

" Yes — He 's fair, He would n't take advantage of a
little girl that did wrong, when she did n't know it was
wrong."

Her face lightened and she held his hands in both hers,
and said solemnly as though saying a prayer:

" I won't lie any more, and I won't steal — and — "
she looked at him in startled wistfulness — he remembered
it in after years; but he felt he had preached enough.

"And now for the seed! "he interrupted joyously.
" And then — the Silver Fleece ! "

That night, for the first time, Bles entered Zora's
home. It was a single low, black room, smoke-shadowed
and dirty, with two dingy beds and a gaping fire-place.
On one side of the fire-place sat the yellow woman, young,
with traces of beauty, holding the white child in her arms ;
on the other, hugging the blaze, huddled a formless heap,
wreathed in coils of tobacco smoke — Elspeth, Zora's
mother.

Zora said nothing, but glided in and stood in the
shadows.

" Good-evening," said Bles cheerily. The woman with
the baby alone responded.

96 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" I came for the seed you promised us — the cotton
seed."

The hag wheeled and approached him swiftly, grasp
ing his shoulders and twisting her face into his. She was
a horrible thing — filthy of breath, dirty, with dribbling
mouth and red eyes. Her few long black teeth hung
loosely like tusks and the folds of fat on her chin curled
down on her great neck. Bles shuddered and stepped
back.

" Is you af eared, honey ? " she whispered.

" No," he said sturdily.

She chuckled drily. " Yes, you is — everybody 's
'feared of old Elspeth ; but she won't hurt you — you 's
got the spell ; " and wheeling again, she was back at the
fire.

" But the seed? " he ventured.

She pointed impressively roofward. " The dark of the
moon, boy, the dark of the moon — the first dark — at
midnight." Bles could not wring another word from
her ; nor did the ancient witch, by word or look, again
give the slightest indication that she was aware of his
presence.

With reluctant farewell, Bles turned home. For a
space Zora watched him, and once she started after him,
but came slowly back, and sat by the fire-place.

Out of the night came voices and laughter, and the
sound of wheels and galloping horses. It was not the
soft, rollicking laughter of black men, but the keener,
more metallic sound of white men's cries, and Bles Alwyn
paused at the edge of the wood, looked back and hesitated,
but decided after a moment to go home and to bed.

Zora, however, leapt to her feet and fled into the night,
while the hag screamed after her and cursed. There was

THE PLANTING 97

tramping of feet on the cabin floor, and loud voices and
singing and cursing.

"Where's Zora? " some one yelled, with an oath.
" Damn it! where is she? I have n't seen her for a year,
you old devil."

The hag whimpered and snarled. Far down in the
field of the Fleece, Zora lay curled beneath a tall dark
tree asleep. All night there was coming and going in
the cabin; the talk and laughter grew loud and boister
ous, and the red fire glared in the night.

The days flew by and the moon darkened. In the
swamp, the hidden island lay spaded and bedded, and Bles
was throwing up a dyke around the edge ; Zora helped
him until he came to the black oak at the western edge.
It was a large twisted thing with one low flying limb that
curled out across another tree and made a mighty seat
above the waters.

" Don't throw the dirt too high there," she begged ;
" it '11 bring my seat too near the earth."

He looked up.

" Why, it 's a throne," he laughed.

" It needs a roof," he whimsically told her when his
day's work was done. Deftly twisting and intertwining
the branches of tree and bush, he wove a canopy of living
green that shadowed the curious nest and warded it
snugly from wind and water.

Early next morning Bles slipped down and improved
the nest; adding foot-rests to make the climbing easy,
peep-holes east and west, a bit of carpet over the bark,
and on the rough main trunk, a little picture in blue and
gold of Bougereau's Madonna. Zora sat hidden and alone
in silent ecstasy. Bles peeped in — there was not room to

98 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

enter: the girl was staring silently at the Madonna. She
seemed to feel rather than hear his presence, and she in
quired softly:

"Who's it, Bles?"

" The mother of God," he answered reverently.

" And why does she hold a lily ? "

" It stands for purity — she was a good woman."

" With a baby," Zora added slowly.

" Yes ! — " said Bles, and then more quickly — - " It is
the Christ Child — God's baby."

" God is the father of all the little babies, ain't He,
Bles?"

" Why, yes — yes, of course ; only this little baby
did n't have any other father."

" Yes, I know one like that," she said, — and then she
added softly : " Poor little Christ-baby."

Bles hesitated, and before he found words Zora was
saying :

" How white she is ; she *s as white as the lily, Bles ;
but — I 'm sorry she 's white — Bles, what 's purity -
just whiteness? "

Bles glanced at her awkwardly but she was still star
ing wide-eyed at the picture, and her voice was earnest.
She was now so old and again so much a child, an eager
questioning child, that there seemed about her innocence
something holy.

" It means," he stammered, groping for meanings —
"it means being good — just as good as a woman knows
how."

She wheeled quickly toward him and asked him eagerly :

"Not better — not better than she knows, but just as
good, in — lying and stealing and — and everything ? "

THE PLANTING 99

Bles smiled.

"No — not better than she knows, but just as good."

She trembled happily.

" I 'm — pure," she said, with a strange little breaking
voice and gesture. A sob struggled in his throat.

" Of course you are," he whispered tenderly, hiding
her little hands in his.

"I — I was so afraid — sometimes — that I was n't,"
she whispered, lifting up to him her eyes streaming with
tears. Silently he kissed her lips.

From that day on they walked together in a new world.
No revealing word was spoken ; no vows were given, none
asked for; but a new bond held them. She grew older,
quieter, taller, he humbler, more tender and reverent, as
they toiled together.

So the days passed. The sun burned in the heavens ;
but the silvered glory of the moon grew fainter and
fainter and each night it rose later than the night before.
Then one day Zora whispered:

"To-night!"

Bles came to the cabin, and he and Zora and Elspeth
sat silently around the fire-place with its meagre embers.
The night was balmy and still; only occasionally a wan
dering breeze searching the hidden places of the swamp,
or the call and song of night birds, jarred the stillness.
Long they sat, until the silence crept into Bles's flesh,
and stretching out his hand, he touched Zora's, clasp
ing it.

After a time the old woman rose and hobbled to a big
black chest. Out of it she brought an old bag of cotton
seed — not the white-green seed which Bles had always
known, but small, smooth black seeds, which she handled

100 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

carefully, dipping her hands deep down and letting them
drop through her gnarled fingers. And so again they sat
and waited and waited, saying no word.

Not until the stars of midnight had swung to the zenith
did they start down through the swamp. Bles sought to
guide the old woman, but he found she knew the way
better than he did. Her shadowy figure darting in and
out among the trunks till they crossed the tree bridge,
moved ever noiselessly ahead.

She motioned the boy and girl away to the thicket at
the edge, and stood still and black in the midst of the
cleared island. Bles slipped his arm protectingly around
Zora, glancing fearfully about in the darkness. Slowly a
great cry rose and swept the island. It struck madly
and sharply, and then died away to uneasy murmuring.
From afar there seemed to come the echo or the answer
to the call. The form of Elspeth blurred the night dimly
far off, almost disappearing, and then growing blacker
and larger. They heard the whispering " swish-swish "
of falling seed; they felt the heavy tread of a great com
ing body. The form of the old woman suddenly loomed
black above them, hovering a moment formless and vast
then fading again away, and the " swish-swish " of the
falling seed alone rose in the silence of the night.

At last all was still. A long silence. Then again the
air seemed suddenly filled with that great and awful cry;
its echoing answer screamed afar and they heard the
raucous voice of Elspeth beating in their ears :

" De seed done sowed! De seed done sowed! "

CHAPTER X

MR. TAYLOR CALLS

THINKING the matter over," said Harry Cress-
well to his father, " I 'm inclined to advise drawing
this Taylor out a little further."

The Colonel puffed his cigar and one eye twinkled, the
lid of the other being at the moment suggestively lowered.

"Was she pretty? " he asked; but his son ignored the
remark, and the father continued:

" I had a telegram from Taylor this morning, after
you left. He '11 be passing through Montgomery the
first of next month, and proposes calling."

" I '11 wire him to come," said Harry, promptly.

At this juncture the door opened and a young lady
entered. Helen Cresswell was twenty, small and pretty,
with a slightly languid air. Outside herself there was
little in which she took very great interest, and her in
terest in herself was not absorbing. Yet she had a
curiously sweet way. Her servants liked her and the
tenants could count on her spasmodic attentions in time
of sickness and trouble.

" Good-morning," she said, with a soft drawl. She
sauntered over to her father, kissed him, and hung over
the back of his chair.

" Did you get that novel for me, Harry ? " — expect
antly regarding her brother.

[101]

102 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" I forgot it, Sis. But I '11 be going to town again
soon."

The young lady showed that she was annoyed.

" By the bye, Sis, there 's a young lady over at the
Negro school whom I think you 'd like."

"Black or white?"

" A young lady, I said. Don't be sarcastic."

" I heard you. I did not know whether you were using
our language or others'."

" She 's really unusual, and seems to understand things.
She 's planning to call some day — shall you be at
home?"

" Certainly not, Harry ; you 're crazy." And she
strolled out to the porch, exchanged some remarks with
a passing servant, and then nestled comfortably into a
hammock. She helped herself to a chocolate and called
out musically:

" Pa, are you going to town to-day? "

" Yes, honey."

"Can I go?"

" I 'm going in an hour or so, and business at the bank
will keep me until after lunch."

" I don't care, I just must go. I 'm clean out of any
thing to read. And I want to shop and call on Dolly's
friend — she 's going soon."

" All right. Can you be ready by eleven ? "

She considered.

" Yes — I reckon," she drawled, prettily swinging her
foot and watching the tree-tops above the distant swamp.

Harry Cresswell, left alone, rang the bell for the butler.

" Still thinking of going, are you, Sam? " asked Cress-
well, carelessly, when the servant appeared. He was a
young, light-brown boy, his manner obsequious.

MR. TAYLOR CALLS 103

" Why, yes, sir — if you can spare me."

" Spare you, you black rascal ! You 're going anyhow.
Well, you '11 repent it ; the North is no place for niggers.
See here, I want lunch for two at one o'clock." The
directions that followed were explicit and given with a
particularity that made Sam wonder. " Order my trap,"
he finally directed.

Cresswell went out on the high-pillared porch until the
trap appeared.

" Oh, Harry ! I wanted to go in the trap — take me? "
coaxed his sister.

" Sorry, Sis, but I 'm going the other way."

" I don't believe it," said Miss Cresswell, easily, as she
settled down to another chocolate. Cresswell did not take
the trouble to reply.

Miss Taylor was on her morning walk when she saw
him spinning down the road, and both expressed surprise
and pleasure at the meeting.

" What a delightful morning ! " said the school-teacher,
and the glow on her face said even more.

" I 'm driving round through the old plantation," he
explained; "won't you join me?"

" The invitation is tempting," she hesitated ; " but I 've
got just oodles of work."

"What! on Saturday?"

" Saturday is my really busy day, don't you know. I
guess I could get off; really, though, I suspect I ought to
tell Miss Smith."

He looked a little perplexed ; but the direction in which
her inclinations lay was quite clear to him.

" It — it would be decidedly the proper thing," he
murmured, " and we could, of course, invite Miss —

She saw the difficulty and interrupted him:

104 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" It 's quite unnecessary ; she '11 think I have simply
gone for a long walk." And soon they were speeding
down the silent road, breathing the perfume of the pines.

Now a ride of an early spring morning, in Alabama,
over a leisurely old plantation road and behind a spirited
horse, is an event to be enjoyed. Add to this a man bred
to be agreeable and outdoing his training, and a pretty
girl gay with new-found companionship — all this is apt
to make a morning worth remembering.

They turned off the highway and passed through long
stretches of ploughed and tumbled fields, and other fields
brown with the dead ghosts of past years' cotton stand
ing straggling and weather-worn. Long, straight, or
curling rows of ploughers passed by with steaming, strug
gling mules, with whips snapping and the yodle of work
ers or the sharp guttural growl of overseers as a constant
accompaniment.

" They 're beginning to plough up the land for the
cotton-crop," he explained.

" What a wonderful crop it is ! " Mary had fallen
pensive.

" Yes, indeed — if only we could get decent returns
for it."

" Why, I thought it was a most valuable crop." She
turned to him inquiringly.

" It is — to Negroes and manufacturers, but not to
planters."

" But why don't the planters do something? "

" What can be done with Negroes ? " His tone was
bitter. " We tried to combine against manufacturers in
the Farmers' League of last winter. My father was
president. The pastime cost him fifty thousand dollars."

Miss Taylor was perplexed, but eager. " You must

MR. TAYLOR CALLS 105

correspond with my brother, Mr. Cresswell," she gravely
observed. " I 'm sure he — Before she could finish,

an overseer rode up. He began talking abruptly, with a
quick side-glance at Mary, in which she might have caught
a gleam of surprised curiosity.

" That old nigger, Jim Sykes, over on the lower place,
sir, ain't showed up again this morning."

Cresswell nodded. " I '11 drive by and see," he said
carelessly.

The old man was discovered sitting before his cabin
with his head in his hands. He was tall, black, and gaunt,
partly bald, with tufted hair. One leg was swathed in
rags, and his eyes, as he raised them, wore a cowed and
furtive look.

" Well, Uncle Jim, why are n't you at work ? " called
Cresswell from the roadside. The old man rose pain
fully to his feet, swayed against the cabin, and clutched
off his cap.

" It 's my leg again, Master Harry — the leg what I
hurt in the gin last fall," he answered, uneasily.

Cresswell frowned. " It 's probably whiskey," he as
sured his companion, in an undertone ; then to the man :

"You must get to the field to-morrow," — his habit
ually calm, unfeeling positiveness left no ground for ob
jection; "I cannot support you in idleness, you know."

" Yes, Master Harry," the other returned, with con
ciliatory eagerness ; " I knows that — I knows it and I
ain't shirking. But, Master Harry, they ain't doing me
right 'bout my cabin — I just wants to show you." He
got out some dirty papers, and started to hobble for
ward, wincing with pain. Mary Taylor stirred in her
seat under an involuntary impulse to help, but Cresswell
touched the horse.

106 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" All right, Uncle Jim," he said ; " we '11 look it over
to-morrow."

They turned presently to where they could see the
Cresswell oaks waving lazily in the sunlight and the white
gleam of the pillared " Big House."

A pause at the Cresswell store, where Mr. Cresswell
entered, afforded Mary Taylor an opportunity further
to extend her fund of information.

" Do you go to school? " she inquired of the black boy
who held the horse, her mien sympathetic and interested.

" No, ma'am," he mumbled.

" What 's your name? "

"Buddy — Pse one of Aunt Rachel's chilluns."

" And where do you live, Buddy ? "

" I lives with granny, on de upper place."

" Well, I '11 see Aunt Rachel and ask her to send you
to school."

" Won't do no good — she done ast, and Mr. Cress-
well, he say he ain't going to have no more of his
niggers — "

But Mr. Cresswell came out just then, and with him a
big, fat, and greasy black man, with little eyes and soft
wheedling voice. He was following Cresswell at the side
but just a little behind, hat in hand, head aslant, and talk
ing deferentially. Cresswell strode carelessly on, answer
ing him with good-natured tolerance.

The black man stopped with humility before the trap
and swept a profound obeisance. Cresswell glanced up
quizzically at Miss Taylor.

" This," he announced, " is Jones, the Baptist
preacher — begging."

" Ah, lady," — in mellow, unctuous tones — "I don't
know what we poor black folks would do without Mr.

MR. TAYLOR CALLS 107

Cresswell — the Lord bless him," said the minister, shov
ing his hand far down into his pocket.

Shortly afterward they were approaching the Cresswell
Mansion, when the young man reined in the horse.

" If you would n't mind," he suggested, " I could in
troduce my sister to you."

" I should be delighted," answered Miss Taylor,
readily.

When they rolled up to the homestead under its famous
oaks the hour was past one. The house was a white ob
long building of two stories. In front was the high
pillared porch, semi-circular, extending to the roof with
a balcony in the second story. On the right was a broad
verandah looking toward a wide lawn, with the main road
and the red swamp in the distance.

The butler met them, all obeisance.

" Ask Miss Helen to come down," said Mr. Cresswell.

Sam glanced at him.

" Miss Helen will be dreadful sorry, but she and the
Colonel have just gone to town — I believe her Aunty
ain't well."

Mr. Cresswell looked annoyed.

"Well, well! that's too bad," he said. "But at any
rate, have a seat a moment out here on the verandah,
Miss Taylor. And, Sam, can't you find us a sandwich
and something cool? I could not be so inhospitable as to
send you away hungry at this time of day."

Miss Taylor sat down in a comfortable low chair fac
ing the refreshing breeze, and feasted her eyes on the
scene. Oh, this was life: a smooth green lawn, and beds
of flowers, a vista of brown fields, and the dark line of
wood beyond. The deft, quiet butler brought out a little
table, spread with the whitest of cloths and laid with the

108 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

brightest of silver, and " found " a dainty lunch. There
was a bit of fried chicken breast, some crisp bacon, browned
potatoes, little round beaten biscuit, and rose-colored
sherbet with a whiff of wine in it. Miss Taylor wondered
a little at the bounty of Southern hospitality; but she
was hungry, and she ate heartily, then leaned back
dreamily and listened to Mr. Cresswell's smooth Southern
r's, adding a word here and there that kept the conversa
tion going and brought a grave smile to his pale lips.
At last with a sigh she arose to her feet.

" I must go ! What shall I tell Miss Smith ! No, no —
no carriage; I must walk." Of course, however, she
could not refuse to let him go at least half-way, ostensibly
to tell her of the coming of her brother. He expressed
again his disappointment at his sister's absence.

Somewhat to Miss Taylor's surprise Miss Smith said
nothing until they were parting for the night, then she
asked :

" Was Miss Cresswell at home ? "

Mary reddened.

" She had been called suddenly to town."

" Well, my dear, I would n't do it again."

The girl was angry.

" I 'm not a school-girl, but a grown woman, and ca
pable of caring for myself. Moreover, in matter of
propriety I do not think you have usually found my ideas
too lax — rather the opposite."

" There, there, dear ; don't be angry. Only I think if
your brother knew — "

" He will know in a very few weeks ; he is coming to
visit the Cresswells." And Miss Taylor sailed triumph
antly up the stairs.

But John Taylor was not the man to wait weeks when

MR. TAYLOR CALL 109

a purpose could be accomplished in days or hours. No
sooner was Harry Cresswell's telegram at hand than he
hastened back from Savannah, struck across country, and
the week after his sister's ride found him striding up the
carriage-way of the Cresswell home.

John Taylor had prospered since summer. The cotton
manufacturers' combine was all but a fact; Mr. Easterly
had discovered that his chief clerk's sense and executive
ability were invaluable, and John Taylor was slated for a
salary in five figures when things should be finally settled,
not to mention a generous slice of stock — watery at pres
ent, but warranted to ripen early.

While Mr. Easterly still regarded Taylor's larger
trust as chimerical, some occurrences of the fall made
him take a respectful attitude toward it. Just as the
final clauses of the combine agreement were to be signed,
there appeared a shortage in the cotton-crop, and prices
began to soar. The cause was obviously the unexpected
success of the new Farmers' League among the cotton-
growers. Mr. Easterly found it comparatively easy to
overthrow the corner, but the flurry made some of the
manufacturers timid, and the trust agreement was post
poned until a year later. This experience and the per
sistence of Mr. Taylor induced Mr. Easterly to take a
step toward the larger project: he let in some eager out
side capital to the safer manufacturing scheme, and with
drew a corresponding amount of Mrs. Grey's money.
This he put into John Taylor's hands to invest in the
South in bank stock and industries with the idea of play
ing a part in the financial situation there.

" It 's a risk, Taylor, of course, and we '11 let the old
lady take the risk. At the worst it 's safer than the
damned foolishness she has in mind."

110 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

So it happened that John Taylor went South to look
after large investments and, as Mr. Easterly expressed
it, " to bring back facts, not dreams." His investment
matters went quickly and well, and now he turned to his
wider and bigger scheme. He wrote the Cresswells tenta
tively, expecting no reply, or an evasive one; planning
to circle around them, drawing his nets closer, and trying
them again later. To his surprise they responded quickly.

" Humph ! Hard pressed," he decided, and hurried to
them.

So it was the week after Mary Taylor's ride that found
him at Cresswell's front door, thin, eagle-eyed, fairly well
dressed and radiating confidence.

" John Taylor," he announced to Sam, jerkily, thrust
ing out a card. " Want to see Mr. Cresswell ; soon as
possible."

Sam made him wait a half-hour, for the sake of dis
cipline, and then brought father and son.

" Good-morning, Mr. Cresswell, and Mr. Cresswell
again," said Mr. Taylor, helping himself to a straight-
backed chair. " Hope you '11 pardon this unexpected
visit. Found myself called through Montgomery, just
after I got your wire ; thought I 'd better drop over."

At Harry's suggestion they moved to the verandah
and sat down over whiskey and soda, which Taylor re
fused, and plunged into the subject without preliminaries.

" I 'm assuming that you gentlemen are in the cotton
business for making money. So am I. I see a way in
which you and your friends can help me and mine, and
clear up more millions than all of us can spend; for this
reason I 've hunted you up. This is my scheme.

" See here ; there are a thousand cotton-mills in this
country, half of them in the South, one-fourth in New

MR. TAYLOR CALLS 111

England, and one-fourth in the Middle States. They are
capitalized at six hundred million dollars. Now let me
tell you: we control three hundred and fifty millions of
that capitalization. The trust is going through capitaliz
ation at a billion. The only thing that threatens it is
child-labor legislation in the South, the tariff, and the con
trol of the supply of cotton. Pretty big hindrances, you
say. That 's so, but look here : we 've got the stock so
placed that nothing short of a popular upheaval can send
any Child Labor bill through Congress in six years. See?
After that we don't care. Same thing applies to the
tariff. The last bill ran ten years. The present bill will
last longer, or I lose my guess — 'specially if Smith is in
the Senate.

" Well, then, there remains raw cotton. The connec
tion of cotton-raising and its raw material is too close to
risk a manufacturing trust that does not include practical
control of the raw material. For that reason we 're
planning a trust to include the raising and manufactur
ing of cotton in America. Then, too, cornering the
cotton market here means the whip-hand of the industrial
world. Gentlemen, it 's the biggest idea of the century.
It beats steel."

Colonel Cresswell chuckled.

" How do you spell that? " he asked.

But John Taylor was not to be diverted; his thin face
was pale, but his gray eyes burned with the fire of a
zealot. Harry Cresswell only smiled dimly and looked
interested.

" Now, again," continued John Taylor. " There are a
million cotton farms in the South, half run by colored
people and half by whites. Leave the colored out of ac
count as long as they are disfranchised. The half million

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

white farms are owned or controlled by five thousand
wholesale merchants and three thousand big landowners,
of whom you, Colonel Cresswell, are among the biggest
with your fifty thousand acres. Ten banks control these
eight thousand people — one of these is the Jefferson Na
tional of Montgomery, of which you are a silent director."

Colonel Cresswell started; this man evidently had in
side information. Did he know of the mortgage, too?

" Don't be alarmed. 1 'm safe," Taylor assured him.
" Now, then, if we can get the banks, wholesale merchants,
and biggest planters into line we can control the cotton
crop."

" But," objected Harry Cresswell, " while the banks
and the large merchants may be possibilities, do you know
what it means to try to get planters into line? "

" Yes, I do. And what I don't know you and your
father do. Colonel Cresswell is president of the Farmers'
League. That 's the reason I 'm here. Your success last
year made you indispensable to our plans."

" Our success ? " laughed Colonel Cresswell, ruefully,
thinking of the fifty thousand dollars lost and the mort
gage to cover it.

" Yes, sir — success ! You did n't know it ; we were
too careful to allow that ; and I say frankly you would n't
know it now if we were n't convinced you were too far
involved and the League too discouraged to repeat the
dose."

" Now, look here, sir," began Colonel Cresswell, flush
ing and drawing himself erect.

" There, there, Colonel Cresswell, don't misunderstand
me. I 'm a plain man. I 'm playing a big game — a
tremendous one. I need you, and I know you need me. I
find out about you, and my sources of knowledge are

MR. TAYLOR CALLS 113

wide and unerring. But the knowledge is safe, sir ; it 9s
buried. Last year when you people curtailed cotton acre
age and warehoused a big chunk of the crop you gave the
mill men the scare of their lives. We had a hasty con
ference and the result was that the bottom fell out of
your credit."

Colonel Cresswell grew pale. There was a disquieting,
relentless element in this unimpassioned man's tone.

" You failed," pursued John Taylor, " because you
could n't get the banks and the big merchants behind you.
We 've got 'em behind us — with big chunks of stock and
a signed iron-clad agreement. You can wheel the planters
into line — will you do it?" John Taylor bent forward
tense but cool and steel-like. Harry Cresswell laid his
hand on his father's arm and said quietly:

" And where do we come in ? "

" That 's business," affirmed John Taylor. " You and
two hundred and fifty of the biggest planters come in
on the ground-floor of the two-billion-dollar All-Cotton
combine. It can easily mean two million to you in five
years."

" And the other planters? "

" They come in for high-priced cotton until we get our
grip."

"And then?"

The quiet question seemed to invoke a vision for John
Taylor ; the gray eyes took on the faraway look of a seer ;
the thin, bloodless lips formed a smile in which there was
nothing pleasant.

" They keep their mouths shut or we squeeze 'em and
buy the land. We propose to own the cotton belt of the
South."

Colonel Cresswell started indignantly from his seat.

114 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Do you think — by God, sir ! — that I 'd betray
Southern gentlemen to — "

But Harry's hand and impassive manner restrained
him; he cooled as suddenly as he had flared up.

" Thank you very much, Mr. Taylor," he concluded ;
" we '11 consider this matter carefully. You '11 spend the
night, of course."

" Can't possibly — must catch that next train back."

" But we must talk further," the Colonel insisted.
" And then, there 's your sister."

" By Jove ! Forgot all about Mary." John Taylor
after a little desultory talk, followed his host up-stairs.

The next afternoon John Taylor was sitting beside
Helen Cresswell on the porch which overlooked the ter
race, and was, on the whole, thinking less of cotton than
he had for several years. To be sure, he was talking cot
ton; but he was doing it mechanically and from long
habit, and was really thinking how charming a girl Helen
Cresswell was. She fascinated him. For his sister Taylor
had a feeling of superiority that was almost contempt,
The idea of a woman trying to understand and argue
about things men knew! He admired the dashing and
handsome Miss Easterly, but she scared him and made
him angrily awkward. This girl, on the other hand, just
lounged and listened with an amused smile, or asked the
most child-like questions. She required him to wait on
her quite as a matter of course — to adjust her pillows,
hand her the bon-bons, and hunt for her lost fan. Mr.
Taylor, who had not waited on anybody since his mother
died, and not much before, found a quite inexplicable
pleasure in these little domesticities. Several times he
took out his watch and frowned; yet he managed to
stay with her quite happily.

MR. TAYLOR CALLS 115

On her part Miss Cresswell was vastly amused. Her
acquaintance with men was not wide, but it was thorough
so far as her own class was concerned. They were all
well-dressed and leisurely, fairly good looking, and they
said the same words and did the same things in the same
way. They paid her compliments which she did not be
lieve, and they did not expect her to believe. They were
charmingly deferential in the matter of dropped hand
kerchiefs, but tyrannical of opinion. They were thought
ful about candy and flowers, but thoughtless about feel
ings and income. Altogether they were delightful, but
cloying. This man was startlingly different ; ungainly
and always in a desperate, unaccountable hurry. He
knew no pretty speeches, he certainly did not measure up
to her standard of breeding, and yet somehow he was a
gentleman. All this was new to Helen Cresswell, and she
liked it.

Meantime the men above-stairs lingered in the Colonel's
office — the older one perturbed and sputtering, the
younger insistent and imperturbable.

" The fact is, father," he was saying, " as you your
self have said, one bad crop of cotton would almost ruin
us."

" But the prospects are good."

" What are prospects in March ? No, father, this is
the situation — three good crops in succession will wipe
off our indebtedness and leave us facing only low prices
and a scarcity of niggers ; on the other hand — " The
father interrupted impatiently.

" Yes, on the other hand, if we plunge deeper in debt
and betray our friends we may come out millionaires or —
paupers."

" Precisely," said Harry Cresswell, calmly. " Now,

116 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

our plan is to take no chances; I propose going North
and looking into this matter thoroughly. If he represents
money and has money, and if the trust has really got
the grip he says it has, why, it 's a case of crush or get
crushed, and we '11 have to join them on their own terms.
If he 's bluffing, or the thing looks weak, we '11 wait."

It all ended as matters usually did end, in Harry's
having his way. He came downstairs, expecting, indeed,
rather hoping, to find Taylor impatiently striding to and
fro, watch in hand; but here he was, ungainly, it might
be, but quite docile, drawing the picture of a power-loom
for Miss Cresswell, who seemed really interested. Harry
silently surveyed them from the door, and his face lighted
with a new thought.

Taylor, espying him, leapt to his feet and hauled out
his watch.

"Well — I— " he began lamely.

" No, you were n't either," interrupted Harry, with a
laugh that was unmistakably cordial and friendly. " You
had quite forgotten what you were waiting for — is n't
that so, Sis?"

Helen regarded her brother through her veiling lashes :
what meant this sudden assumption of warmth and
amiability ?

" No, indeed ; he was raging with impatience," she
returned.

" Why, Miss Cresswell, I — I — " John Taylor for
sook social amenities and pulled himself together.
"Well," shortly, "now for that talk — ready?" And
quite forgetting Miss Cresswell, he bolted into the parlor.

" The decision we have come to is this," said Harry
Cresswell. " We are in debt, as you know."

" Forty-nine thousand, seven hundred and forty-two

MR. TAYLOR CALLS 117

dollars and twelve cents," responded Taylor ; " in three
notes, due in twelve, twenty-four, and thirty-six months,
interest at eight per cent, held by — "

The Colonel snorted his amazement, and Harry Cress-
well cut in :

" Yes," he calmly admitted; " and with good crops for
three years we 'd be all right ; good crops even for two
years would leave us fairly well off."

" You mean it would relieve you of the present
stringency and put you face to face with the falling price
of cotton and rising wages," was John Taylor's dry
addendum.

" Rising price of cotton, you mean," Harry corrected.

" Oh, temporarily," John Taylor admitted.

" Precisely, and thus postpone the decision."

" No, Mr. Cresswell. I 'm offering to let you in on the
ground floor — now — not next year, or year after."

" Mr. Taylor, have you any money in this ? "

" Everything I 've got."

" Well, the thing is this way : if you can prove to us
that conditions are as you say, we 're in for it."

" Good ! Meet me in New York, say — let 's see, this is
March tenth — well, May third."

Young Cresswell was thinking rapidly. This man
without doubt represented money. He was anxious for
an alliance. Why? Was it all straight, or did the whole
move conceal a trick?

His eyes strayed to the porch where his pretty sister
sat languidly, and then toward the school where the other
sister lived. John Taylor looked out on the porch, too.
They glanced quickly at each other, and each wondered
if the other had shared his thought. Harry Cresswell
did not voice his mind for he was not wholly disposed to

118 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

welcome what was there; but he could not refrain from
saying in tones almost confidential:

" You could recommend this deal, then, could you —
to your own friends ? "

" To my own family," asserted John Taylor, looking at
Harry Cresswell with sudden interest. But Mr. Cress-
well was staring at the end of his cigar.

CHAPTER XI

THE FLOWERING OF THE FLEECE

ZORA," observed Miss Smith, " it 's a great bless
ing not to need spectacles, is n't it? "

Zora thought that it was ; but she was wonder
ing just what spectacles had to do with the complaint
she had brought to the office from Miss Taylor.

" I 'm always losing my glasses and they get dirty and
— Oh, dear ! now where is that paper ? "

Zora pointed silently to the complaint.

" No, not that — another paper. It must be in my
room. Don't you want to come up and help me look ? "

They went up to the clean, bare room, with its white
iron bed, its cool, spotless shades and shining window's.
Zora walked about softly and looked, while Miss Smith
quietly searched on desk and bureau, paying no attention
to the girl. For the time being she was silent.

" I sometimes wish," she began at length, " I had a
bright-eyed girl like you to help me find and place
things."

Zora made no comment.

" Sometimes Bles helps me," added Miss Smith, guile
fully.

Zora looked sharply at her. "Could I help?" she
asked, almost timidly.

[119]

120 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Why, I don't know," — the answer was deliberate.
" There are one or two little things perhaps — "

Placing a hand gently upon Zora's shoulder, she
pointed out a few odd tasks, and left the girl busily doing
them ; then she returned to the office, and threw Miss
Taylor's complaint into the waste-basket.

For a week or more Zora slipped in every day and
performed the little tasks that Miss Smith laid out: she
sorted papers, dusted the bureau, hung a curtain ; she
did not do the things very well, and she broke some china,
but she worked earnestly and quickly, and there was no
thought of pay. Then, too, did not Bles praise her with
a happy smile, as together, day after day, they stood and
watched the black dirt where the Silver Fleece lay
planted? She dreamed and sang over that dark field, and
again and again appealed to him : " S'pose it should n't
come up after all? " And he would laugh and say that
of course it would come up.

One day, when Zora was helping Miss Smith in the
bedroom, she paused with her arms full of clothes fresh
from the laundry.

"Where shall I put these?"

Miss Smith looked around. " They might go in there,"
she said, pointing to a door. Zora opened it. A tiny
bedroom was disclosed, with one broad window looking
toward the swamp ; white curtains adorned it, and white
hangings draped the plain bureau and wash-stand and the
little bed. There was a study table, and a small book
shelf holding a few books, all simple and clean. Zora
paused uncertainly, and surveyed the room.

" Sometimes when you 're tired and want to be alone
you can come up here, Zora," said Miss Smith care
lessly. " No one uses this room."

THE FLOWERING OF THE FLEECE

Zora caught her breath sharply, but said nothing.
The next day Miss Smith said to her when she came in :

" I 'm busy now, dear, but you go up to your little
room and read and I '11 call."

Zora quietly obeyed. An hour later Miss Smith looked
in, then she closed the door lightly and left. Another
hour flew by before Zora hurried down.

" I was reading, and I forgot," she said.

"It's all right," returned Miss Smith. "I didn't
need you. And any day, after you get all your lessons,
I think Miss Taylor will excuse you and let you go to
your room and read." Miss Taylor, it transpired, was
more than glad.

Day after day Bles and Zora visited the field ; but ever
the ground lay an unrelieved black beneath the bright
sun, and they would go reluctantly home again. To-day
there was much work to be done, and Zora labored steadily
and eagerly, never pausing, and gaining in deftness and
care.

In the afternoon Bles went to town with the school
wagon. A light shower flew up from the south, lingered
a while and fled, leaving a fragrance in the air. For a
moment Zora paused, and her nostrils quivered; then
without a word she slipped down-stairs, glided into the
swamp, and sped away to the island. She swung across
the tree and a low, delighted cry bubbled on her lips. All
the rich, black ground was sprinkled with tender green.
She bent above the verdant tenderness and kissed it ; then
she rushed back, bursting into the room.

" It 's come! It 9s come! — the Silver Fleece! "

Miss Smith was startled.

" The Silver Fleece ! " she echoed in bewilderment.

Zora hesitated. It came over her all at once that this

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

one great all-absorbing thing meant nothing to the gaunt
tired-looking woman before her.

" Would Bles care if I told? " she asked doubtfully.

" No," Miss Smith ventured.

And then the girl crouched at her feet and told the
dream and the story. Many factors were involved that
were quite foreign to the older woman's nature and train
ing. The recital brought to her New England mind
many questions of policy and propriety. And yet, as
she looked down upon the dark face, hot with enthusiasm,
it all seemed somehow more than right. Slowly and
lightly Miss Smith slipped her arm about Zora, and
nodded and smiled a perfect understanding. They looked
out together into the darkening twilight.

" It is so late and wet and you 're tired to-night —
don't you think you 'd better sleep in your little room? "

Zora sat still. She thought of the noisy flaming cabin
and the dark swamp; but a contrasting thought of the
white bed made her timid, and slowly she shook her head.
Nevertheless Miss Smith led her to the room.

" Here are things for you to wear," she pointed out,
opening the bureau, " and here is the bath-room." She
left the girl standing in the middle of the floor.

In time Zora came to stay often at Miss Smith's cot
tage, and to learn new and unknown ways of living and
dressing. She still refused to board, for that would cost
more than she could pay yet, and she would accept no
charity. Gradually an undemonstrative friendship
sprang up between the pale old gray-haired teacher and
the dark young black-haired girl. Delicately, too, but
gradually, the companionship of Bles and Zora was
guided and regulated. Of mornings Zora would hurry
through her lessons and get excused to fly to the swamp,

THE FLOWERING OF THE FLEECE 123

to work and dream alone. At noon Bles would run down,
and they would linger until he must hurry back to din
ner. After school he would go again, working while she
was busy in Miss Smith's office, and returning later,
would linger awhile to tell Zora of his day while she
busied herself with her little tasks. Saturday mornings
they would go to the swamp and work together, and
sometimes Miss Smith, stealing away from curious eyes,
would come and sit and talk with them as they toiled.

In those days, for these two souls, earth came very
near to heaven. Both were in the midst of that mighty
change from youth to womanhood and manhood. Their
manner toward each other by degrees grew shyer and
more thoughtful. There was less of comradeship, but the
little meant more. The rough good fellowship was silently
put aside ; they no longer lightly clasped hands ; and each
at times wondered, in painful self-consciousness, if the
other cared.

Then began, too, that long and subtle change wherein
a soul, until now unmindful of its wrappings, comes sud
denly to consciousness of body and clothes ; when it
gropes and tries to adjust one with the other, and through
them to give to the inner deeper self, finer and fuller ex
pression. One saw it easily, almost suddenly, in Alwyn's
Sunday suit, vivid neckties, and awkward fads.

Slower, subtler, but more striking was the change in
Zora, as she began to earn bits of pin money in the office
and to learn to sew. Dresses hung straighter; belts
served a better purpose ; stockings were smoother ; under
wear was daintier. Then her hair — that great dark
mass of immovable infinitely curled hair — began to be
subdued and twisted and combed until, with steady pains
and study, it lay in thick twisted braids about her velvet

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

forehead, like some shadowed halo. All this came much
more slowly and spasmodically than one tells it. Few
noticed the change much; none noticed all; and yet there
came a night — a student's social — when with a certain
suddenness the whole school, teachers and pupils, realized
the newness of the girl, and even Bles was startled.

He had bought her in town, at Christmas time, a pair
of white satin slippers, partly to test the smallness of her
feet on wnich in younger days he had rallied her, and
partly because she had mentioned a possible white dress.
They were a cheap, plain pair but dainty, and they fitted
well.

When the evening came and the students were march
ing and the teachers, save Miss Smith, were sitting rather
primly apart and commenting, she entered the room. She
was a little late, and a hush greeted her. One boy, with
the inimitable drawl of the race, pushed back his ice
cream and addressed it with a mournful head-shake:

" Go way, honey, yo' los' yo' tas'e ! "

The dress was plain and fitted every curving of a
healthy girlish form. She paused a moment white-bodied
and white-limbed but dark and velvet-armed, her full neck
and oval head rising rich and almost black above, with its
deep-lighted eyes and crown of silent darkling hair.

To some, such a revelation of grace and womanliness
in this hoyden, the gentle swelling of lankness to beauty,
of lowliness to shy self-poise, was a sudden joy, to others
a mere blindness. Mary Taylor was perplexed and in
some indefinite way amazed; and many of the other
teachers saw no beauty, only a strangeness that brought a
smile. They were such as know beauty by convention
only, and find it lip-ringed, hoop-skirted, tattooed, or
corsetted, as time and place decree.

THE FLOWERING OF THE FLEECE 125

The change in Zora, however, had been neither cat
aclysmic nor revolutionary and it was yet far — very
far — from complete. She still ran and romped in the
woods, and dreamed her dreams ; she still was passionately
independent and " queer." Tendencies merely had be
come manifest, some dominant. She would, unhindered,
develop to a brilliant, sumptuous womanhood ; proud, con
quering, full-blooded, and deep bosomed — a passionate
mother of men. Herein lay all her early wildness and
strangeness. Herein lay, as yet half hidden, dimly sensed
and all unspoken, the power of a mighty all-compelling
love for one human soul, and, through it, for all the souls
of men. All this lay growing and developing; but as yet
she was still a girl, with a new shyness and comeliness and
a bold, searching heart.

In the field of the Silver Fleece all her possibilities
were beginning to find expression. These new-born green
things hidden far down in the swamp, begotten in want
and mystery, were to her a living wonderful fairy tale
come true. All the latent mother in her brooded over
them; all her brilliant fancy wove itself about them.
They were her dream-children, and she tended them jeal
ously; they were her Hope, and she worshipped them.
When the rabbits tried the tender plants she watched hours
to drive them off, and catching now and then a pulsing
pink-eyed invader, she talked to it earnestly:

" Brer Rabbit — poor little Brer Rabbit, don't you
know you must n't eat Zora's cotton ? Naughty, naughty
Brer Rabbit." And then she would show it where she had
gathered piles of fragrant weeds for it and its fellows.

The golden green of the first leaves darkened, and the
plants sprang forward steadily. Never before was such
a magnificent beginning, a full month ahead of other cot-

126 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

ton. The rain swept down in laughing, bubbling showers,
and laved their thirsty souls, and Zora held her beating
breast day by day lest it rain too long or too heavily.
The sun burned fiercely upon the young cotton plants as
the spring hastened, and they lifted their heads in darker,
wilder luxuriance; for the time of hoeing was at hand.

These days were days of alternate hope and doubt with
Bles Alwyn. Strength and ambition and inarticulate love
were fighting within him. He felt, in the dark thousands
of his kind about him, a mighty calling to deeds. He was
becoming conscious of the narrowness and straightness of
his black world, and red anger flashed in him ever and
again as he felt his bonds. His mental horizon was
broadening as he prepared for the college of next year;
he was faintly grasping the wider, fuller world, and its
thoughts and aspirations.

But beside and around and above all this, like subtle,
permeating ether, was — Zora. His feelings for her were
not as yet definite, expressed, or grasped; they were
rather the atmosphere in which all things occurred and
were felt and judged. From an amusing pastime she had
come to be a companion and thought-mate; and now, be
yond this, insensibly they were drifting to a silenter,
mightier mingling of souls. But drifting, merely — not
arrived; going gently, irresistibly, but not yet at the
realized goal.

He felt all this as the stirring of a mighty force, but
knew not what he felt. The teasing of his fellows, the
common love-gossip of the school yard, seemed far dif
ferent from his plight. He laughed at it and indignantly
denied it. Yet he was uncomfortable, restless, unhappy.
He fancied Zora cared less for his company, and he gave
her less, and then was puzzled to find time hanging so

THE FLOWERING OF THE FLEECE 127

empty, so wretchedly empty, on his hands. When they
were together in these days they found less to talk about,
and had it not been for the Silver Fleece which in magic
wilfulness opened both their mouths, they would have
found their companionship little more than a series of
awkward silences. Yet in their silences, their walks, and
their sittings there was a companionship, a glow, a satis
faction, as came to them nowhere else on earth, and they
wondered at it.

They were both wondering at it this morning as they
watched their cotton. It had seemingly bounded forward
in a night and it must be hoed forthwith. Yet, hoeing
was murder — the ruthless cutting away of tenderer
plants that the sturdier might thrive the more and grow.

" I hate it, Bles, don't you? "

"Hate what?"

" Killing any of it ; it 's all so pretty."

" But it must be, so that what 's left will be prettier,
or at least more useful."

" But it should n't be so ; everything ought to have
a chance to be beautiful and useful."

" Perhaps it ought to be so," admitted Bles, " but it
is n't."

" Is n't it so — anywhere? "

" I reckon not. Death and pain pay for all good
things."

She hoed away silently, hesitating over the choice of
the plants, pondering this world-old truth, saddened by
its ruthless cruelty.

" Death and pain," she murmured ; " what a price ! "

Bles leaned on his hoe and considered. It had not
occurred to him till now that Zora was speaking better
and better English: the idioms and errors were dropping

128 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

away; they had not utterly departed, however, but came
crowding back in moments of excitement. At other times
she clothed Miss Smith's clear-cut, correct speech in
softer Southern accents. She was drifting away from
him in some intangible way to an upper world of dress
and language and deportment, and the new thought was
pain to him.

So it was that the Fleece rose and spread and
grew to its wonderful flowering; and so these two chil
dren grew with it into theirs. Zora never forgot how
they found the first white flower in that green and billow
ing sea, nor her low cry of pleasure and his gay shout
of joy. Slowly, wonderfully the flowers spread — white,
blue, and purple bells, hiding timidly, blazing luxuriantly
amid the velvet leaves ; until one day — it was after a
southern rain and the sunlight was twinkling through
the morning — all the Fleece was in flower — a mighty
swaying sea, darkling rich and waving, and upon it flecks
and stars of white and purple foam. The joy of the two
so madly craved expression that they burst into singing;
not the wild light song of dancing feet, but a low, sweet
melody of her fathers' fathers, whereunto Alwyn's own
deep voice fell fitly in minor cadence.

Miss Smith and Miss Taylor, who were sorting the
mail, heard them singing as they came up out of the
swamp. Miss Taylor looked at them, then at Miss Smith.

But Miss Smith sat white and rigid with the first
opened letter in her hand.

CHAPTER XII

THE PROMISE

MISS SMITH sat with her face buried in her hands
while the tears trickled silently through her thin
fingers. Before her lay the letter, read a dozen
times :

" Old Mrs. Gray has been to see me, and she has an
nounced her intention of endowing five colored schools,
yours being one. She asked if $500,000 would do it. She
has plenty of money, so I told her $750,000 would be
better — $150,000 apiece. She 's arranging for a Board
of Trust, etc. You '11 probably hear from her soon.
You 've been so worried about expenses that I thought
I 'd send this word on ; I knew you 'd be glad."

Glad? Dear God, how flat the word fell! For thirty
years she had sown the seed, planting her life-blood in
this work, that had become the marrow of her soul.

Successful? No, it had not been successful; but it had
been human. Through yonder doorway had trooped an
army of hundreds upon hundreds of bright and dull, light
and dark, eager and sullen faces. There had been good
and bad, honest and deceptive, frank and furtive. Some
had caught, kindled and flashed to ambition and achieve
ment ; some, glowing dimly, had plodded on in slow, dumb
faithful work worth while ; and yet others had suddenly ex-

[129]

130 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

ploded, hurtling human fragments to heaven and to hell.
Around this school home, as around the centre of some
little universe, had whirled the sorrowful, sordid, laugh
ing, pulsing drama of a world : birth pains, and the stupor
of death; hunger and pale murder; the riot of thirst and
the orgies of such red and black cabins as Elspeth's,
crouching in the swamp.

She groaned as she read of the extravagances of the
world and saw her own vanishing revenues ; but the funds
continued to dwindle until Sarah Smith asked herself:
"What will become of this school when I die?" With
trembling fingers she had sat down to figure how many
teachers must be dropped next year, when her brother's
letter came, and she slipped to her knees and prayed.

Mrs. Grey's decision was due in no little way to Mary
Taylor's reports. Slowly but surely the girl had begun
to think that she had found herself in this new world.
She would never be attuned to it thoroughly, for she
was set for different music. The veil of color and race
still hung thickly between her and her pupils ; and yet
she seemed to see some points of penetration. No one
could meet daily a hundred or more of these light-hearted,
good-natured children without feeling drawn to them.
No one could cross the thresholds of the cabins and not
see the old and well-known problems of life and striving.
More and more, therefore, the work met Miss Taylor's
approval and she told Mrs. Grey so.

At the same time Mary Taylor had come to some other
definite conclusions : she believed it wrong to encourage
the ambitions of these children to any great extent; she
believed they should be servants and farmers, content to
work under present conditions until those conditions could
be changed; and she believed that the local white aristoc-

THE PROMISE

racy, helped by Northern philanthropy, should take
charge of such gradual changes.

These conclusions she did not pretend to have origi
nated; but she adopted them from reading and conver
sation, after hesitating for a year before such puzzling
contradictions as Bles Alwyn and Harry Cresswell. For
her to conclude to treat Bles Alwyn as a man despite his
color was as impossible as to think Mr. Cresswell a
criminal. Some compromise was imperative which would
save her the pleasure of Mr. Cresswell's company and at
the same time leave open a way of fulfilling the world's
duty to this black boy. She thought she had found this
compromise and she wrote Mrs. Grey suggesting a chain
of endowed Negro schools under the management of
trustees composed of Northern business men and local
Southern whites. Mrs. Grey acquiesced gladly and an
nounced her plan, eventually writing Miss Smith of her
decision " to second her noble efforts in helping the poor
colored people," and she hoped to have the plan under
way before next fall.

The sharpness of Miss Smith's joy did not let her dwell
on the proposed " Board of Trust " ; of course, it would
be a board of friends of the school.

She sat in her office looking out across the land. School
had closed for the year and Bles with the carryall was
just taking Miss Taylor to the train with her trunk and
bags. Far up the road she could see dotted here and
there the little dirty cabins of Cresswell's tenants — the
Cresswell domain that lay like a mighty hand around the
school, ready at a word to squeeze its life out. Only
yonder, to the eastward, lay the way out; the five hun
dred acres of the Tolliver plantation, which the school
needed so sadly for its farm and community. But the

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

owner was a hard and ignorant white man, hating " nig
gers " only a shade more than he hated white aristocrats
of the Cresswell type. He had sold the school its first
land to pique the Cresswells; but he would not sell any
more, she was sure, even now when the promise of wealth
faced the school.

She lay back and closed her eyes and fell lightly
asleep. As she slept an old woman came toiling up the
hill northward from the school, and out of the eastward
spur of the Cresswell barony. She was fat and black,
hooded and aproned, with great round head and massive
bosom. Her face was dull and heavy and homely, her
old eyes sorrowful. She moved swiftly, carrying a basket
on her arm. Opposite her, to the southward, but too
far for sight, an old man came out of the lower Cress-
well place, skirting the swamp. He was tall, black, and
gaunt, part bald with tufted hair, and a cowed and furtive
look was in his eyes. One leg was crippled, and he hobbled
painfully.

Up the road to the eastward that ran past the school,
with the morning sun at his back, strode a young man,
yellow, crisp-haired, strong-faced, with darkly knit brows.
He greeted Bles and the teacher coldly, and moved on in
nervous haste. A woman, hurrying out of the westward
swamp up the path that led from Elspeth's, saw him and
shrank back hastily. She turned quickly into the swamp
and waited, looking toward the school. The old woman
hurried into the back gate just as the old man appeared
to the southward on the road. The young man greeted
him cordially and they stopped a moment to talk, while
the hiding woman watched.

" Howdy, Uncle Jim."

"Howdy, son. Hit's hot, ain't it? How is you?"

THE PROMISE 133

" Tolerable, how are you ? "

" Poorly, son, poorly — and worser in mind. I'se goin'
up to talk to old Miss."

" So am I, but I just see Aunt Rachel going in. We 'd
better wait."

Miss Smith started up at the timid knocking, and
rubbed her eyes. It was long since she had slept in the
daytime and she was annoyed at such laziness. She
opened the back door and led the old woman to the office.

" Now, what have you got there ? " she demanded, ey
ing the basket.

" Just a little chicken fo' you and a few aigs."

" Oh, you are so thoughtful ! " Sarah Smith's was a
grateful heart.

" Go 'long now — hit ain't a thing."

Then came a pause, the old woman sliding into the
proffered seat, while over her genial, dimpled smile there
dropped a dull veil of care. Her eyes shifted uneasily.
Miss Smith tried not to notice the change.

" Well, are you all moved, Aunt Rachel? " she inquired
cheerfully.

" No'm, and we ain't gwirie to move."

" But I thought it was all arranged."

" It was," gloomily, " but de ole Gunnel, he won't
let us go."

The listener was instantly sympathetic. " Why not? "
she asked.

" He says we owes him."

"But didn't you settle at Christmas?"

" Yas'm ; but when he found we was goin' away, he
looked up some more debts."

"How much?"

" I don't know 'zactly — more 'n a hundred dollars.

184 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Den de boys done got in dat trouble, and he paid their
fines."

" What was the trouble? "

" Well, one was a-gambling, and the other struck the
overseer what was a-whippin' him."

" Whipping him ! " — in horrified exclamation, quite
as much at Aunt Rachel's matter-of-fact way of regard
ing the matter as at the deed itself.

" Yas'm. He did n't do his work right and he whipped
him. I speck he needed it."

" But he 's a grown man," Miss Smith urged earnestly.

" Yas'm ; he 's twenty now, and big."

" Whipped him ! " Miss Smith repeated. " And so
you can't leave? "

" No'm, he say he '11 sell us out and put us in de chain-
gang if we go. The boys is plumb mad, but I'se a-pleadin'
with 'em not to do nothin' rash."

" But — but I thought they had already started to
work a crop on the Tolliver place? "

" Yas'm, dey had ; but, you see, dey were arrested,
and then Gunnel Cresswell took 'em and 'lowed they
could n't leave his place. OP man Tolliver was powerful
mad."

" Why, Aunt Rachel, it 's slavery ! " cried the lady in
dismay. Aunt Rachel did not offer to dispute her
declaration.

" Yas'm, hit 's slavery," she agreed. "I hates it mighty
bad, too, 'cause I wanted de little chillens in school; but
— " The old woman broke down and sobbed.

A knocking came at the door; hastily wiping her eyes
Aunt Rachel rose.

" I '11 — I '11 see what I can do, Aunt Rachel — I must
do something," murmured Miss Smith hastily, as the

THE PROMISE 135

woman departed, and an old black man came limping in.
Miss Smith looked up in surprise.

" I begs pardon, Mistress — I begs pardon. Good-
morning.

" Good-morning — " she hesitated.

" Sykes — Jim Sykes — that 's me."

" Yes, I 've heard of you, Mr. Sykes ; you live over
south of the swamp."

" Yes, ma'am, that 's me ; and I'se got a little shack dar
and a bit of land what I'se trying to buy."

"Of Colonel Cresswell? "

" Yas'm, of de Gunnel."

" And how long have you been buying it ? "

" Going on ten year now ; and dat's what I comes to
ask you about."

" Goodness me ! And how much have you paid a
year? "

" I, gen'rally pays 'bout three bales of cotton a year."

" Does he furnish you rations ? "

" Only sugar and coffee and a little meat now and
then."

" What does it amount to a year ? "

" I does n't rightly know — but I 'se got some papers
here."

Miss Smith looked them over and sighed. It was the
same old tale of blind receipts for money " on account "
— no items, no balancing. By his help she made out
that last year his total bill at Cresswell's store was
perhaps forty dollars.

" An' last year's bill was bigger 'n common 'cause I
hurt my leg working at the gin and had to have some
medicine."

" Why, as far as I can see, Mr. Sykes, you 've paid

136 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

• Cresswell about a thousand dollars in the last ten years.
How large is your place ? "

" About twenty acres."

" And what were you to pay for it? "

" Four hundred."

" Have you got the deed ? "

" Yes'm, but I ain't finished paying yet ; de Gunnel
say as how I owes him two hundred dollars still, and
I can't see it. Dat 's why I come over here to talk wid
you."

"Where is the deed?"

fHe handed it to her and her heart sank. It was no
deed, but a complicated contract binding the tenant hand
and foot to the landlord. She sighed, he watching her
eagerly.

" I'se getting old," he explained, " and I ain't got no
body to take care of me. I can't work as I once could,
and de overseers dey drives me too hard. I wants a
little home to die in."

Miss Smith's throat swelled. She could n't tell him that
he would never get one at the present rate; she only
said:

" I '11 — look this up. You come again next Satur
day."

Then sadly she watched the ragged old slave hobble
away with his cherished " papers." He greeted the young
man at the gate and passed out, while the latter walked
briskly up to the door and knocked.

"Why, how do you do, Robert?"

"How do you do, Miss Smith?"

" Well, are you getting things in shape so as to enter
school early next year? "

Robert looked embarrassed.

THE PROMISE 137

" That 's what I came to tell you, Miss Smith. Mr.
Cresswell has offered me forty acres of good land."

Miss Smith looked disheartened.

*' Robert, here you are almost finished, and my heart
is set on your going to Atlanta University and finishing
college. With your fine voice and talent for drawing —

A dogged looked settled on Robert's young bright
face, and the speaker paused.

" What 's the use, Miss Smith — what opening is there
for a — a nigger with an education ? "

Miss Smith was shocked.

" WThy — why, every chance," she protested. " And
where there 's none make a chance ! "

" Miss Taylor says " — Miss Smith's heart sank : how
often had she heard that deadening phrase in the last
year ! — " that there 's no use. That farming is the only
thing we ought to try to do, and I reckon she thinks
there ain't much chance even there."

" Robert, farming is a noble calling. Whether you 're
suited to it or not, I don't yet know, but I 'd like nothing
better than to see you settled here in a decent home with
a family, running a farm. But, Robert, farming does n't
call for less intelligence than other things ; it calls for
more. It is because the world thinks any training good
enough for a farmer that the Southern farmer is to-day
practically at the mercy of his keener and more intelli
gent fellows. And of all people, Robert, your people
need trained intelligence to cope with this problem of
farming here. Without intelligence and training and some
capital it is the wildest nonsense to think you can lead
your people out of slavery. Look round you." She told
him of the visitors. " Are they not hard working honest
people ? "

138 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

"Yes, ma'am."

" Yet they are slaves — dumb driven cattle."

" But they have no education."

" And you have a smattering ; therefore are ready to
pit yourself against the organized plantation system
without capital or experience. Robert, you may suc
ceed; you may find your landlord honest and the way
clear ; but my advice to you is — finish your education,
develop your talents, and then come to your life work a
full-fledged man and not a half-ignorant boy."

" I '11 think of it," returned the boy soberly. " I
reckon you 're right. I know Miss Taylor do n't think
much of us. But I 'm tired of waiting; I want to get to
work."

Miss Smith laid a kindly hand upon his shoulder.

" I 've been waiting thirty years, Robert," she said, with
feeling, and he hung his head.

" I wanted to talk about it," he awkwardly responded,
turning slowly away. But Miss Smith stopped him.

" Robert, where is the land Cresswell offers you? "

" It 's on the Tolliver place."

"The Tolliver place?"

" Yes, he is going to buy it."

Miss Smith dismissed the boy absently and sat down.
The crisis seemed drawing near. She had not dreamed
the Tolliver place was for sale. The old man must be
hard pressed to sell to the Cresswells.

She started up. Why not go see him? Perhaps a
mortgage on the strength of the endowment? It was
dangerous — but —

She threw a veil over her hair, and opened the door.
A woman stood there, who shrank and cowered, as if

THE PROMISE 139

used to blows. Miss Smith eyed her grimly, then slowly
stepped back.

" Come in," she commanded briefly, motioning the
woman to a chair.

But she stood, a pathetic figure, faded, worn, yet with
unmistakable traces of beauty in her golden face and
soft brown hair. Miss Smith contemplated her sadly.
Here was her most haunting failure, this girl whom she
first had seen twelve years ago in her wonderful girlish
comeliness. She had struggled and fought for her, but
the forces of the devil had triumphed. She caught
glimpses of her now and then, but to-day was the first
time she had spoken to her for ten years. She saw the
tears that gathered but did not fall; then her hands
quivered.

" Bertie," she began brokenly. The girl shivered, but
stood aloof.

"Miss Smith," she said. " No — don't talk — I'm
bad — but I 've got a little girl, Miss Smith, ten years
old, and — and — I 'm afraid for her ; I want you to
take her."

" I have no place for one so young. And why are you
afraid for her ? "

" The men there are beginning to notice her."

"Where?"

" At Elspeth's."

" Do you stay there now ? "

" Yes."

"Why?"

" He wants me to."

" Must you do as he wants ? "

" Yes. But I want the child — different."

140 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Don't you want to be different ? "

The woman quivered again but she answered steadily:
" No."

Miss Smith sank into a chair and moistened her dry
lips.

" Elspeth's is an awful place," she affirmed solemnly.

" Yes."

"And Zora?"

" She is not there much now, she stays away."

"But if she escapes, why not you?"

" She wants to escape."

"And you?"

" I don't want to."

This stubborn depravity was so distressing that Sarah
Smith was at an utter loss what to say or do.

" I can do nothing — ' she began.

" For me," the woman quickly replied ; " I don't ask
anything ; but for the child, — she is n't to blame."

The older woman wavered.

" Won't you try ? " pleaded the younger.

"Yes — I'll try, I'll try; I am trying all the time,
but there are more things than my weak strength can
do. Good-bye."

Miss Smith stood a long time in the doorway, watch
ing the fading figure and vaguely trying to remember what
it was that she had started to do, when the sharp staccato
step of a mule drew her attention to a rider who stopped
at the gate. It was her neighbor, Tolliver — a gaunt,
'yellow-faced white man, ragged, rough, and unkempt ;
one of the poor whites who had struggled up and failed.
He spent no courtesy on the " nigger " teacher, but sat
in his saddle and called her to the gate, and she went.

" Say," he roughly opened up, " I 've got to sell some

THE PROMISE

land, and them damn Cresswells are after it. You can
have it for five thousand dollars if you git the cash in a
week." With a muttered oath he rode abruptly off; but
not before she had seen the tears in his eyes.

All night Sarah Smith lay thinking, and all day she
thought and dreamed. Toward dark she walked slowly
out the gate and up the highway toward the Cresswell
oaks. She had never been within the gates before, and
she looked about thoughtfully. The great trees in their
regular curving rows must have been planted more than
half a century ago. The lawn was well tended and the
flowers. Yes, there were signs of taste and wealth. " But
it was built on a moan," cried Miss Smith to herself,
passionately, and she would not look round any more,
but stared straight ahead where she saw old Colonel Cress-
well smoking and reading on the verandah.

The Colonel saw her, too, and was uneasy, for he knew
that Miss Smith had a sharp tongue and a most dis
concerting method of argument, which he, as a Southern
gentleman, courteous to all white females, even if they
did eat with " niggers," could not properly answer. He
received her with courtesy, offered a chair, laid aside his
cigar, and essayed some general remarks on cotton
weather. But Miss Smith plunged into her subject:

" Colonel Cresswell, I 'm thinking of raising some
money from a mortgage on our school property."

The Colonel's face involuntarily lighted up. He
thought he saw the beginning of the end of an institution
which had been a thorn in his flesh ever since Tolliver,
in a fit of rage, had sold land for a Negro school.

" H'm," he reflected deprecatingly, wiping his brow.

" I need some ready money," she continued, " to keep
from curtailing our work."

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

"Indeed?"

" I have good prospects in a year or so " — the Colonel
looked up sharply, but said nothing — " and so I thought
of a mortgage."

" Money is pretty tight," was the Colonel's first ob
jection.

" The land is worth, you know, at least fifty dollars
an acre.5'

" Not more than twenty-five dollars, I fear."

" Why, you wanted seventy-five dollars for poorer land
last year! We have two hundred acres." It was not for
nothing that this lady had been born in New England.

" I would n't reckon it as worth more than five thou
sand dollars," insisted the Colonel.

" And ten thousand dollars for improvements."

But the Colonel arose. " You had better talk to the
directors of the Jefferson Bank," he said politely. " They
may accommodate you — how much would you want?"

" Five thousand dollars," Miss Smith replied. Then
she hesitated. That would buy the land, to be sure; but
money was needed to develop and run it ; to install tenants ;
and then, too, for new teachers. But she said nothing
more, and, nodding to his polite bow, departed. Colonel
Cresswell had noticed her hesitation, and thought of it
as he settled to his cigar again.

Bles Alwyn arose next morning and examined the sky
critically. He feared rain. The season had been quite
wet enough, particularly down on the swamp land, and
but yesterday Bles had viewed his dykes with apprehen
sion for the black pool scowled about them. He dared
not think what a long heavy rain might do to the wonderful
island of cotton which now stood fully five feet high, with

THE PROMISE 143

flowers and squares and budding bolls. It might not rain,
but the safest thing would be to work at those dykes, so
he started for spade and hoe. He heard Miss Smith call
ing, however.

"Bles — hitch up!"

He was vexed. " Are you — in a hurry, Miss 'Smith? "
he asked.

" Yes, I am," sne replied, with unmistakable positiveness.

He started off, and hesitated. " Miss Smith, would
Jim do to drive? "

" No," sharply. " I want you particularly." At
another time she might have observed his anxiety, but
to-day she was agitated. She knew she was taking a crit
ical step.

Slowly Bles hitched up. After all it might not rain,
he argued as they jogged toward town. In silence they
rode on. Bles kept looking at the skies. The south was
getting darker and darker. It might rain. It might
rain only an hour or so, but, suppose it should rain a
day — two days — a week?

Miss Smith was looking at her own skies and despite
the promised sunrise they loomed darkly. Five thousand
was needed for the land and at least another thousand
for repairs. Two thousand would " buy " a half dozen
desirable tenants by paying their debts to their present
landlords. Then two thousand would be wanted for new
teachers and a carpenter shop — ten thousand dollars !

It was a great temptation. And yet, once in the hands
of these past-masters of debt-manipulation, would her
school be safe? Suppose, after all, this Grey gift — but
she caught her breath sharply just as a wet splash of
rain struck upon her forehead. No. God could not be

144 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

so cruel. She pushed her bonnet back: how good and
cool the water felt! But on Bles as he raised the buggy
top it felt hot and fiery.

He felt the coming of some great calamity, the end of
a dream. This rain might stay for days; it looked like
such a downpour; and that would mean the end of the
Silver Fleece; the end of Zora's hopes; the end of every
thing. He gulped in despairing anger and hit the staid
old horse the smartest tap she had known all summer.

"Why, Bles, what's the matter?" called Miss Smith,
as the horse started forward. He murmured something
about getting wet and drew up at the Toombsville bank.

Miss Smith was invited politely into the private parlor.
She explained her business. The President was there and
Colonel Cresswell and one other local director.

" I have come for a mortgage. Our land is, as you
know, gentlemen, worth at least ten thousand dollars;
the buildings cost fifteen thousand dollars; our property
is, therefore, conservatively valued at twenty-five thou
sand dollars. Now I want to mortgage it for " — she
hesitated — " five thousand dollars."

Colonel Cresswell was silent, but the president said :

"Money is rather scarce just now, Miss Smith; but
it happens that I have ten thousand dollars on hand,
which we prefer, however, to loan in one lump sum. Now,
if the security were ample, I think perhaps you might
get this ten thousand dollars."

Miss Smith grew white; it was the sum she wanted.
She tried to escape the temptation, yet the larger amount
was more than twice as desirable to her as the smaller,
and she knew that they knew it. They were trying to
tempt her ; they wanted as firm a hold on the school prop
erty as possible. And yet, why should she hesitate? It

THE PROMISE 145

was a risk, but the returns would be enormous — she
must do it. Besides, there was the endowment; it was
certain ; yes — she felt forced to close the bargain.

" Very well," she declared her decision, and they handed
her the preliminary papers. She took the pen and
glanced at Mr. Cresswell; he was smiling slightly, but
nevertheless she signed her name grimly, in a large round
hand, " Sarah Smith."

CHAPTER XIII

MRS. GREY GIVES A DINNER

THE Hon. Charles Smith, Miss Sarah's brother,
was walking swiftly uptown from Mr. Easterly's
Wall Street office and his face was pale. At last
the Cotton Combine was to all appearances an assured
fact and he was slated for the Senate. The price he had
paid was high : he was to represent the interests of the new
trust and sundry favorable measures were already drafted
and reposing in the safe of the combine's legal depart
ment. Among others was one relating to child labor,
another that would effect certain changes in the tariff,
and a proposed law providing for a cotton bale of a
shape and dimensions different from the customary — the
last constituting a particularly clever artifice which,
under the guise of convenience in handling, would neces
sitate the installation of entirely new gin and compress
machinery, to be supplied, of course, by the trust.

As Mr. Smith drew near Mrs. Grey's Murray Hill
residence his face had melted to a cynical smile. After
all why should he care? He had tried independence and
philanthropy and failed. Why should he not be as other
men? He had seen many others that very day swallow
the golden bait and promise everything. They were
gentlemen. Why should he pose as better than his fel-

[146 ]

MRS. GREY GIVES A DINNER 147

lows? There was young Cresswell. Did his aristocratic
air prevent his succumbing to the lure of millions and
promising the influence of his father and the whole
Farmer's League to the new project? Mr. Smith
snapped his fingers and rang the bell. The door opened
softly. The dark woodwork of the old English wains
coting glowed with the crimson flaming of logs in the
wide fireplace. There was just the touch of early autumn
chill in the air without, that made both the fire and the
table with its soft linen, gold and silver plate, and twink
ling glasses a warming, satisfying sight.

Mrs. Grey was a portly woman, inclined to think much
of her dinner and her clothes, both of which were al
ways rich and costly. She was not herself a notably
intelligent woman; she greatly admired intelligence or
whatever looked to her like intelligence in others. Her
money, too, was to her an ever worrying mystery and
surprise, which she found herself always scheming to
husband shrewdly and spend philanthropically — a diffi
cult combination.

As she awaited her guests she surveyed the table with
both satisfaction and disquietude, for her social func
tions were few. To-night there were — she checked them
off on her fingers — Sir James Creighton, the rich Eng
lish manufacturer, and Lady Creighton, Mr. and Mrs.
Vanderpool, Mr. Harry Cresswell and his sister, John
Taylor and his sister, and Mr. Charles Smith, whom the
evening papers mentioned as likely to be United States
Senator from New Jersey — a selection of guests that
had been determined, unknown to the hostess, by the
meeting of cotton interests earlier in the day.

Mrs. Grey's chef was high-priced and efficient, and
her butler was the envy of many; consequently, she knew

148 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

the dinner would be good. To her intense satisfaction,
it was far more than this. It was a most agreeable couple
of hours ; all save perhaps Mr. Smith unbent, the English
man especially, and the Vanderpools were most gracious;
but if the general pleasure was owing to any one person
particularly it was to Mr. Harry Cresswell. Mrs. Grey
had met Southerners before, but not intimately, and she
always had in mind vividly their cruelty to " poor
Negroes," a subject she made a point of introducing forth
with. She was therefore most agreeably surprised to
hear Mr. Cresswell express himself so cordially as ap
proving of Negro education.

" Why, I thought," said Mrs. Grey, " that you South
erners rather disapproved — or at least — - "

Mr. Cresswell inclined his head courteously.

" We Southerners, my dear Mrs. Grey, are responsible
for a variety of reputations." And he told an anecdote
that set the table laughing. " Seriously, though," he
continued, " we are not as black as the blacks paint us,
although on the whole I prefer that Helen should marry
— a white man."

They all glanced at Miss Cresswell, who lay softly back
in her chair like a white lily, gleaming and bejewelled,
her pale face flushing under the scrutiny; Mrs. Grey
was horrified.

" Why — why the idea ! " she sputtered. " Why, Mr.
Cresswell, how can you conceive of anything else — no
Northerner dreams — "

Mr. Cresswell sipped his wine slowly.

" No — no — I do not think you do mean that — "
He paused and the Englishman bent forward.

" Really, now, you do not mean to say that there is
danger of — of amalgamation, do you ? " he sang.

MRS. GREY GIVES A DINNER 149

Mr. Cresswell explained. No, of course there was no

immediate danger; but when people were suddenly thrust

beyond their natural station, filled with wild ideas and

impossible ambitions, it meant terrible danger to South-

. era white women.

"But you believe in some education?" asked Mary
Taylor.

" I believe in the training of people to their highest
capacity." The Englishman here heartily seconded him.

" But," Cresswell added significantly, " capacity differs
enormously between races."

The Vanderpools were sure of this and the English
man, instancing India, became quite eloquent. Mrs. Grey
was mystified, but hardly dared admit it. The general
trend of the conversation seemed to be that most indi
viduals needed to be submitted to the sharpest scrutiny
before being allowed much education, and as for the
" lower races " it was simply criminal to open such use
less opportunities to them.

" Why, I had a colored servant-girl once," laughed
Mrs. Vanderpool by way of climax, " who spent half her
wages in piano lessons."

Then Mary Taylor, whose conscience was uncom
fortable, said:

" But, Mr. Cresswell, you surely believe in schools like
Miss Smith's?"

" Decidedly," returned Mr. Cresswell, with enthusiasm,
" it has done great good."

Mrs. Grey was gratified and murmured something of
Miss Smith's " sacrifice."

" Positively heroic," added Cresswell, avoiding his
sister's eyes.

" Of course," Mary Taylor hastened to encourage this

150 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

turn of the conversation, " there are many points on
which Miss Smith and I disagree, but I think everybody
admires her work."

Mrs. Grey wanted particulars. " What did you dis
agree about ? " she asked bluntly.

" I may be responsible for some of the disagreement,"
interrupted Mr. Cresswell, hesitatingly ; " I 'm afraid
Miss Smith does not approve of us white Southerners."

" But you mean to say you can't even advise her? "

" Oh, no ; we can. But — we 're not — er — exactly
welcomed. In fact," said Cresswell gravely, " the chief
criticism I have against your Northerners' schools for
Negroes is, that they not only fail to enlist the sympathy
and aid of the best Southerners, but even repel it."

" That is very wrong — very wrong," commented the
Englishman warmly, a sentiment in which Mrs. Grey
hastened to agree.

" Of course," continued Cresswell, " I am free to con
fess that I have no personal desire to dabble in philan
thropy, or conduct schools of any kind; my hands are
full of other matters."

" But it 's precisely the advice of such disinterested
men that philanthropic work needs," Mr. Vanderpool
urged.

" Well, I volunteered advice once in this case and I
sha'n't repeat the experiment soon," said Cresswell laugh
ing. Mrs. Grey wanted to hear the incident, but the
young man was politely reluctant. Mary Taylor, how
ever, related the tale of Zora to Mrs. Grey's private
ear later.

" Fortunately," said Mr. Vanderpool, " Northerners
and Southerners are arriving at a better mutual under
standing on most of these matters."

MRS. GREY GIVES A DINNER 151

"Yes, indeed," Cresswell agreed. "After all, they
never were far apart, even in slavery days; both sides
were honest and sincere."

All through the dinner Mr. Smith had been preoccu
pied and taciturn. Now he abruptly shot a glance at
Cresswell.

" I suppose that one was right and one was wrong."

" No," said Cresswell, " both were right."

" I thought the only excuse for fighting was a great
Right; if Right is on neither side or simultaneously on
both, then War is not only Hell but Damnation."

Mrs. Grey looked shocked and Mrs. Vanderpool smiled.

"How about fighting for exercise?" she suggested.

" At any rate," said Cresswell, " we can all agree on
helping these poor victims of our quarrel as far as their
limited capacity will allow — and no farther, for that is
impossible."

Very soon after dinner Charles Smith excused himself.
He was not yet inured to the ways of high finance, and
the programme of the cotton barons, as unfolded that day,
lay heavy on his mind, despite all his philosophy.

" I have had a — full day," he explained to Mrs. Grey.

CHAPTER XIV
LOVE

THE rain was sweeping down in great thick winding
sheets. The wind screamed in the ancient Cresswell
oaks and swirled across the swamp in loud, wild
gusts. The waters roared and gurgled in the streams, and
along the roadside. Then, when the wind fell murmuring
away, the clouds grew blacker and blacker and rain in long
slim columns fell straight from Heaven to earth digging
itself into the land and throwing back the red mud in
angry flashes.

So it rained for one long week, and so for seven end
less days Bles watched it with leaden heart. He knew
the Silver Fleece — his and Zora's — must be ruined.
It was the first great sorrow of his life; it was not so
much the loss of the cotton itself — but the fantasy, the
hopes, the dreams built around it. If it failed, would
not they fail? Was not this angry beating rain, this
dull spiritless drizzle, this wild war of air and earth,
but foretaste and prophecy of ruin and discouragement,
of the utter futility of striving? But if his own despair
was great his pain at the plight of Zora made it almost
unbearable. He did not see her in these seven days. He
pictured her huddled there in the swamp in the cheer
less leaky cabin with worse than no companions. Ah!

[152]

LOVE 153

the swamp, the cruel swamp! It was a fearful place
in the rain. Its oozing mud and fetid vapors, its cling
ing slimy draperies, — how they twined about the bones
of its victims and chilled their hearts. Yet here his Zora,
— his poor disappointed child — was imprisoned.

Child? He had always called her child — but now in
the inward illumination of these dark days he knew her
as neither child nor sister nor friend, but as the One
Woman. The revelation of his love lighted and bright
ened slowly till it flamed like a sunrise over him and
left him in burning wonder. He panted to know if she,
too, knew, or knew and cared not, or cared and knew
not. She was so strange and human a creature. To
her all things meant something — nothing was aimless,
nothing merely happened. Was this rain beating down
and back her love for him, or had she never loved?
He walked his room, gripping his hands, peering through
the misty windows toward the swamp — rain, rain, rain,
nothing but rain. The world was water veiled in mists.

Then of a sudden, at midday, the sun shot out, hot
and still; no breath of air stirred; the sky was like blue
steel; the earth steamed. Bles rushed to the edge of the
swamp and stood there irresolute. Perhaps — if the
water had but drained from the cotton ! — it was so
strong and tall! But, pshaw! Where was the use of
imagining? The lagoon had been level with the dykes
a week ago ; and now ? He could almost see the beautiful
Silver Fleece, bedraggled, drowned, and rolling beneath
the black lake of slime. He went back to his work, but
early in the morning the thought of it lured him again.
He must at least see the grave of his hope and Zora's,
and out of it resurrect new love and strength.

Perhaps she, too, might be there, waiting, weeping.

154 LTHE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

He started at the thought. He hurried forth sadly.
The rain-drops were still dripping and gleaming from the
trees, flashing back the heavy yellow sunlight. He
splashed and stamped along, farther and farther onward
until he neared the rampart of the clearing, and put
foot upon the tree-bridge. Then he looked down. The
lagoon was dry. He stood a moment bewildered, then
turned and rushed upon the island. A great sheet of
dazzling sunlight swept the place, and beneath lay a
mighty mass of olive green, thick, tall, wet, and willowy.
The squares of cotton, sharp-edged, heavy, were just
about to burst to bolls ! And underneath, the land lay
carefully drained and black! For one long moment he
paused, stupid, agape with utter amazement, then leaned
dizzily against a tree.

The swamp, the eternal swamp, had been drained in
its deepest fastness; but, how? — how? He gazed about,
perplexed, astonished. What a field of cotton ! what a
marvellous field! But how had it been saved?

He skirted the island slowly, stopping near Zora's oak.
Here lay the reading of the riddle: with infinite work and
pain, some one had dug a canal from the lagoon to the
creek, into which the former had drained by a long and
crooked way, thus allowing it to empty directly. The
canal went straight, a hundred yards through stubborn
soil, and it was oozing now with slimy waters.

He sat down weak, bewildered, and one thought was
uppermost — Zora! And with the thought came a low
moan of pain. He wheeled and leapt toward the drip
ping shelter in the tree. There she lay — wet, be
draggled, motionless, gray-pallid beneath her dark-drawn
skin, her burning eyes searching restlessly for some lost
thing, her lips a-moaning.

LOVE 155

In dumb despair he dropped beside her and gathered
her in his arms. The earth staggered beneath him as
he stumbled on; the mud splashed and sunlight glistened;
he saw long snakes slithering across his path and fear-
struck beasts fleeing before his coming. He paused for
neither path nor way but went straight for the school,
running in mighty strides, yet gently, listening to the
moans that struck death upon his heart. Once he fell
headlong, but with a great wrench held her from harm,
and minded not the pain that shot through his ribs. The
yellow sunshine beat fiercely around and upon him, as he
stumbled into the highway, lurched across the mud-
strewn road, and panted up the porch.

" Miss Smith — ! " he gasped, and then — darkness.

The years of the days of her dying were ten. The
boy that entered the darkness and the shadow of death
emerged a man, a silent man and grave, working furiously
arid haunting, day and night, the little window above the
door. At last, of one gray morning when the earth was
stillest, they came and told him, " She will live ! " And
he went out under the stars, lifted his long arms and
sobbed : " Curse me, O God, if I let me lose her again ! "
And God remembered this in after years.

The hope and dream of harvest was upon the land.
The cotton crop was short and poor because of the
great rain ; but the sun had saved the best, and the price
had soared. So the world was happy, and the face of the
black-belt green and luxuriant with thickening flecks of
the coming foam of the cotton.

Up in the sick room Zora lay on the little white bed.
The net and web of endless things had been crawling
and creeping around her; she had struggled in dumb,
speechless terror against some mighty grasping that

156 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

strove for her life, with gnarled and creeping fingers;
but now at last, weakly, she opened her eyes and ques
tioned.

Bles, where was he? The Silver Fleece, how was it?
The Sun, the Swamp? Then finding all well, she closed
her eyes and slept. After some days they let her sit
by the window, and she saw Bles pass, but drew back
timidly when he looked ; and he saw only the flutter of her
gown, and waved.

At last there came a day when they let her walk down
to the porch, and she felt the flickering of her strength
again. Yet she looked different; her buxom comeliness
was spiritualized; her face looked smaller, and her masses
of hair, brought low about her ears, heightened her
ghostly beauty; her skin was darkly transparent, and
her eyes looked out from velvet veils of gloom. For a
while she lay in her chair, in happy, dreamy pleasure at
sun and bird and tree. Bles did not know yet that she
was down ; but soon he would come searching, for he
came each hour, and she pressed her little hands against
her breast to still the beating of her heart and the burst
ing wonder of her love.

Then suddenly a panic seized her. He must not find
her here — not here ; there was but one place in all the
earth for them to meet, and that was yonder in the Silver
Fleece. She rose with a fleeting glance, gathered the
shawl round her, then gliding forward, wavering, tremu
lous, slipped across the road and into the swamp. The
dark mystery of the Swamp swept over her; the place
was hers. She had been born within its borders; within
its borders she had lived and grown, and within its bor
ders she had met her love. On she hurried until, sweep
ing down to the lagoon and the island, lo ! the cotton lay

LOVE 157

before her ! A great white foam was spread upon its
brown and green ; the whole field was waving and shiver
ing in the sunlight. A low cry of pleasure burst from
her lips; she forgot her weakness, and picking her way
across the bridge, stood still amid the cotton that nestled
about her shoulders, clasping it lovingly in her hands.

He heard that she was down-stairs and ran to meet
her with beating heart. The chair was empty; but he
knew. There was but one place then for these two souls
to meet. Yet it was far, and he feared, and ran with
startled eyes.

She stood on the island, ethereal, splendid, like some
tall, dark, and gorgeous flower of the storied East. The
green and white of the cotton billowed and foamed about
her breasts; the red scarf burned upon her neck; the
dark brown velvet of her skin pulsed warm and tremulous
with the uprushing blood, and in the midnight depths of
her great eyes flamed the mighty fires of long-concealed
and new-born love.

He darted through the trees and paused, a tall man
strongly but slimly made. He threw up his hands in
the old way and hallooed; happily she crooned back a
low mother-melody, and waited. He came down to her
slowly, with fixed, hungry eyes, threading his way amid
the Fleece. She did not move, but lifted both her
dark hands, white with cotton; and then, as he came,
casting it suddenly to the winds, in tears and laughter
she swayed and dropped quivering in his arms. And
all the world was sunshine and peace.

CHAPTER XV

REVELATION

HARRY CRESSWELL was scowling over his
breakfast. It was not because his apartment
in the New York hotel was not satisfactory,
or his breakfast unpalatable; possibly a rather bewilder
ing night in Broadway was expressing its influence; but
he was satisfied that his ill-temper was due to a para
graph in the morning paper:

" It is stated on good authority that the widow of
the late multimillionaire, Job Grey, will announce a large
and carefully planned scheme of Negro education in the
South, and will richly endow schools in South Carolina,
Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana, and Texas."

Cresswell finally thrust his food away. He knew that
Mrs. Grey helped Miss Smith's school, and supposed she
would continue to do so ; with that in mind he had striven
to impress her, hoping that she might trust his judg
ment in later years. He had no idea, however, that she
meant to endow the school, or entertained wholesale plans
for Negro education. The knowledge made him suspicious.
Why had neither Mary nor John Taylor mentioned this?
Was there, after all, some " nigger-loving " conspiracy
back of the cotton combine ? He took his hat and started
down-town.

F158 1

REVELATION 159

Once in John Taylor's Broadway office, he opened the
subject abruptly — the more so perhaps because he felt
a resentment against Taylor for certain unnamed or
partially voiced assumptions. Here was a place, how
ever, for speech, and he spoke almost roughly.

"Taylor, what does this mean?" He thrust the clip
ping at him.

" Mean? That Mrs. Grey is going to get rid of some
of her surplus cash — is going to endow some nigger
schools," Taylor drily retorted.

" It must be stopped," declared Cresswell.

The other's brows drew up.

" Why? " in a surprised tone.

" Why ? Why ? Do you think the plantation sys
tem can be maintained without laborers? Do you think
there 's the slightest chance of cornering cotton and buy
ing the Black Belt if the niggers are unwilling to work
under present conditions? Do you know the man that
stands ready to gobble up every inch of cotton land in
this country at a price which no trust can hope to
rival?"

John Taylor's interest quickened.

" Why, no," he returned sharply. " Who? "

" The Black Man, whose woolly head is filled with ideas
of rising. We 're striving by main force to prevent this,
and here come your damned Northern philanthropists to
plant schools. Why, Taylor, it '11 knock the cotton trust
to hell."

" Don't get excited," said Taylor, judicially. " We 've
got things in our hands ; it 's the Grey money, you know,
that is back of us."

" That 's just what confounds me," declared the per
plexed young man. "Are you men fools, or rascals?

160 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Don't you see the two schemes can't mix? They 're dead
opposite, mutually contradictory, absolutely — " Taylor
checked him; it was odd to behold Harry Cresswell so
disturbed.

" Well, wait a moment. Let 's see. Sit down. Wish
I had a cigar for you, but I don't smoke."

"Do you happen to have any whiskey handy?"

" No, I don't drink."

" Well, what the devil — Oh, well, fire away."

" Now, see here. We control the Grey millions. Of
course, we 've got to let her play with her income, and
that 's considerable. Her favorite game just now is Negro
education, and she 's planning to go in heavy. Her
adviser in this line, however, is Smith, and he belongs to
us."

"What Smith?"

" Why, the man who 's going to be Senator from New
Jersey. He has a sister teaching in the South — you
know, of course ; it 's at your home where my sister Mary
taught."

" Great Scott ! Is that woman's brother going to spend
this money? Why, are you daft? See here! American
cotton-spinning supremacy is built on cheap cotton ;
cheap cotton is built on cheap niggers. Educating, or
rather trying to educate niggers, will make them restless
and discontented — that is, scarce and dear as workers.
Don't you see you 're planning to cut off your noses ?
This Smith School, particularly, has nearly ruined our
plantation. It 's stuck almost in our front yard ; you are
planning to put our plough-hands all to studying Greek,
and at the same time to corner the cotton crop — rot ! "

John Taylor caressed his lean jaw.

" New point of view to me ; I sort of thought education

REVELATION 161

would improve things in the South," he commented, un
moved.

" It would if we ran it."

"We?"

" Yes — we Southerners."

"Urn! — I see — there's light. See here, let's talk
to Easterly about this." They went into the next office,
and after a while got audience with the trust magnate.
Mr. Easterly heard the matter carefully and waved it
aside.

" Oh, that does n't concern us, Taylor ; let Cresswell
take care of the whole thing. We '11 see that Smith does
what Cresswell wants."

But Taylor shook his head.

" Smith would kick. Mrs. Grey would get suspicious,
and the devil be to pay. This is better. Form a big
committee of Northern business men like yourself -
philanthropists like Vanderpool, and Southerners like
Cresswell ; let them be a sort of Negro Education steering-
committee. We '11 see that on such committee you South
erners get what you want — control of Negro education."

" That sounds fair. But how about the Smith School ?
My father writes me that they are showing signs of ex
pecting money right off — is that true ? If it is, I want
it stopped; it will ruin our campaign for the Farmers'
League."

John Taylor looked at Cresswell. He thought he saw
something more than general policy, or even racial prej
udice — something personal — in his vehemence. The
Smith School was evidently a severe thorn in the flesh
of this man. All the more reason for mollifying him/
Then, too, there was something in his argument. It was
not wise to start educating these Negroes and getting

162 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

them discontented just now. Ignorant labor was not
ideal, but it was worth too much to employers to lose
it now. Educated Negro labor might be worth more to
Negroes, but not to the cotton combine. " H'm — well,
then — " and John Taylor went into a brown study,
while Cresswell puffed impatiently at a cigarette.

" I have it," said Taylor. Cresswell sat up. " First,
let Mr. Easterly get Smith." Easterly turned to the
telephone.

"Is that you, Smith?"

" Well, this is Easterly . . . Yes — how about
Mrs. Grey's education schemes? . . . Yes . . .
h'm — well, — see here Smith, we must go a little easy
there . . . Oh, no, no, — but to advertise just now
a big scheme of Negro Education would drive the Cress-
wells, the Farmers' League, and the whole business South
dead against us. ... Yes, yes indeed; they believe
in education all right, but they ain't in for training law
yers and professors just yet . . . No, I don't sup
pose her school is ... Well, then ; see here. She '11
be reasonable, won't she, and placate the Cresswells?
No, I mean run the school to suit their ideas.
No, no, but in general along the lines which they
could approve . . . Yes, I thought so ... of
course . . . good-bye."

" Inclined to be a little nasty ? " asked Taylor.

" A little sharp — but tractable. Now, Mr. Cresswell,
the thing is in your hands. We '11 get this committee
which Taylor suggests appointed, and send it on a junket
to Alabama; you do the rest — see?

"Who'll be the committee?" asked Cresswell.

" Name it."

Mr. Cresswell smiled and left.

REVELATION 163

The winter started in severely, and it was easy to fill
two private cars with members of the new Negro Educa
tion Board right after Thanksgiving. Cresswell had
worked carefully and with caution. There was Mrs.
Grey, comfortable and beaming, Mr. Easterly, who
thought this a good business opportunity, and his family.
Mrs. Vanderpool liked the South and was amused at the
trip, and had induced Mr. Vanderpool to come by stories
of shooting.

"Ah!" said Mr. Vanderpool.

Mr. Charles Smith and John Taylor were both too
busy to go, but bronchial trouble induced the Rev. Dr.
Boldish of St. Faith's rich parish to be one of the party,
and at the last moment Temple Bocombe, the sociolo
gist, consented to join.

" Awfully busy," he said, " but I 've been reading up J
on the Negro problem since you mentioned the matter
to me last week, Mr. Cresswell, and I think I understand
it thoroughly. I may be able to help out."

The necessary spice of young womanhood was added
to the party by Miss Taylor and Miss Cresswell, to
gether with the silent Miss Boldish. They were a com
fortable and sometimes merry party. Dr. Boldish pointed
out the loafers at the stations, especially the black ones;
Mr. Bocombe counted them and estimated the number of
hours of work lost at ten cents an hour.

" Do they get that — ten cents an hour? " asked Miss
Taylor.

" Oh, I don't know," replied Mr. Bocombe ; " but sup
pose they do, for instance. That is an average wage
to-day."

" They look lazy," said Mrs. Grey.

" They are lazy," said Mr. Cresswell.

164 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" So am I," added Mrs. Vanderpool, suppressing a
yawn.

" It is uninteresting," murmured her husband, prepar
ing for a nap.

On the whole the members of the party enjoyed them
selves from the moment they drew out of Jersey City
to the afternoon when, in four carriages, they rolled be
neath the curious eyes of all Toomsville and swept under
the shadowed rampart of the swamp.

" The Christmas " was coming and all the Southern
world was busy. Few people were busier than Bles and
Zora. Slowly, wonderfully for them, heaven bent in these
dying days of the year and kissed the earth, and the
tremor thrilled all lands and seas. Everything was good,
all things were happy, and these two were happiest of
all. Out of the shadows and hesitations of childhood
they had stepped suddenly into manhood and woman
hood, with firm feet and uplifted heads. All the day that
was theirs they worked, picking the Silver Fleece —
picking it tenderly and lovingly from off the brown and
spent bodies which had so utterly yielded life and beauty
to the full fruition of this long and silken tendril, this
white beauty of the cotton. November came and flew,
and still the unexhausted field yielded its frothing fruit.

To-day seemed doubly glorious, for Bles had spoken
of their marriage; with twined hands and arms, and lips
ever and again seeking their mates, they walked the leafy
way.

Unconscious, rapt, they stepped out into the Big Road
skirting the edge of the swamp. Why not? Was it
not the King's Highway? And Love was King. So they
talked on, unknowing that far up the road the Cress-
well coaches were wheeling along with precious burdens.

REVELATION 165

In the first carriage were Mrs. Grey and Mrs. Vander-
pool, Mr. Cresswell and Miss Taylor. Mrs. Vanderpool
was lolling luxuriously, but Mrs. Grey was a little stiff
from long travel and sat upright. Mr. Cresswell looked
clean-cut and handsome, and Miss Taylor seemed com
placent and responsible. The dying of the day soothed
them all insensibly. Groups of dark little children passed
them as they neared the school, staring with wide eyes
and greeting timidly.

" There seems to be marrying and giving in marriage,"
laughed Mrs. Vanderpool.

" Not very much," said Mr. Cresswell drily.

" Well, at least plenty of children."

" Plenty."

"But where are the houses?" asked Mrs. Grey.

" Perhaps in the swamp," said Mrs. Vanderpool lightly,
looking up at the sombre trees that lined the left.

" They live where they please and do as they please,"
Cresswell explained; to which Mrs. Vanderpool added:
" Like other animals."

Mary Taylor opened her lips to rebuke this levity
when suddenly the coachman called out and the horses
swerved, and the carriage's four occupants faced a young
man and a young woman embracing heartily.

Out through the wood Bles and Zora had come to the
broad red road; playfully he celebrated all her beauty
unconscious of time and place.

" You are tall and bend like grasses on the swamp,"
he said.

" And yet look up to you," she murmured.

" Your eyes are darkness dressed in night."

" To see you brighter, dear," she said.

" Your little hands are much too frail for work."

166 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" They must grow larger, then, and soon."
" Your feet are far too small to travel on."
" They '11 travel on to you — that 's far enough."
" Your lips — your full and purple lips — were made
alone for kissing, not for words."
"They'll do for both."

He laughed in utter joy and touched her hair with
light caressing hands.

" It does not fly with sunlight," she said quickly, with
an upward glance.

" No," he answered. " It sits and listens to the night."
But even as she nestled to him happily there came the
harsh thunder of horses' hoofs, beating on their ears.
He drew her quickly to him in fear, and the coach lurched
and turned, and left them facing four pairs of eyes. Miss
Taylor reddened; Mrs. Grey looked surprised; Mrs. Van-
derpool smiled; but Mr. Cresswell darkened with anger.
The couple unclasped shamefacedly, and the young man,
lifting his hat, started to stammer an apology ; but Cress-
well interrupted him:

" Keep your — your philandering to the woods, or I
shall have you arrested," he said slowly, his face colorless,
his lips twitching with anger. " Drive on, John."

Miss Taylor felt that her worst suspicions had been
confirmed; but Mrs. Vanderpool was curious as to the
cause of Cresswell's anger. It was so genuine that it
needed explanation.

"Are kisses illegal here? " she asked before the horses
started, turning the battery of her eyes full upon him.
But Cresswell had himself well in hand.

" No," he said. " But the girl is — notorious."
On the lovers the words fell like a blow. Zora
shivered, and a grayish horror mottled the dark burn-

REVELATION 167

ing of her face. Bles started in anger, then paused in
shivering doubt. What had happened? They knew not;
yet involuntarily their hands fell apart; they avoided
each other's eyes.

"I — I must go now," gasped Zora, as the carriage
swept away.

He did not hold her, he did not offer the farewell kiss,
but stood staring at the road as she walked into the
swamp. A moment she paused and looked back; then
slowly, almost painfully, she took the path back to the
field of the Fleece, and reaching it after long, long min
utes, began mechanically to pick the cotton. But the
cotton glowed crimson in the failing sun.

Bles walked toward the school. What had happened?
he kept asking. And yet he dared not question the awful
shape that sat somewhere, cold and still, behind his soul.
He heard the hoofs of horses again. It was Miss Taylor
being brought back to the school to greet Miss Smith and
break the news of the coming of the party. He raised his
hat. She did not return the greeting, but he found her
pausing at the gate. It seemed to her too awful for this
foolish fellow thus to throw himself away. She faced
him and he flinched as from some descending blow.

" Bles," she said primly, " have you absolutely no
shame ? "

He braced himself and raised his head proudly.

" I am going to marry her ; it is no crime." Then he
noted the expression on her face, and paused.

She stepped back, scandalized.

" Can it be, Bles Alwyn," she said, " that you don't
know the sort of girl she is ? "

He raised his hands and warded off her words, dumbly,
as she turned to go, almost frightened at the havoc she

168 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

saw. The heavens flamed scarlet in his eyes and he
screamed.

" It 's a lie ! It 's a damned lie ! " He wheeled about
and tore into the swamp.

" It 's a damned lie! " he shouted to the trees. " Is it?
— is it? " chirped the birds. " It 's a cruel falsehood! "
he moaned. " Is it? — is it? " whispered the devils within.

It seemed to him as though suddenly the world was
staggering and faltering about him. The trees bent
curiously and strange breathings were upon the breezes.
He unbuttoned his collar that he might get more air. A
thousand things he had forgotten surged suddenly to life.
Slower and slower he ran, more and more the thoughts
crowded his head. He thought of that first red night
and the yelling and singing and wild dancing; he thought
of Cresswell's bitter words ; he thought of Zora telling how
she stayed out nights ; he thought of the little bower that
he had built her in the cotton field. A wild fear struggled
with his anger, but he kept repeating, " No, no," and
then, " At any rate, she will tell me the truth." She
had never lied to him; she would not dare; he clenched
his hands, murder in his heart.

Slowly and more slowly he ran. He knew where she
was — where she must be, waiting. And yet as he drew
near huge hands held him back, and heavy weights
clogged his feet. His heart said : " On ! quick ! She
will tell the truth, and all will be well." His mind said:
" Slow, slow ; this is the end." He hurled the thought
aside, and crashed through the barrier.

She was standing still and listening, with a huge basket
of the piled froth of the field upon her head. One long
brown arm, tender with curvings, balanced the cotton;
the other, poised, balanced the slim swaying body. Bend-

CAN IT BE, BLES ALWYN," SHE SAID, " THAT YOU

DON'T KNOW THE SORT OF A GIRL SHE IS? "

REVELATION 169

ing, she listened, her eyes shining, her lips apart, her
bosom fluttering at the well-known step.

He burst into her view with the fury of a beast, rend
ing the wood away and trampling the underbrush, reeling
and muttering until he saw her. She looked at him. Her
hands dropped, she stood very still with drawn face, gray
ish-brown, both hands unconsciously out-stretched, and
the cotton swaying, while deep down in her eyes, dimly,
slowly, a horror lit and grew. He paused a moment,
then came slowly onward doggedly, drunkenly, with torn
clothes, flying collar, and red eyes. Then he paused
again, still beyond arm's-length, looking at her with fear-
struck eyes. The cotton on her head shivered and
dropped in a pure mass of white and silvery snow about
her limbs. Her hands fell limply and the horror flamed
in her wet eyes. He struggled with his voice but it grated
and came hoarse and hard from his quivering throat.

"Zora!"

" Yes, Bles."

" You — you told me — you were — pure."

She was silent, but her body went all a-tremble. He
stepped forward until she could almost touch him ; there
standing straight and tall he glared down upon her.

" Answer me," he whispered in a voice hard with its
tight held sobs. A misery darkened her face and the
light died from her eyes, yet she looked at him bravely
and her voice came low and full as from afar.

" I asked you what it meant to be pure, Bles, and — •
and you told — and I told you the truth."

" What it meant ! — what it meant ! " he repeated in
the low, tense anguish.

" But — but, , Bles — She faltered ; there came an

awful pleading in her eyes ; her hand groped toward him ;

170 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

but he stepped slowly back — " But, Bles — you said —
willingly — you said — if — if she knew — "

He thundered back in livid anger:

" Knew ! All women know ! You should have died! "

Sobs were rising and shaking her from head to foot,
but she drove them back and gripped her breasts with
her hands.

" No, Bles — no — all girls do not know. I was a
child. Not since I knew you, Bles — never, never since I
saw you."

" Since — since," he groaned — " Christ ! But be
fore? "

" Yes, before."

"My God!"

She knew the end had come. Yet she babbled on
tremblingly :

" He was our master, and all the other girls that
gathered there did his will ; I — I — " she choked and
faltered, and he drew farther away — " I began running
away, and they hunted me through the swamps. And then

— then I reckon I 'd have gone back and been — as they
all are — but you came, Bles — you came, and you — you
were a new great thing in my life, and — and — yet, I
was afraid I was not worthy until you — you said the
words. I thought you knew, and I thought that — that
purity was just wanting to be pure."

He ground his teeth in fury. Oh, he was an innocent

— a blind baby — the joke and laughing-stock of the
country around, with yokels grinning at him and pale-
faced devils laughing aloud. The teachers knew ; the girls
knew ; God knew ; everybody but he knew — poor blind,
deaf mole, stupid jackass that he was. He must run —

REVELATION 171

run away from this world, and far off in some free land
beat back this pain.

Then in sheer weariness the anger died within his soul,
leaving but ashes and despair. Slowly he turned away,
but with a quick motion she stood in his path.

" Bles," she cried, " how can I grow pure? "

He looked at her listlessly.

" Never — never again," he slowly answered her.

Dark fear swept her drawn face.

" Never ? " she gasped.

Pity surged and fought in his breast; but one thought
held and burned him. He bent to her fiercely :

"Who?" he demanded.

She pointed toward the Cresswell Oaks, and he turned
away. She did not attempt to stop him again, but
dropped her hands and stared drearily up into the clear
sky with its shining worlds.

" Good-bye, Bles," she said slowly. " I thank God he
gave you to me — just a little time." She hesitated and
waited. There came no word as the man moved slowly
away. She stood motionless. Then slowly he turned and
came back. He laid his hand a moment, lightly, upon
her head.

" Good-bye — Zora," he sobbed, and was gone.

She did not look up, but knelt there silent, dry-eyed,
till the last rustle of his going died in the night. And
then, like a waiting storm, the torrent of her grief swept
down upon her ; she stretched herself upon the black and
fleece-strewn earth, and writhed.

CHAPTER XVI

THE GREAT REFUSAL

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 Cress-
wells. 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 re
vived within her memories of long-forgotten days. But
above lay the vision of her school, redeemed and en
larged, 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

[172]

THE GREAT REFUSAL 173

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 re
solved, 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. East
erly 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."

174 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

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 com
mission 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. East
erly 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 begin
ning 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.

THE GREAT REFUSAL 175

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 ap
pointed 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 un
equal, 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."

176 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

With an upward glance the Rev. Mr. 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 hun
dred were singing a soft minor wail that gripped the
hearts and tingled in the ears of the hearers. Mr. Bo-
combe 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 have n'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,

THE GREAT REFUSAL 177

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. Is n't that your idea, Miss
Smith?"

"Not exactly," that 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 per
form their duties as fathers, mothers, and citizens."

" Yes — yes, precisely," said Mrs. Grey, " that 's what
I meant."

" I think tKe whites can attend to the duties of citizen
ship 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
wTomen, 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 pos
sibilities. 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

178 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

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 thou-
'sand dollars. One condition is that my friend, Mr. Cress-
well 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."

THE GREAT REFUSAL 179

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. Vanderpool1
moved toward the door and Mr. Cresswell bowing slightly
followed. Dr. Boldish looked indignant and Mr. Bo-
combe 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 '11 talk this mat
ter 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 concen-'
trate ; notice how some slept when Dr. Boldish was speak
ing? Mr. Cresswell says they own almost no land here;
think of it ? This land was worth only ten dollars an acre

180 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

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 lectur
ing 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 wait
ing 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 cham
ber 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 preten
sions built on the poverty, crime, and exploitation of six
generations of serfs. You '11 marry him and — "

But Miss Taylor leapt to her feet wjth blazing cheeks.

" How dare you? " she screamed, beside herself.

" But God in heaven help you if you do," finished Miss
Smith, calmly.

CHAPTER XVII

THE RAPE OF THE FLEECE

WHEN slowly from the torpor of ether, one
wakens to the misty sense of eternal loss, and
there comes the exquisite prick of pain, then
one feels in part the horror of the ache when Zora wak
ened to the world again. The awakening was the work of
days and weeks. At first in sheer exhaustion, physical
and mental, she lay and moaned. The sense of loss — of
utter loss — lay heavy upon her. Something of herself,
something dearer than self, was gone from her forever,
and an infinite loneliness and silence, as of endless years,
settled on her soul. She wished neither food nor words,
only to be alone. Then gradually the pain of injury
stung her when the blood flowed fuller. As Miss Smith
knelt beside her one night to make her simple prayer Zora
sat suddenly upright, white-swathed, dishevelled, with
fury in her midnight eyes.

" I want no prayers ! " she cried, " I will not pray !
He is no God of mine. He is n't fair. He knows and
won't tell. He takes advantage of us — He works and
fools us." All night Miss Smith heard mutterings of this
bitterness, and the next day the girl walked her room like
a tigress, — to and fro, to and fro, all the long day. To
ward night a dumb despair settled upon her. Miss Smith

[181]

182 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

found her sitting by the window gazing blankly toward
the swamp. She came to Miss Smith, slowly, and put her
hands upon her shoulders with almost a caress.

" You must forgive me," she pleaded plaintively. " I
reckon I 've been mighty bad with you, and you always
so good to me ; but — but, you see — it hurts so."

" I know it hurts, dear ; I know it does. But men and
women must learn to bear hurts in this world."

" Not hurts like this ; they could n't."

" Yes, even hurts like this. Bear and stand straight ;
be brave. After all, Zora, no man is quite worth a wom
an's soul; no love is worth a whole life."

Zora turned away with a gesture of impatience.

" You were born in ice," she retorted, adding a bit
more tenderly, " in clear strong ice ; but I was born in
fire. I live — I love; that's all." And she sat down
again, despairingly, and stared at the dull swamp. Miss
Smith stood for a moment and closed her eyes upon a
vision.

" Ice ! " she whispered. " My God ! "

Then, at length, she said to Zora:

" Zora, there 's only one way : do something ; if you sit
thus brooding you '11 go crazy."

"Do crazy folks forget?"

" Nonsense, Zora ! " Miss Smith ridiculed the girl's
fantastic vagaries ; her sound common sense rallied to her
aid. " They are the people who remember ; sane folk for
get. Work is the only cure for such pain."

" But there 's nothing to do — nothing I want to do -
nothing worth doing — now."

"The Silver Fleece?"

The girl sat upright.

" The Silver Fleece," she murmured. Without further

THE RAPE OF THE FLEECE 183

word, slowly she arose and walked down the stairs, and
out into the swamp. Miss Smith watched her go; she
knew that every step must be the keen prickle of awaken
ing flesh. Yet the girl walked steadily on.

It was the Christmas — not Christmas-tide of the
North and West, but Christmas of the Southern South.
It was not the festival of the Christ Child, but a time of
noise and frolic and license, the great Pay-Day of
the year when black men lifted their heads from a year's
toiling in the earth, and, hat in hand, asked anxiously:
" Master, what have I earned? Have I paid my old
debts to you? Have I made my clothes and food? Have
I got a little of the year's wage coming to me? " Or,
more carelessly and cringingly : " Master, gimme a
Christmas gift."

The lords of the soil stood round, gauging their cotton,
measuring their men. Their stores were crowded, their
scales groaned, their gins sang. In the long run public
opinion determines all wage, but in more primitive times
and places, private opinion, personal judgment of some
man in power, determines. The Black Belt is primitive
and the landlord wields the power.

" What about Johnson? " calls the head clerk.

" Well, he 's a faithful nigger and needs encourage
ment ; cancel his debt and give him ten dollars for Christ
mas." Colonel Cresswell glowed, as if he were full of the
season's spirit.

"And Sanders?"

"How's his cotton?"

" Good, and a lot of it."

" He 's trying to get away. Keep him in debt, but let
him draw what he wants."

184 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

"Aunt Rachel?"

" H 'm, they 're way behind, aren't they? Give her a
couple of dollars — not a cent more."

" JimSykes?"

" Say, Harry, how about that darky, Sykes ? " called
out the Colonel.

Excusing himself from his guests, Harry Cresswell came
into the office.

To them this peculiar spectacle of the market place
was of unusual interest. They saw its humor and its
crowding, its bizarre effects and unwonted pageantry.
Black giants and pigmies were there; kerchiefed aunties,
giggling black girls, saffron beauties, and loafing white
men. There were mules and horses and oxen, wagons and
buggies and carts ; but above all and in all, rushing
through, piled and flying, bound and baled — was cotton.
Cotton was currency ; cotton was merchandise ; cotton was
conversation.

All this was " beautiful " to Mrs. Grey and " unus
ually interesting " to Mrs. Vanderpool. To Mary Tay
lor it had the fascination of a puzzle whose other side
she had already been partially studying. She was par
ticularly impressed with the joy and abandon of the
scene — light laughter, huge guffaws, handshakes, and
gossipings.

" At all events," she concluded, " this is no oppressed
people." And sauntering away from the rest she noted
the smiles of an undersized smirking yellow man who
hurried by with a handful of dollar bills. At a side
entrance liquor was evidently on sale — men were drinking
and women, too ; some were staggering, others cursing, and
yet others singing. Then suddenly a man swung around
the corner swearing in bitter rage :

THE RAPE OF THE FLEECE 185

" The damned thieves, they 'se stole a year's work —
the white — " But some one called, " Hush up, Sanders !
There 's a white woman." And he threw a startled look
at Mary and hurried by. She was perplexed and upset
and stood hesitating a moment when she heard a well-
known voice:

" Why, Miss Taylor, I was alarmed for you ; you
really must be careful about trusting yourself with these
half drunken Negroes."

" Would n't it be better not to give them drink, Mr.
Cresswell?"

" And let your neighbor sell them poison at all hours ?
No, Miss Taylor." They joined the others, and all were
turning toward the carriage when a figure coming down
the road attracted them.

" Quite picturesque," observed Mrs. Vanderpool, look
ing at the tall, slim girl swaying toward them with a piled
basket of white cotton poised lightly on her head.
" Why," in abrupt recognition, " it is our Venus of the
Roadside, is it not? "

Mary saw it was Zora. Just then, too, Zora caught
sight of them, and for a moment hesitated, then came on ;
the carriage was in front of the store, and she was bound
for the store. A moment Mary hesitated, too, and then
turned resolutely to greet her. But Zora's eyes did not
see her. After one look at that sorrow-stricken face,
Mary turned away.

Colonel Cresswell stood by the door, his hat on, his
hands in his pockets.

"Well, Zora, what have you there?" he asked.

" Cotton, sir."

Harry Cresswell bent over it.

" Great heavens ! Look at this cotton ! " he ejaculated.

186 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

His father approached. The cotton lay in silken hand-
fuls, clean and shimmering, with threads full two inches
long. The idlers, black and white, clustered round, gaz
ing at it, and fingering it with repeated exclamations of
astonishment.

" Where did this come from ? " asked the Colonel
sharply. He and Harry were both eying the girl intently.

" I raised it in the swamp," Zora replied quietly, in a
dead voice. There was no pride of achievement in her
manner, no gladness ; all that had flown.

" Is that all? "

"No, sir; I think there's two bales."

"Two bales! Where is it? How the devil — " The
Colonel was forgetting his guests, but Harry intervened.

" You '11 need to get it picked right off," he suggested.

" It 's all picked, sir."

"But where is it?"

" If you '11 sencl a wagon, sir — "

But the Colonel hardly waited.

" Here you, Jim, take the big mules and drive like —
Where 's that wench ? "

But Zora was already striding on ahead, and was far
up the red road when the great mules galloped into sight
and the long whip snapped above their backs. The
Colonel was still excited.

" That cotton must be ours, Harry — all of it. And
see that none is stolen. We 've got no contract with the
wench, so don't dally with her." But Harry said firmly,
'quietly:

" It 's fine cotton, and she raised it ; she must be paid
well for it." Colonel Cresswell glanced at him with some
thing between contempt and astonishment on his face.

" You go along with the ladies," Harry added ; " I '11
see to this cotton." Mary Taylor's smile had rewarded

THE RAPE OF THE FLEECE 187

him ; now he must get rid of his company — before Zora
returned.

It was dark when the cotton came ; such a load as Cress-
well's store had never seen before. Zora watched it
weighed, received the cotton checks, and entered the store.
Only the clerk was there, and he was closing. He pointed
her carelessly to the office in the back part. She went
into the small dim room, and laying the cotton-check on
the desk, stood waiting. Slowly the hopelessness and
bitterness of it all came back in a great whelming flood.
What was the use of trying for anything? She was lost
forever. The world was against her, and again she saw
the fingers of Elspeth — the long black claw-like talons
that clutched and dragged her down — down. She did
not struggle — she dropped her hands listlessly, wearily,
and stood but half conscious as the door opened and Mr.
Harry Cresswell entered the dimly lighted room. She
opened her eyes. She had expected his father. Some
where way down in the depths of her nature the primal
tiger awoke and snarled. She was suddenly alive from
hair to finger tip. Harry Cresswell paused a second and
swept her full length with his eye — her profile, the long
supple line of bosom and hip, the little foot. Then he
closed the door softly and walked slowly toward her. She
stood like stone, without a quiver; only her eye followed
the crooked line of the Cresswell blue blood on his marble
forehead as she looked down from her greater height ; her
hand closed almost caressingly on a rusty poker lying on
the stove nearby ; and as she sensed the hot breath of him
she felt herself purring in a half heard whisper.

" I should not like — to kill you."

He looked at her long and steadily as he passed to his
desk. Slowly he lighted a cigarette, opened the great
ledger, and compared the cotton-check with it.

188 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Three thousand pounds," he announced in a careless
tone. " Yes, that will make about two bales of lint. It *s
extra cotton — say fifteen cents a pound — one hundred
fifty dollars — seventy-five dollars to you — h 'm." He
took a note-book out of his pocket, pushed his hat back
on his head, and paused to relight his cigarette.

" Let 's see — your rent and rations — "

" Elspeth pays no rent," she said slowly, but he did
not seem to hear.

" Your rent and rations with the five years' back debt,"
— he made a hasty calculation — " will be one hundred
dollars. That leaves you twenty-five in our debt. Here 's
your receipt."

The blow had fallen. She did not wince nor cry out.
She took the receipt, calmly, and walked out into the dark
ness.

They had stolen the Silver Fleece.

What should she do? She never thought of appeal to
courts, for Colonel Cresswell was Justice of the Peace and
his son was bailiff. Why had they stolen from her? She
knew. She was now penniless, and in a sense helpless.
She was now a peon bound to a master's bidding. If
Elspeth chose to sign a contract of work for her to-mor
row, it would mean slavery, jail, or hounded running
away. What would Elspeth do? One never knew.
Zora walked on. An hour ago it seemed that this last
blow must have killed her. But now it was different. In
to her first despair had crept, in one fierce moment, grim
determination. Somewhere in the world sat a great dim
Injustice which had veiled the light before her young eyes,
just as she raised them to the morning. With the veiling,
death had come into her heart.

And yet, they should not kill her; they should not en-

THE RAPE OF THE FLEECE 189

slave her. A desperate resolve to find some way up to
ward the light, if not to it, formed itself within her. She
would not fall into the pit opening before her. Somehow,
somewhere lay The Way. She must never fall lower;
never be utterly despicable in the eyes of the man she had
loved. There was no dream of forgiveness, of purifica
tion, of re-kindled love; all these she placed sadly and
gently into the dead past. But in awful earnestness, she
turned toward the future; struggling blindly, groping in
half formed plans for a way.

She came thus into the room where sat Miss Smith,
strangely pallid beneath her dusky skin. But there lay
a light in her eyes.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE COTTON CORNER

ALL over the land the cotton had foamed in great
white flakes under the winter sun. The Silver
Fleece lay like a mighty mantle across the earth.
Black men and mules had staggered beneath its burden,
while deep songs welled in the hearts of men; for the
Fleece was goodly and gleaming and soft, and men dreamed
of the gold that it would buy. All the roads in the coun
try had been lined with wagons — a million wagons speed
ing to and fro with straining mules and laughing
black men, bearing bubbling masses of piled white Fleece.
The gins were still roaring and spitting flames and
smoke — fifty thousand of them in town and vale. Then
hoarse iron throats were filled with fifteen billion pounds
of white-fleeced, black-specked cotton, for the whirling saws
to tear out the seed and fling five thousand million pounds
of the silken fibre to the press.

And there again the black men sang, like dark earth-
spirits flitting in twilight; the presses creaked and
groaned; closer and closer they pressed the silken fleece.
It quivered, trembled, and then lay cramped, dead, and
still, in massive, hard, square bundles, tied with iron
strings. Out fell the heavy bales, thousand upon thou
sand, million upon million, until they settled over the

[190]

THE COTTON CORNER 191

South like some vast dull-white swarm of birds. Colonel
Cresswell and his son, in these days, had a long and
earnest conversation perforated here and there by ex
plosions of the Colonel's wrath. The Colonel could not
understand some things.

"They want us to revive the Farmers' League?" he
fiercely demanded.

" Yes," Harry calmly replied.

" And throw the rest of our capital after the fifty
thousand dollars we 've already lost? "

" Yes."

" And you were fool enough to consent — "

" Wait, Father — and don't get excited. Listen.
Cotton is going up — ':

" Of course it 's going up ! Short crop and big
demand — "

" Cotton is going up, and then it 's going to fall."

" I don't believe it."

" I know it ; the trust has got money and credit enough
to force it down."

"Well, what then?" The Colonel glared.

" Then somebody will corner it."

" The Farmers' League won't stand —

" Precisely. The Farmers' League can do the corner
ing and hold it for higher prices."

" Lord, son ! if we only could ! " groaned the Colonel.

" We can; we '11 have unlimited credit."

" But — but — " stuttered the bewildered Colonel, " I
don't understand. Why should the trust — "

" Nonsense, Father — what 's the use of understand
ing. Our advantage is plain, and John Taylor guar
antees the thing."

192 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Who 's John Taylor? " snorted the Colonel. " Why
should we trust him? "

" Well," said Harry slowly, " he wants to marry
Helen — "

His father grew apopletic.

" I 'm not saying he will, Father ; I 'm only saying that
he wants to," Harry made haste to placate the rising tide
of wrath.

" No Southern gentleman — " began the Colonel. But
Harry shrugged his shoulders.

" Which is better, to be crushed by the trust or to es
cape at their expense, even if that escape involves unwar
ranted assumptions on the part of one of them? I tell
you, Father, the code of the Southern gentleman won't
work in Wall Street."

" And I '11 tell you why — there are no Southern gentle
men," growled his father.

The Silver Fleece was golden, for its prices were flying
aloft. Mr. Caldwell told Colonel Cresswell that he con
fidently expected twelve-cent cotton.

" The crop is excellent and small, scarcely ten million
bales," he declared. " The price is bound to go up."

Colonel Cresswell was hesitant, even doubtful; the de
mand for cotton at high prices usually fell off rapidly and
he had heard rumors of curtailed mill production. While,
then, he hoped for high prices he advised the Farmers'
League to be on guard.

Mr. Caldwell seemed to be right, for cotton rose to ten
cents a pound — ten and a half — eleven — and then the
South began to see visions and to dream dreams.

" Yes, my dear," said Mr. Maxwell, whose lands lay
next the Cresswells' on the northwest, " yes, if cotton
goes to twelve or thirteen cents as seems probable, I

THE COTTON CORNER 193

think we can begin the New House " — for Mrs. Max
well's cherished dream was a pillared mansion like the
Cresswclls'.

Mr. Tolliver looked at his house and barns. " Well,
daughter, if this crop sells at twelve cents, I '11 be on my
feet again, and I won't have to sell that land to the nigger
school after all. Once out of the clutch of the Cress-
wells — well, I think we can have a coat of paint." And
he laughed as he had not laughed in ten years.

Down in the bottoms west of the swamp a man and
woman were figuring painfully on an old slate. He was
light brown and she was yellow.

" Honey," he said tremblingly, " I b'lieve we can do
it — if cotton goes to twelve cents, we can pay the
mortgage."

Two miles north of the school an old black woman was
shouting and waving her arms. " If cotton goes to
twelve cents we can pay out and be free ! " and she threw
her apron over her head and wept, gathering her chil
dren in her arms.

But even as she cried a flash and tremor shook the
South. Far away to the north a great spider sat weaving
his web. The office looked down from the clouds on
lower Broadway, and was soft with velvet and leather.
Swift, silent messengers hurried in and out, and Mr.
Easterly, deciding the time was ripe, called his henchman
to him.

" Taylor, we 're ready — go South."

And John Taylor rose, shook hands silently, and went.

As he entered Cresswell's plantation store three days
later, a colored woman with a little boy turned sadly
away from the counter.

" No, aunty," the clerk was telling her, " calico is too

194 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

high; can't let you have any till we see how your cotton
comes out."

"I just wanted a bit; I promised the boy — "

" Go on, go on — Why, Mr. Taylor ! " And the little
boy burst into tears while he wras hurried out.

" Tightening up on the tenants ? " asked Taylor.

" Yes ; these niggers are mighty extravagant. Besides,
cotton fell a little to-day — eleven to ten and three-
fourths; just a flurry, I reckon. Had you heard? "

Mr. Taylor said he had heard, and he hurried on.
Next morning the long shining wires of that great Broad
way web trembled and flashed again and cotton went to
ten cents.

" No house this year, I fear," quoth Mr. Maxwell,
bitterly.

The next day nine and a half was the quotation, and
men began to look at each other and asked questions.

" Paper says the crop is larger than the government
estimate," said Tolliver, and added, " There '11 be no
painting this year." He looked toward the Smith School
and thought of the five thousand dollars waiting; but
he hesitated. John Taylor had carefully mentioned seven
thousand dollars as a price he was willing to pay and
"perhaps more." Was Cresswell back of Taylor? Tol
liver was suspicious and moved to delay matters.

" It 's manipulation and speculation in New York,"
said Colonel Cresswell, " and the Farmers' League must
begin operations."

The local paper soon had an editorial on " our dis
tinguished fellow citizen, Colonel Cresswell," and his
efforts to revive the Farmers' League. It was under
stood that Colonel Cresswell was risking his whole pri
vate fortune to hold the price of cotton, and some effort

THE COTTON CORNER 195

seemed to be needed, for cotton dropped to nine cents
within a week. Swift negotiations ensued, and a meet
ing of the executive committee of the Farmers' League
was held in Montgomery. A system of warehouses and
warehouse certificates was proposed.

" But that will cost money," responded each of the
dozen big landlords who composed the committee; where
upon Harry Cresswell introduced John Taylor, who rep
resented thirty millions of Southern bank stock.

" I promise you credit to any reasonable amount," said
Mr. Taylor, " I believe in cotton — the present price is
abnormal." And Mr. Taylor knew whereof he spoke, for
when he sent a cipher despatch North, cotton dropped
to eight and a half. The Farmers' League leased three
warehouses at Savannah, Montgomery, and New Orleans.
r Then silently the South gripped itself and prepared
for battle. Men stopped spending, business grew dull,
and millions of eyes were glued to the blackboards of
the cotton-exchange. Tighter and tighter the reins grew
on the backs of the black tenants.

"Miss Smith, is yo' got just a'drap of coffee to lend
me? Mr. Cresswell won't give me none at the store and
I'se just starving for some," said Aunt Rachel from over
the hill. " We won't git free this year, Miss Smith, not
this year," she concluded plaintively.

Cotton fell to seven and a half cents andfthe muttered
protest became angry denunciation. Why was it? Who
was doing it?3

Harry Cresswell went to Montgomery. He was get
ting nervous. The thing was too vast. He could not
grasp it. It set his head in a whirl. Harry Cresswell
was not a bad man — are there any bad men ? He was
a man who from the day he first wheedled his black mammy

196 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

into submission, down to his thirty-sixth year, had sel
dom known what it was voluntarily to deny himself or
curb a desire. To rise when he would, eat what he craved,
and do what the passing fancy suggested had long been
his day's programme. Such emptiness of life and aim
had to be filled, and it was filled; he helped his father
sometimes with the plantations, but he helped spasmodi
cally and played at work.

The unregulated fire of energy and delicacy of
nervous poise within him continually hounded him to the
verge of excess and sometimes beyond. Cool, quiet, and
gentlemanly as he was by rule of his clan, the ice was
thin and underneath raged unappeased fires. He craved
the madness of alcohol in his veins till his delicate hands
trembled of mornings. The women whom he bent above
in languid, veiled-eyed homage, feared lest they love him,
and what work was to others gambling was to him.

The Cotton Combine, then, appealed to him overpower-
ingly — to his passion for wealth, to his passion for
gambling. But once entered upon the game it drove
him to fear and frenzy: first, it was a long game and
Harry Cresswell was not trained to waiting, and, secondly,
it was a game whose intricacies he did not know. In vain
did he try to study the matter through. He ordered
books from the North, he subscribed for financial journals,
he received special telegraphic reports only to toss them
away, curse his valet, and call for another brandy. After
all, he kept saying to himself, what guarantee, what
knowledge had he that this was not a " damned Yankee
trick " ?

Now that the web was weaving its last mesh in early
January he haunted Montgomery, and on this day when
it seemed that things must culminate or he would

THE COTTON CORNER 197

go mad, he hastened again down to the Planters' Hotel
and was quickly ushered to John Taylor's room. The
place was filled with tobacco smoke. An electric ticker
was drumming away in one corner, a telephone ringing
on the desk, and messenger boys hovered outside the door
and raced to and fro.

" Well," asked Cresswell, maintaining his composure by
an effort, " how are things ? "

" Great ! " returned Taylor. " League holds three
million bales and controls five. It 's the biggest corner
in years."

"But how's cotton?"

" Ticker says six and three-fourths."

Cresswell sat down abruptly opposite Taylor, looking
at him fixedly.

" That last drop means liabilities of a hundred thou
sand to us," he said slowly.

"Exactly," Taylor blandly admitted.

Beads of sweat gathered on Cresswell's forehead. He
looked at the scrawny iron man opposite, who had al
ready forgotten his presence. He ordered whiskey, and
taking paper and pencil began to figure, drinking as he
figured. Slowly the blood crept out of his white face
leaving it whiter, and went surging and pounding in his
heart. Poverty — that was what those figures spelled.
Poverty — unclothed, wineless poverty, to dig and toil
like a " nigger " from morning until night, and to give
up horses and carriages and women; that was what they
spelled.

" How much — farther will it drop ? " he asked harshly.

Taylor did not look up.

" Can't tell," he said, " ' fraid not much though." He
glanced through a telegram. " No — damn it ! — out-

198 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

side mills are low ; they '11 stampede soon. Meantime
we '11 buy."

"But, Taylor — "

" Here are one hundred thousand offered at six and
three- fourths."

" I tell you, Taylor — " Cresswell half arose.

" Done ! " cried Taylor. " Six and one-half," clicked
the machine.

Cresswell arose from his chair by the window and
came slowly to the wide flat desk where Taylor was work
ing feverishly. He sat down heavily in the chair oppo
site and tried quietly to regain his self-control. The
liabilities of the Cresswells already amounted to half the
value of their property, at a fair market valuation. The
cotton for which they had made debts was still falling
in value. Every fourth of a cent fall meant — he figured
it again tremblingly — meant one hundred thousand more
of liabilities. If cotton fell to six he had n't a cent on
earth. If it stayed there — " My God ! " He felt a faint-
ness stealing over him but he beat it back and gulped
down another glass of fiery liquor.

Then the one protecting instinct of his clan gripped
him. Slowly, quietly his hand moved back until it
grasped the hilt of the big Colt's revolver that was ever
with him — his thin white hand became suddenly steady as
it slipped the weapon beneath the shadow of the desk.

" If it goes to six," he kept murmuring, " we 're
ruined — if it goes to six — if —

" Tick," sounded the wheel and the sound reverberated
like sudden thunder in his ears. His hand was iron, and
he raised it slightly. " Six," said the wheel — his finger
quivered — " and a half."

" Hell ! " yelled Taylor. " She 's turned — there '11 be

THE COTTON CORNER 199

the devil to pay now." A messenger burst in and Taylor
scowled.

" She 's loose in New York — a regular mob in New
Orleans — and — hark ! — By God ! there 's something
doing here. Damn it — I wish we 'd got another million
bales. Let 's see, we 've got — - " He figured while the
wheel whirred — " 7 — 7% — 8 — 8l/2."

Cresswell listened, staggered to his feet, his face crim
son and his hair wild.

" My God, Taylor," he gasped, " I 'm — I 'm a half
a million ahead — great heavens ! "

The ticker whirred, "83/4 — 9 — 91/2 — 10." Then
it stopped dead.

" Exchange closed," said Taylor. " We 've cornered
the market all right — cornered it — d'ye hear, Cress-
well? We got over half the crop and we can send prices
to the North Star — you — why, I figure it you Cress-
wells are worth at least seven hundred and fifty thousand
above liabilities this minute," and John Taylor leaned
back and lighted a big black cigar.

" I 've made a million or so myself," he added reflec
tively.

Cresswell leaned back in his chair, his face had gone
white again, and he spoke slowly to still the tremor in
his voice.

" I 've gambled — before ; I 've gambled on cards and
on horses ; I 've gambled — for money — and — women —
but — "

" But not on cotton, hey ? Well, I don't know about
cards and such; but they can't beat cotton."

" And say, John Taylor, you 're my friend." Cress-
well stretched his hand across the desk, and as he bent
forward the pistol crashed to the floor.

CHAPTER XIX

THE DYING OF ELSPETH

RICH ! This was the thought that awakened Harry
Cresswell to a sense of endless well-being. Rich !
No longer the mirage and semblance of wealth, the
memory of opulence, the shadow of homage without the
substance of power — no; now the wealth was real, cold
hard dollars, and in piles. How much? He laughed
aloud as he turned on his pillow. What did he care?
Enough — enough. Not less than half a million ; per
haps three-quarters of a million ; perhaps — was not
cotton still rising? — a whole round million! That would
mean from twenty-five to fifty thousand a year. Great
heavens ! and he 'd been starving on a bare couple of
thousand and trying to keep up appearances ! To-day
the Cresswells were almost millionaires ; aye, and he might
be married to more millions.

He sat up with a start. To-day Mary was going
North. He had quite forgotten it in the wild excitement
of the cotton corner. He had neglected her. Of course,
there was always the hovering doubt as to whether he
really wanted her or not. She had the form and carriage ;
her beauty, while not startling, was young and fresh arid
firm. On the other hand there was about her a certain
independence that he did not like to associate with wo-

[200]

THE DYING OF ELSPETH 201

men. She had thoughts and notions of the world which
were, to his Southern training, hardly feminine. And
yet even they piqued him and spurred him like the sight
of an untrained colt. He had not seen her falter yet
beneath his glances or tremble at his touch. All this he
desired — ardently desired. But did he desire her as
a wife? He rather thought that he did. And if so he
must speak to-day.

There was his father, too, to reckon with. Colonel
Cresswell, with the perversity of the simple-minded, had
taken the sudden bettering of their fortunes as his own
doing. He had foreseen; he had stuck it out; his credit
had pulled the thing through ; and the trust had learned a
thing or two about Southern gentlemen.

Toward John Taylor he perceptibly warmed. His
business methods were such as a Cresswell could never
stoop to ; but he was a man of his word, and Colonel Cress-
well's correspondence with Mr. Easterly opened his eyesr
to the beneficent ideals of Northern capital. At the
same time he could not consider the Easterlys and the
Taylors and such folk as the social equals of the Cress-
wells, and his prejudice on this score must still be reck
oned with.

Below, Mary Taylor lingered on the porch in strange
uncertainty. Harry Cresswell would soon be coming
downstairs. Did she want him to find her ? She liked him
frankly, undisguisedly ; but from the love she knew to
be so near her heart she recoiled in perturbation. He
wooed her — whether consciously or not, she was always
uncertain — with every quiet attention and subtle defer
ence, with a devotion seemingly quite too delicate for
words ; he not only fetched her flowers, but flowers that
chimed with day and gown and season — almost with

202 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

mood. He had a woman's premonitions in fulfilling her
wishes. His hands, if they touched her, were soft and
tender, and yet he gave a curious impression of strength
and poise and will.

Indeed, in all things he was in her eyes a gentleman in
the fine old-fashioned aristocracy of the term; her own
heart voiced all he did not say, and pleaded for him to
her own confusion.

And yet, in her heart, lay the awful doubt — and the
words kept ringing in her ears ! " You will marry this
man — but heaven help you if you do ! "

So it was that on this day when she somehow felt he
would speak, his footsteps on the stairs filled her with
sudden panic. Without a word she slipped behind the
pillars and ran down among the oaks and sauntered out
upon the big road. He caught the white flutter of her
dress, and smiled indulgently as he watched and waited
and lightly puffed his cigarette.

The morning was splendid with that first delicious
languor of the spring which breathes over the Southland
in February. Mary Taylor filled her lungs, lifted her
arms aloft, and turning, stepped into the deep shadow of
the swamp.

Abruptly the air, the day, the scene about her subtly
changed. She felt a closeness and a tremor, a certain
brooding terror in the languid sombre winds. The gold
of the sunlight faded to a sickly green, and the earth
was black and burned. A moment she paused and looked
back; she caught the man's silhouette against the tall
white pillars of the mansion and she fled deeper into the
forest with the hush of death about her, and the silence
which is one great Voice. Slowly, and mysteriously it
loomed before her — that squat and darksome cabin which

THE DYING OF ELSPETH

seemed so fitly set in the centre of the wilderness, beside
its crawling slime.

She paused in sudden certainty that there lay the an
swer to her doubts and mistrust. She felt impelled to
go forward and ask — what ? She did not know, but some
thing to still this war in her bosom. She had seldom seen
Elspeth; she had never been in her cabin. She had felt
an inconquerable aversion for the evil hag ; she felt it now,
and shivered in the warm breeze.

As she came in full view of the door, she paused. On
the step of the cabin, framed in the black doorway, stood
Zora. Measured by the squat cabin she seemed in height
colossal; slim, straight as a pine, motionless, with one
long outstretched arm pointing to where the path swept
onward toward the town.

It was too far for words but the scene lay strangely
clear and sharp-cut in the green mystery of the sun
light. Before that motionless, fateful figure crouched a
slighter, smaller woman, dishevelled, clutching her breast;
she bent and rose — hesitated — seemed to plead ; then
turning, clasped in passionate embrace the child whose
head was hid in Zora's gown. Next instant she was stag
gering along the path whither Zora pointed.

Slowly the sun was darkened, and plaintive murmur-
ings pulsed through the wood. The oppression and fear
of the swamp redoubled in Mary Taylor.

Zora gave no sign of having seen her. She stood tall
and still, and the little golden-haired girl still sobbed in
her gown. Mary Taylor looked up into Zora's face, then
paused in awe. It was a face she did not know; it was
neither the beautifully mischievous face of the girl, nor
the pain-stricken face of the woman. It was a face cold
and mask-like, regular and comely; clothed in a mighty

204 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

calm, yet subtly, masterfully veiling behind itself depths
of unfathomed misery and wild revolt. All this lay in
its darkness.

" Good-morning, Miss Taylor."

Mary, who was wont to teach this woman — so lately
a child — searched in vain for words to address her now.
She stood bare-haired and hesitating in the pale green
light of the darkened morning. It seemed fit that a deep
groan of pain should gather itself from the mysterious
depths of the swamp, and drop like a pall on the black
portal of the cabin. But it brought Mary Taylor back
to a sense of things, and under a sudden impulse she
spoke.

" Is — is anything the matter ? " she asked nervously.

" Elspeth is sick," replied Zora.

"Is she very sick?"

" Yes — she has been called," solemnly returned the
dark young woman.

Mary was puzzled. " Called? " she repeated vaguely.

" We heard the great cry in the night, and Elspeth
says it is the End."

It did not occur to Mary Taylor to question this mys
ticism ; she all at once understood — perhaps read the
riddle in the dark, melancholy eyes that so steadily
regarded her.

" Then you can leave the place, Zora ? " she exclaimed
gladly.

" Yes, I could leave."

" And you will."

"I don't know."

" But the place looks — evil."

" It is evil."

"And yet you will stay?"

THE DYING OF ELSPETH 205

Zora's eyes were now fixed far above the woman's
head, and she saw a human face forming itself in the
vast rafters of the forest. Its eyes were wet with pain
and anger.

" Perhaps," she answered.

The child furtively uncovered her face and looked at
the stranger. She was blue-eyed and golden-haired.

" Whose child is this ? " queried Mary, curiously.

Zora looked coldly down upon the child.

" It is Bertie's. Her mother is bad. She is gone. I
sent her. She and the others like her."

"But where have you sent them?"

"To Hell!"

Mary Taylor started under the shock. Impulsively
she moved forward with hands that wanted to stretch
themselves in appeal.

" Zora ! Zora ! You must n't go, too ! "

But the black girl drew proudly back.

" I am there," she returned, with unmistakable sim
plicity of absolute conviction.

The white woman shrank back. Her heart was wrung ;
she wanted to say more — to explain, to ask to help ;
there came welling to her lips a flood of things that she
would know. But Zora's face again was masked.

" I must go," she said, before Mary could speak.
" Good-bye." And the dark groaning depths of the cabin
swallowed her.

With a satisfied smile, Harry Cresswell had seen the
Northern girl disappear toward the swamp; for it is
significant when maidens run from lovers. But maidens
should also come back, and when, after the lapse of
many minutes, Mary did not reappear, he followed her
footsteps to the swamp.

206 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

He frowned as he noted the footprints pointing to
Elspeth's — what did Mary Taylor want there ? A fear
started within him, and something else. He was sud
denly aware that he wanted this woman, intensely; at
the moment he would have turned Heaven and earth to
get her. He strode forward and the wood rose darkly green
above him. A long, low, distant moan seemed to sound
upon the breeze, and after it came Mary Taylor.

He met her with tender solicitude, and she was glad
to feel his arm beneath hers.

" I 've been searching for you," he said after a silence.
" You should not wander here alone — it is dangerous."

" Why, dangerous ? " she asked.

" Wandering Negroes, and even wild beasts, in the forest
depths — and malaria — see, you tremble now."

" But not from malaria," she slowly returned.

He caught an unfamiliar note in his voice, and a wild
desire to justify himself before this woman clamored in
his heart. With it, too, came a cooler calculating in
tuition that frankness alone would win her now. At all
hazards he must win, and he cast the die.

" Miss Taylor," he said, " I want to talk to you — I
have wanted to for — a year." He glanced at her : she
was white and silent, but she did not tremble. He went
on:

" I have hesitated because I do not know that I have
a right to speak or explain to — to — a good woman."

He felt her arm tighten on his and he continued:

" You have been to Elspeth's cabin ; it is an evil place,
and has meant evil for this community, and for me.
Elspeth was my mother's favorite servant and my own
mammy. My mother died when I was ten and left me
to her tender mercies. She let me have my way and en-

THE DYING OF ELSPETH 207

| couraged the bad in me. It 's a wonder I escaped total
ruin. Her cabin became a rendezvous for drinking and
carousing. I told my father, but he, in lazy indifference,
declared the place no worse than all Negro cabins, and
did nothing. I ceased my visits. Still she tried every
lure and set false stories going among the Negroes, even
when I sought to rescue Zora. I tell you this because
I know you have heard evil rumors. I have not been a
good man — Mary; but I love you, and you can make
me good."

Perhaps no other appeal would have stirred Mary
Taylor. She was in many respects an inexperienced girl.
But she thought she knew the world ; she knew that Harry
Cresswell was not all he should be, and she knew too
that many other men were not. Moreover, she argued
he had not had a fair chance. All the school-ma'am in
her leaped to his teaching. What he needed was a su
perior person like herself. She loved him, and she
deliberately put her arms about his neck and lifted her
face to be kissed.

Back by the place of the Silver Fleece they wandered,
across the Big Road, up to the mansion. On the steps
stood John Taylor and Helen Cresswell hand in hand
and they all smiled at each other. The Colonel came
out, smiling too, with the paper in his hands.

"Easterly's right," he beamed, "the stock of the
Cotton Combine — - " he paused at the silence and looked
up. The smile faded slowly and the red blood mounted
to his forehead. Anger struggled back of surprise, but
before it burst forth silently the Colonel turned, and
muttering some unintelligible word, went slowly into the
house and slammed the door.

So for Harry Cresswell the day burst, flamed, and

208 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

waned, and then suddenly went out, leaving him dull and
gray; for Mary and her brother had gone North, Helen
had gone to bed, and the Colonel was in town. Outside
the weather was gusty and lowering with a chill in the
air. He paced the room fitfully.

Well, he was happy. Or, was he happy?

He gnawed his mustache, for already his quick, change
able nature was feeling the rebound from glory to misery.
He was a little ashamed of his exaltation; a bit doubtful
and uncertain. He had stooped low to this Yankee
school-ma'am, lower than he had ever stooped to woman.
Usually, while he played at loving, women grovelled; for
was he not a Cresswell? Would this woman recognize
that fact and respect him accordingly?

Then there was Zora; what had she said and hinted
I to Mary? The wench was always eluding and mock
ing him, the black devil! But, pshaw! — he poured him
self a glass of brandy — was he not rich and young?
The world was his.

His valet knocked.

" Gentleman is asking if you forgits it 's Saturday
night, sir? " said Sam.

Cresswell walked thoughtfully to the window, swept
back the curtain, and looked toward the darkness and
the swamp. It lowered threateningly ; behind it the night
sky was tinged with blood.

" No," he said ; " I 'm not going." And he shut out
the glow.

Yet he grew more and more restless. The devil danced
in his veins and burned in his forehead. His hands
shook. He heard a rustle of departing feet beneath his
window, then a pause and a faint halloo.

" All right," he called, and in a moment went down-

THE DYING OF ELSPETH 209

stairs and out into the night. As he closed the front
door there seemed to come faintly up from the swamp
a low ululation, like the prolonged cry of some wild bird,
or the wail of one's mourning for his dead.

Within the cabin, Elspeth heard. Tremblingly, she
swayed to her feet, a haggard, awful sight. She mo
tioned Zora away, and stretching her hands palms up
ward to the sky, cried with dry and fear-struck gasp:

"Pse called! Pse called!"

On the bed the child smiled in its dreaming; the red
flame of the firelight set the gold to dancing in her hair.
Zora shrank back into the shadows and listened. Then
it came. She heard the heavy footsteps crashing through
the underbrush — coming, coming, as from the end of
the world. She shrank still farther back, and a shadow
swept the door.

He was a mighty man, black and white-haired, and
his eyes were the eyes of death. He bent to enter the
door, and then uplifting himself and stretching his great
arms, his palms touched the blackened rafters.

Zora started forward. Thick memories of some for
gotten past came piling in upon her. Where had she
known him? What was he to her?

Slowly Elspeth, with quivering hands, unwound the
black and snake-like object that always guarded her
breast. Without a word, he took it, and again his hands
flew heavenward. With a low and fearful moan the old
woman lurched sideways, then crashed, like a fallen pine,
upon the hearthstone. She lay still — dead.

Three times the man passed his hands, wave-like, above
the dead. Three times he murmured, and his eyes burned
into the shadows, where the girl trembled. Then he
turned and went as he had come, his heavy feet crash-

210 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

ing through the underbrush, on and on, fainter and
fainter, as to the end of the world.

Zora shook herself from the trance-like horror and
passed her hands across her eyes to drive out the night
mare. But, no ! there lay the dead upon the hearth with
the firelight flashing over her, a bloated, hideous, twisted
thing, distorted in the rigor of death. A moment Zora
looked down upon her mother. She felt the cold body
whence the wandering, wrecked soul had passed. She
sat down and stared death in the face for the first time.
A mighty questioning arose within, a questioning and a
yearning.

Was Elspeth now at peace? Was Death the Way —
the wide, dark Way? She had never thought of it before,
and as she thought she crept forward and looked into
the fearful face pityingly.

" Mammy ! " she whispered — with bated breath —
" Mammy Elspeth ! " Out of the night came a whispered
answer: "Elspeth! Elspeth!19

Zora, sprang to her feet, alert, fearful. With a swing of
her arm, she pulled the great oaken door to and dropped
the bar into its place. Over the dead she spread a clean
white sheet. Into the fire she thrust pine-knots. They
glared in vague red, and shadowy brilliance, waving and
quivering and throwing up thin swirling columns of black
smoke. Then standing beside the fireplace with the white,
still corpse between her and the door, she took up her
awful vigil.

There came a low knocking at the door ; then silence and
footsteps wandering furtively about. The night seemed
all footsteps and whispers. There came a louder knock
ing, and a voice:

THE DYING OF ELSPETH 211

" Elspeth! Elspeth! Open the door; it 's me."

Then muttering and wandering noises, and silence
again.

The child on the bed turned itself, murmuring un
easily in its dreams. And then they came. Zora froze,
watching the door, wide-eyed, while the fire flamed redder.
A loud quick knock at the door — a pause — an oath
and a cry.

" Elspeth! Open this door, damn you! "

A moment of waiting and then the knocking came again,
furious and long continued. Outside there was much
trampling and swearing. Zora did not move; the child
slept on. A tugging and dragging, a dull blow that set
the cabin quivering; then, —

" Bang! Crack! Crash! "• - the door wavered, splint
ered, and dropped upon the floor.

With a snarl, a crowd of some half-dozen white faces
rushed forward, wavered and stopped. The awakened
child sat up and stared with wide blue eyes. Slowly, with
no word, the intruders turned and went silently away,
leaving but one late comer who pressed forward.

"What damned mummery is this?" he cried, and snatch
ing at the sheet, dragged it from the black distorted
countenance of the corpse. He shuddered but for a
moment he could not stir. He felt the midnight eyes of the
girl — he saw the twisted, oozing mouth of the hag, blue-
black and hideous.

Suddenly back behind there in the darkness a shriek
split the night like a sudden flash of flame — a great
ringing scream that cracked and swelled and stopped.
With one wild effort the man hurled himself out the
door and plunged through the darkness. Panting and

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

cursing, he flashed his huge revolver — " bang! bang!
bang! " it cracked into the night. The sweat poured
from his forehead; the terror of the swamp was upon
him. " With a struggling and tearing in his throat, he
tripped and fell fainting under the silent oaks.

CHAPTER XX

THE WEAVING OF THE SILVER FLEECE

THE Silver Fleece, darkly cloaked and girded, lay
in the cotton warehouse of the Cresswells, near the
store. Its silken fibres, cramped and close, shone
yellow-white in the sunlight; sadly soiled, yet beautiful.
Many came to see Zora's twin bales, as they lay, handling
them and questioning, while Colonel Cresswell grew proud
of his possession.

The world was going well with the Colonel. Freed
from money cares, praised for his generalship in the
cotton corner, able to entertain sumptuously, he was
again a Southern gentleman of the older school, and so in
his envied element. Yet to-day he frowned as he stood
poking absently with his cane at the baled Fleece.

This marriage — or, rather, these marriages — were
not to his liking. It was a mesalliance of a sort that
pricked him tenderly; it savored grossly of bargain and
sale. His neighbors regarded it with disconcerting
equanimity. They seemed to think an alliance with North
ern millions an honor for Cresswell blood, and the Colonel
thumped the nearer bale vigorously. His cane slipped
along the iron bands suddenly, and the old man lurching
forward, clutched in space to save himself and touched a
human hand.

[213]

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Zora, sitting shadowed on the farther bale, drew back
her hand quickly at the contact, and started to move
away.

" Who 's that ? " thundered the Colonel, more angry
at his involuntary fright than at the intrusion. " Here,
boys ! "

But Zora had come forward into the space where the
sunlight of the wide front doors poured in upon the
cotton bales.

" It 's me, Colonel," she said.

He glared at her. She was taller and thinner than
formerly, darkly transparent of skin, and her dark eyes
shone in strange and dusky brilliance. Still indignant
and surprised, the Colonel lifted his voice sharply.

" What the devil are you doing here? — sleeping when
you ought to be at work! Get out! And see here, next
week cotton chopping begins — you '11 go to the fields
or to the chain-gang. I '11 have no more of your loafing
about my place."

Awaiting no reply, the Colonel, already half ashamed
of his vehemence, stormed out into the sunlight and
climbed upon his bay mare.

But Zora still stood silent in the shadow of the Silver
Fleece, hearing and yet not hearing. She was searching
for the Way, groping for the threads of life, seeking al
most wildly to understand the foundations of understand
ing, piteously asking for answer to the puzzle of life.
All the while the walls rose straight about her and narrow.
To continue in school meant charity, yet she had nowhere
to go and nothing to go with. To refuse to work for the
Cresswells meant trouble for the school and perhaps ar
rest for herself. To work in the fields meant endless toil
and a vista that opened upon death.

THE WEAVING OF THE SILVER FLEECE 215

Like a hunted thing the girl turned and twisted in
thought and faced everywhere the blank Impossible. Cold
and dreamlike without, her shut teeth held back seething
fires within, and a spirit of revolt that gathered wildness
as it grew. Above all flew the dream, the phantasy, the
memory of the past, the vision of the future. Over and
over she whispered to herself : " This is not the End ; this
can not be the End."

Somehow, somewhere, would come salvation. Yet what
it would be and what she expected she did not know. She
sought the Way, but what way and whither she did not
know, she dared not dream.

One thing alone lay in her wild fancy like a great and
wonderful fact dragging the dream to earth and anchor
ing it there. That was the Silver Fleece. Like a brood
ing mother, Zora had watched it. She knew how the
gin had been cleaned for its pressing and how it had
been baled apart and carefully covered. She knew how
proud Colonel Cresswell was of it and how daily he had
visitors to see it and ringer the wide white wound in its
side.

" Yes, sir, grown on my place, by my niggers, sir ! "
he^ assured them; and they marvelled.
! To Zora's mind, this beautiful baled fibre was hers; it
typified happiness; it was an holy thing which profane
hands had stolen. When it came back to her (as come
it must, she cried with clenched hands) it would bring
happiness ; not the great Happiness — that was gone
forever — but illumination, atonement, and something of
the power and the glory. So, involuntarily almost, she
haunted the cotton storehouse, flitting like a dark and
silent ghost in among the workmen, greeting them with
her low musical voice, warding them with the cold majesty

216 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

of her eyes; each day afraid of some last parting, each
night triumphant — it was still there !

The Colonel — Zora already forgotten — rode up to
the Cresswell Oaks, pondering darkly. It was bad enough
to contemplate Helen's marriage in distant prospect, but
the sudden, almost peremptory desire for marrying at
Eastertide, a little less than two months away, was
absurd. There were " business reasons arising from the
presidential campaign in the fall," John Taylor had tele
graphed; but there was already too much business in the
arrangement to suit the Colonel. With Harry it was
different. Indeed it was his own quiet suggestion that
made John Taylor hurry matters.

Harry trusted to the novelty of his father's new wealth
to make the latter complacent; he himself felt an im
patient longing for the haven of a home. He had been too
long untethered. He distrusted himself. The devil within
was too fond of taking the bit in his teeth. He would re
member to his dying day one awful shriek in the night, as
of a soul tormenting and tormented. He wanted the pro
tection of a good woman, and sometimes against the clear
whiteness of her letters so joyous and generous, even if a
bit prim and didactic, he saw a vision of himself reflected
as he was, and he feared.

It was distinctly disconcerting to Colonel Cresswell to
find Harry quite in favor of early nuptials, and to learn
that the sole objection even in Helen's mind was the im
probability of getting a wedding-gown in time. Helen
had all a child's naive love for beautiful and dainty things,
and a wedding-gown from Paris had been her life dream.
On this point, therefore, there ensued spirited arguments
and much correspondence, and both her brother and her
lover evinced characteristic interest in the planning.

THE WEAVING OF THE SILVER FLEECE 217

Said Harry : " Sis, I '11 cable to Paris to-day. They
can easily hurry the thing along."

Helen was delighted; she handed over a telegram just
received from John Taylor. " Send me, express, two
bales best cotton you can get."

The Colonel read the message. a I don't see the con
nection between this and hurrying up a wedding-gown,"
he growled. None of them discerned the handwriting of
Destiny.

" Neither do I," said Harry, who detected yielding in
his father's tone. " But we 'd better send him the two
prize bales ; it will be a fine advertisement of our planta
tion, and evidently he has a surprise in store for us."

The Colonel affected to hesitate, but next morning the
Silver Fleece went to towTn.

Zora watched it go, and her heart swelled and died
within her. She walked to town, to the station. She did
not see Mrs. Vanderpool arriving from New Orleans ; but
Mrs. Vanderpool saw her, and looked curiously at the tall,
tragic figure that leaned so dolorously beside the freight
car. The bales were loaded into the express car ; the train
pulled away, its hoarse snorting waking vague echoes in
the forest beyond. But to the girl who stood at the End,
looking outward to darkness, those echoes roared like the
crack of doom. A passing band of contract hands called
to her mockingly, and one black giant, laughing loudly,
gripped her hand.

" Come, honey," he shouted, " you 'se a-dreaming !
Come on, honey ! "

She turned abruptly and gripped his hand, as one
drowning grips anything offered — gripped till he
winced. She laughed a loud mirthless laugh, that came
pouring like a sob from her deep lungs.

218 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Come on! " she mocked, and joined them.

They were a motley crowd, ragged, swaggering, jolly.
There were husky, big-limbed youths, and bold-faced,
loud-tongued girls. To-morrow they would start up-
country to some backwoods barony in the kingdom of
cotton, and work till Christmas time. To-day was the
last in town; there was craftily advanced money in their
pockets and riot in their hearts. In the gathering twi
light they marched noisily through the streets; in
their midst, wide-eyed and laughing almost hysterically,
marched Zora.

Mrs. Vanderpool meantime rode thoughtfully out of
town toward Cresswell Oaks. She was returning from
witnessing the Mardi Gras festivities at New Orleans and
at the urgent invitation of the Cresswells had stopped
off. She might even stay to the wedding if the new plans
matured.

Mrs. Vanderpool was quite upset. Her French maid,
on whom she had depended absolutely for five years or
more, had left her.

" I think I want to try a colored maid," she told the
Cresswells, laughingly, as they drove home. " They have
sweet voices and they can't doff their uniform. Helene
without her cap and apron was often mistaken for a lady,
and while I was in New Orleans a French confectioner
married her under some such delusion. Now, have n't
you a girl about here who would do ? "

" No," declared Harry decisively, but his sister sug
gested that she might ask Miss Smith at the colored
school.

Again Mrs. Vanderpool laughed, but after tea she
wandered idly down the road. The sun behind the swamp
was crimsoning the world. Mrs. Vanderpool strolled

THE JVEAVING OF THE SILVER FLEECE 219

alone to the school, and saw Sarah Smith. There was no
cordiality in the latter's greeting, but when she heard the
caller's errand her attention was at once arrested and
held. The interests of her charges were always uppermost
in her mind.

"Can't I have the girl Zora? " Mrs. Vanderpool at
last inquired.

Miss Smith started, for she was thinking of Zora at
that very instant. The girl was later than usual, and she
was momentarily expecting to see her tall form moving
languidly up the walk.

She gave Mrs. Vanderpool a searching look. Mrs.
Vanderpool glanced involuntarily at her gown and smiled
as she did it.

" Could I trust you with a human soul? " asked Miss
Smith abruptly.

Mrs. Vanderpool looked up quickly. The half mock
ing answer that rose involuntarily to her lips was checked.
Within, Mrs. Vanderpool was a little puzzled at herself.
Why had she asked for this girl? She had felt a strange
interest in her — a peculiar human interest since she first
saw her and as she saw her again this afternoon. But
would she make a satisfactory maid? Was it not a rather
dangerous experiment? Why had she asked for her?
She certainly had not intended to when she entered the
house.

In the silence Miss Smith continued : " Here is a child
in whom the fountains of the great deep are suddenly
broken up. With peace and care she would find herself,
for she is strong. But here there is no peace. Slavery of
soul and body awaits her and I am powerless to protect
her. She must go away. That going away may make
,or ruin her. She knows nothing of working for wages

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

and she has not the servant's humility ; but she has loyalty
and pluck. For one she loves there is nothing she would
not do; but she cannot be driven. Or rather, if she is
driven, it may rouse in her the devil incarnate. She needs
not exactly affection — she would almost resent that —
but intelligent interest and care. In return for this she
will gradually learn to serve and serve loyally. Frankly,
Mrs. Vanderpool, I would not have chosen you for this
task of human education. Indeed, you would have been
my last thought — you seem to me — I speak plainly —
a worldly woman. Yet, perhaps — who can tell? — God
has especially set you to this task. At any rate, I have
little choice. I am at my wits' end. Elspeth, the mother
of this child, is not long dead ; and here is the girl, beauti
ful, unprotected; and here am I, almost helpless. She is
in debt to the Cresswells, and they are pressing the claim
to her service. Take her if you can get her — it is, I
fear, her only chance. Mind you — if you can persuade
her; and that may be impossible."

"Where is she now?"

Miss Smith glanced out at the darkening landscape,
and then at her watch.

" I do not know ; she 's very late. She ?s given to
wandering, but usually she is here before this time."

" I saw her in town this afternoon," said Mrs. Vander
pool.

" Zora? In town? " Miss Smith rose. " I '11 send her
to you to-morrow," she said quietly. Mrs. Vanderpool
had hardly reached the Oaks before Miss Smith was driv
ing toward town.

A small cabin on the town's ragged fringe was crowded
to suffocation. Within arose noisy shouts, loud songs,
and raucous laughter; the scraping of a fiddle and whine

THE WEAVING OF THE SILVER FLEECE

of an accordion. Liquor began to appear and happy faces
grew red-eyed and sodden as the dances whirled. At the
edge of the orgy stood Zora, wild-eyed and bewildered,
mad with the pain that gripped her heart and hammered
in her head, crying in tune with the frenzied music —
"the End — the End!"

Abruptly she recognized a face despite the wreck and
ruin of its beauty.

" Bertie ! " she cried as she seized the mother of little
Emma by the arm.

The woman staggered and offered her glass.

" Drink," she cried, " drink and forget."

In a moment Zora sprang forward and seized the burn
ing liquid in both hands. A dozen hands clapped a devil's
tattoo. A score of voices yelled and laughed. The shriek
of the music was drowned beneath the thunder of stamp
ing feet. Men reeled to singing women's arms, but above
the roar rose the song of the voice of Zora — she glided
to the middle of the room, standing tip-toed with skirts
that curled and turned; she threw back her head, raised
the liquor to her lips, paused — and looked into the face
of Miss Smith.

A silence fell like a lightning flash on the room as that
white face peered in at the door. Slowly Zora's hands
fell and her eyes blinked as though waking from some
awful dream. She staggered toward the woman's out
stretched arms. . . .

Late that night the girl lay close in Miss Smith's
motherly embrace.

" I was going to hell ! " she whispered, trembling.

"Why, Zora?" asked Miss Smith calmly.

" I could n't find the Way — and I wanted to forget."

" People in hell don't forget," was the matter-of-fact

222 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

comment. " And, Zora, what way do you seek? The way
where ? "

Zora sat up in bed, and lifted a gray and stricken face.

" It 's a lie," she cried, with hoarse earnestness, " the
way nowhere. There is no Way ! You know — I want
him — I want nothing on earth but him — and him I
can't ever have."

The older woman drew her down tenderly.

" No, Zora," she said, " there 's something you want
more than him and something you can have ! "

" What ? " asked the wondering girl.

" His respect," said Sarah Smith, " and I know the
Way."

CHAPTER XXI

THE MARRIAGE MORNING

MRS. VANDERPOOL watched Zora as she came
up the path beneath the oaks. " She walks well,"
she observed. And laying aside her book, she
waited with a marked curiosity.

The girl's greeting was brief, almost curt, but unin
tentionally so, as one could easily see, for back in her
eyes lurked an impatient hunger; she was not thinking
of greetings. She murmured a quick word, and stood
straight and tall with her eyes squarely on the lady.

In the depths of Mrs. Vanderpool's heart something
strange — not new, but very old — stirred. Before her
stood this tall black girl, quietly returning her look. Mrs.
Vanderpool had a most uncomfortable sense of being
judged, of being weighed, — and there arose within her an
impulse to self-justification.

She smiled and said sweetly, "Won't you sit?" But'
despite all this, her mind seemed leaping backward a
thousand years ; back to a simpler, primal day when she
herself, white, frail, and fettered, stood before the dusky
magnificence of some bejewelled barbarian queen and
sought to justify herself. She shook off the phantasy, —
and yet how well the girl stood. It was not every one that
could stand still and well.

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Please sit down," she repeated with her softest charm,
not dreaming that outside the school white persons did
not ask this girl to sit in their presence. But even this
did not move Zora. She sat down. There was in her,
walking, standing, sitting, a simple directness which Mrs.
Vanderpool sensed and met.

" Zora, I need some one to help me — to do my hair
and serve my coffee, and dress and take care of me. The
work will not be hard, and you can travel and see the
world and live well. Would you like it? "

" But I do not know how to do all these things," re
turned Zora, slowly. She was thinking rapidly — Was
this the Way? It sounded wonderful. The World, the
great mysterious World, that stretched beyond the swamp
and into which Bles and the Silver Fleece had gone —
did it lead to the Way? But if she went there what would
she see and do, and would it be possible to become such a
woman as Miss Smith pictured?
{ " What is the world like? " asked Zora.

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled. " Oh, I meant great active
cities and buildings, myriads of people and wonderfu]
sights."

"Yes — but back of it all, what is it really? What
does it look like? "

" Heavens, child ! Don't ask. Really, it is n't worth
while peering back of things. One is sure to be
disappointed."

" Then what 's the use of seeing the world? "

" Why, one must live ; and why not be happy ? " an
swered Mrs. Vanderpool, amused, baffled, spurred for the
time being from her chronic ennui.

"Are you happy?" retorted Zora, looking her over
carefully, from silken stockings to garden hat. Mrs.

THE MARRIAGE MORNING 225

Vanderpool laid aside her little mockery and met the
situation bravely.

" No," she replied simply. Her eyes grew old and tired.

Involuntarily Zora's hand crept out protectingly and
lay a moment over the white jewelled fingers. Then
quickly recovering herself, she started hastily to with
draw it, but the woman's fingers closed around the darker
ones, and Mrs. Vanderpool's eyes became dim,

" I need you, Zora," she said ; and then, seeing the
half-formed question, " Yes, and you need me ; we need
each other. In the world lies opportunity, and I will i
help you."

Zora rose abruptly, and Mrs, Vanderpool feared, with
a tightening of heart, that she had lost this strangely
alluring girl.

" I will come to-morrow," said Zora.

As Mrs. Vanderpool went in to lunch, reaction and
lingering doubts came trouping back. To replace the
daintiest of trained experts with the most baffling semi-
barbarian, well !

" Have you hired a maid ? " asked Helen.

" I 've engaged Zora," laughed Mrs, Vanderpool,
lightly; " and now I 'm wondering whether I have a jewel
or — a white elephant."

" Probably neither," remarked Harry Cresswell, drily ;
but he avoided the lady's inquiring eyes.

Next morning Zora came easily into Mrs. Vanderpool's
life. There was little she knew of her duties, but little,
too, that she could not learn with a deftness and divina
tion almost startling. Her quietness, her quickness, her
young strength, were like a soothing balm to the tired
woman of fashion, and within a week she had sunk back
contentedly into Zora's strong arms.

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" It 's a jewel," she decided.

With this verdict the house agreed. The servants
waited on " Miss Zora " gladly ; the men scarcely saw her,
and the ladies ran to her for help in all sorts. Harry
Cresswell looked upon this transformation with an amused
smile, but the Colonel saw in it simply evidence of danger
ous obstinacy in a black girl who hitherto had refused to
work.

Zora had been in the house but a week when a large
express package was received from John Taylor. Its
unwrapping brought a cry of pleasure from the ladies.
There lay a bolt of silken-like cambric of wondrous fine
ness and lustre, marked : " For the wedding-dress." The
explanation accompanied the package, that Mary Taylor
had a similar piece in the North.

Helen and Harry said nothing of the cablegram to the
Paris tailor, and Helen took 110 steps toward having the
cambric dress made, not even when the wedding invitations
appeared.

" A Cresswell married in cotton ! " Helen was almost
in tears lest the Paris gown be delayed, and sure enough
a cablegram came at last saying that there was little like
lihood of the gown being ready by Easter. It would be
shipped at the earliest convenience, but it could hardly
catch the necessary boat. Helen had a good cry, and then
came a wild rush to get John Taylor's cloth ready. Still,
Helen was querulous. She decided that silk embroidery
must embellish the skirt. The dressmaker was in despair.

" I have n't a single spare worker," she declared.

Helen was appealing to Mrs. Vanderpool.

" I can do it," said Zora, who was in the room.

" Do you know how? " asked the dressmaker.

" No, but I want to know."

THE MARRIAGE MORNING 227

Mrs. Vanderpool gave a satisfied nod. " Show her,"
she said. The dressmaker was on the edge of rebellion.
" Zora sews beautifully," added Mrs. Vanderpool.

Thus the beautiful cloth came to Zora's room, and
was spread in a glossy cloud over her bed. She trembled
at its beauty and felt a vague inner yearning, as if some
subtle magic of the woven web were trying to tell her its
story.

She worked over it faithfully and lovingly in every
spare hour and in long nights of dreaming. Wilfully she
departed from the set pattern and sewed into the cloth
something of the beauty in her heart. In new and intri
cate ways, with soft shadowings and coverings, she wove
in that white veil her own strange soul, and Mrs. Vander
pool watched her curiously, but in silence.

Meantime all things were arranged for a double
wedding at Cresswell Oaks. As John and Mary Taylor
had no suitable home, they were to come down and the
two brides to go forth from the Cresswell mansion. Ac
cordingly the Taylors arrived a week before the wedding
and the home took on a festive air. Even Colonel Cress-
well expanded under the genial influences, and while his
head still protested his heart was glad. He had to re
spect John Taylor's undoubted ability; and Mary
Taylor was certainly lovely, in spite of that assumption
of cleverness of which the Colonel could not approve.

Marjr returned to the old scenes with mingled feelings.
Especially was she startled at seeing Zora a member of
the household and apparently high in favor. It brought
back something of the old uneasiness and suspicion.

All this she soon forgot under the cadence of Harry
Cresswell's pleasant voice and the caressing touch of his
arm. He seemed handsomer than ever; and he was, for

228 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

sleep and temperance and the wooing of a woman had put
a tinge in his marble face, smoothed the puffs beneath his
eyes, and given him a more distinguished bearing and a
firmer hand. And Mary Taylor was very happy. So
was her brother, only differently; he was making money;
he was planning to make more, and he had something to
pet which seemed to him extraordinarily precious and
valuable.

Taylor eagerly inquired after the cloth, and followed
the ladies to Zora's room, adjoining Mrs. Vanderpool's,
to see it. It lay uncut and shimmering, covered with dim
silken tracery of a delicacy and beauty which brought an
exclamation to all lips.

" That 's what we can do with Alabama cotton," cried
John Taylor in triumph.

They turned to him incredulously.

« But — "

" No ' buts ' about it ; these are the two bales you sent
me, woven with a silk woof." No one particularly noticed
that Zora had hastily left the room. " I had it done in
Easterly's New Jersey mills according to an old plan of
mine. I 'm going to make cloth like that right in this
county some day," and he chuckled gayly.

But Zora was striding up and down the halls, the blood
surging in her ears. After they were gone she came
back and closed the doors. She dropped on her knees
and buried her face in the filmy folds of the Silver Fleece.

" I knew it ! I knew it ! " she whispered in mingled
tears and joy. " It called and I did not understand."

It was her talisman new-found ; her love come back, her
stolen dream come true. Now she could face the world ;
God had turned it straight again. She would go into the
world and find — not Love, but the thing greater than

THE MARRIAGE MORNING 229

Love. Outside the door came voices — the dressmaker's
tones, Helen's soft drawl, and Mrs. Vanderpool's finished
accents. Her face went suddenly gray. The Silver
Fleece was not hers ! It belonged — She rose hastily.
The door opened and they came in. The cutting must
begin at once, they all agreed.

" Is it ready, Zora ? " inquired Helen.

" No," Zora quietly answered, " not quite, but to
morrow morning, early." As soon as she was alone
again, she sat down and considered. By and by, while
the family was at lunch, she folded the Silver Fleece care
fully and locked it in her new trunk. She would hide it
in the swamp. During the afternoon she sent to town
for oil-cloth, and bade the black carpenter at Miss
Smith's make a cedar box, tight and tarred. In the
morning she prepared Mrs. Vanderpool's breakfast with
unusual care. She was sorry for Mrs. Vanderpool, and
sorry for Miss Smith. They would not, they could not,
understand. What would happen to her? She did not
know; she did not care. The Silver Fleece had returned
to her. Soon it would be buried in the swamp whence it
came. She had no alternative; she must keep it and
wait.

She heard the dressmaker's voice, and then her step
upon the stair. She heard the sound of Harry Cress-
well's buggy, and a scurrying at the front door. On
came the dressmaker's footsteps — then her door was un
ceremoniously burst open.

Helen Cresswell stood there radiant; the dressmaker,
too, was wreathed in smiles. She carried a big red-sealed
bundle.

" Zora ! " cried Helen in ecstasy. " It 's come ! " Zora
regarded her coldly, and stood at bay. The dressmaker

230 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

was ripping and snipping, and soon there lay revealed be
fore them — the Paris gown !

Helen was in raptures, but her conscience pricked her.
She appealed to them. " Ought I to tell? You see,
Mary's gown will look miserably common beside it."

The dressmaker was voluble. There was really noth
ing to tell ; and besides, Helen was a Cresswell and it was
to be expected, and so forth. Helen pursed her lips and
petulantly tapped the floor with her foot.

" But the other gown? "

"Where is it?" asked the dressmaker, looking about.
" It would make a pretty morning-dress —

But Helen had taken a sudden dislike to the thought
of it.

" I don't want it," she declared. " And besides, I
have n't room for it in my trunks."

Of a sudden she leaned down and whispered to Zora:
" Zora, hide it and keep it if you want it. Come," to the
dressmaker, " I 'm dying to try this on — now. . .
Remember, Zora — not a word." And all this to Zora
seemed no surprise; it was the Way, and it was opening
before her because the talisman lay in her trunk.

So at last it came to Easter morning. The world was
golden with jasmine, and crimson with azalea; down in
the darker places gleamed the misty glory of the dog
wood; new cotton shook, glimmered, and blossomed in the
black fields, and over all the soft Southern sun poured its
awakening light of life. There was happiness and hope
again in the cabins, and hope and — if not happiness,
ambition, in the mansions.

Zora, almost forgetting the wedding, stood before the
mirror. Laying aside her dress, she draped her shim
mering cloth about her, dragging her hair down in a

THE MARRIAGE MORNING 231

heavy mass over ears and neck until she seemed herself
a bride. And as she stood there, awed with the mystical
union of a dead love and a living new born self,
there came drifting in at the window, faintly, the soft
sound of far-off marriage music.

" 'T is thy marriage morning, shining in the sun ! "
Two white and white-swathed brides were coming
slowly down the great staircase of Cresswell Oaks, and
two white and black-clothed bridegrooms awaited them.
Either bridegroom looked gladly at the flow of his sister's
garments and almost darkly at his bride's. For Helen
was decked in Parisian splendor, while Mary was gowned
in the Fleece.

" 'T is thy marriage morning, shining in the sun ! "
Up floated the song of the little dark-faced children,
and Zora listened.

CHAPTER XXII

MISS CAROLINE WYNN

BLES ALWYN was seated in the anteroom of
Senator Smith's office in Washington. The Sen
ator had not come in yet, and there were others
waiting, too.

The young man sat in a corner, dreaming. Washing
ton was his first great city, and it seemed a never-ending
delight — the streets, the buildings, the crowds ; the
shops, and lights, and noise; the kaleidoscopic panorama
of a world's doing, the myriad forms and faces, the talk
and laughter of men. It was all wonderful magic to the
country boy, and he stretched his arms and filled his lungs
and cried : " Here I shall live ! "

Especially was he attracted by his own people. They
seemed transformed, revivified, changed. Some might be
mistaken for field hands on a holiday — but not many.
Others he did not recognize — they seemed strange and
alien — sharper, quicker, and at once more overbearing
and more unscrupulous.

There were yet others — and at the sight of these Bles
stood straighter and breathed like a man. They were
well dressed, and well appearing men and women, who
walked upright and looked one in the eye, and seemed
like persons of affairs and money. They had arrived —

MISS CAROLINE WYNN 233

they were men — they filled his mind's ideal — he felt
like going up to them and grasping their hands and say
ing, "At last, brother!" Ah, it was good to find one's
dreams, walking in the light, in flesh and blood. Con
tinually such thoughts were surging through his brain,
and they were rioting through it again as he sat waiting
in Senator Smith's office.

The Senator was late this morning; when he came in
he glanced at the morning paper before looking over his
mail and the list of his callers. " Do fools like the Amer
ican people deserve salvation?" he sneered, holding off
the headlines and glancing at them.

" * League Beats Trust.9 . . . c Farmers of South
Smash Effort to Bear Market . . . Send Cotton to
Twelve Cents . . . Common People Triumph.'

" A man is induced to bite off his own nose and then to
sing a paean of victory. It 's nauseating — senseless.
There is no earthly use striving for such blockheads ;
they 'd crucify any Saviour." Thus half consciously
Senator Smith salved his conscience, while he extracted a
certificate of deposit for fifty thousand dollars from his
New York mail. He thrust it aside from his secretary's
view and looked at his list as he rang the bell: there was
Representative Todd, and somebody named Alwyn — no
body of importance. Easterly was due in a half-hour. He
would get rid of Todd meantime.

" Poor Todd," he mused ; " a lamb for the slaughter."

But he patiently listened to him plead for party sup
port and influence for his bill to prohibit gambling in
futures.

" I was warned that it was useless to see you, Senator
Smith, but I would come. I believe in you. Frankly,
there is a strong group of your old friends and followers

234 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

forming against you ; they met only last night, but I did
not go. Won't you take a stand on some of these pro
gressive matters — this bill, or the Child Labor movement,
or Low Tariff legislation? "

Mr. Smith listened but shook his head.

" When the time comes," he announced deliberately, " I
shall have something to say on several of these matters.
At present I can only say that I cannot support this
bill," and Mr. Todd was ushered out. He met Mr.
Easterly coming in and greeted him effusively. He knew
him only as a rich philanthropist, who had helped the
Neighborhood Guild in Washington — one of Todd's
hobbies.

Easterly greeted Smith quietly.

"Got my letter?"

" Yes."

" Here are the three bills. You will go on the Finance
Committee to-morrow ; Sumdrich is chairman by courtesy,
but you '11 have the real power. Put the Child Labor
Bill first, and we '11 work the press. The Tariff will take
most of the session, of course. We '11 put the cotton in
spection bill through in the last days of the session —
see? I 'm manoeuvring to get the Southern Congressmen
into line. . . . Oh, one thing. Thompson says he 's
a little worried about the Negroes ; says there 's something
more than froth in the talk of a bolt in the Northern
Negro vote. We may have to give them a little extra
money and a few more minor offices than usual. Talk
with Thompson ; the Negroes are sweet on you and he Js
going to be the new chairman of the campaign, you know.
Ever met him?"

" Yes."

« Well — so long."

MISS CAROLINE WYNN 235

" Just a moment," the statesman stayed the financier.

" Todd just let fall something of a combination against
us in Congress — know anything of it?"

" Not definitely ; I heard some rumors. Better see if
you can run it down. Well, I must hurry — good day."

While Bles Alwyn in the outer office was waiting and
musing, a lady came in. Out of the corner of his eye
he caught the curve of her gown, and as she seated herself
beside him, the suggestion of a faint perfume. A vague
resentment rose in him. Colored women would look as
well as that, he argued, with the clothes and wealth and
training. He paused, however, in his thought : he did not
want them like the whites — so cold and formal and pre
cise, without heart or marrow. He started up, for the
secretary was speaking to him.

" Are you the — er — the man who had a letter to the
Senator ? "

"Yes, sir."

" Let me see it. Oh, yes — he will see you in a
moment."

Bles was returning the letter to his pocket when he
heard a voice almost at his ear.

" I beg your pardon — "

He turned and started. It was the lady next to him,
and she was colored! Not extremely colored, but un
doubtedly colored, with waving black hair, light brown
skin, and the fuller facial curving of the darker world.
And yet Bles was surprised, for everything else about
her — her voice, her bearing, the set of her gown, her
gloves and shoes, the whole impression was — Bles hes
itated for a word — well, " white."

" Yes — yes, ma'am," he stammered, becoming sud
denly conscious that the lady had now a second time

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

asked him if he was acquainted with Senator Smith.
" That is, ma'am," — why was he saying " ma'am," like
a child or a servant? — "I know his sister and have a
letter for him."

" Do you live in Washington ? " she inquired.

" No — but I want to. I 've been trying to get in as
a clerk, and I have n't succeeded yet. That 's what I 'm
going to see Senator Smith about."

" Have you had the civil-service examinations ? "

" Yes. I made ninety-three in the examination for a
treasury clerkship."

" And no appointment ? I see — they are not partial
to us there." ,

Bles was glad to hear her say " us."

She continued after a pause:

" May I venture to ask a favor of you? "

" Certainly," he responded.

" My name is Wynn," lowering her voice slightly and
leaning toward him. " There are so many ahead of me
and I am in a hurry to get to my school; but I must see
the Senator — couldn't I go in with you? I think I
might be of service in this matter of the examination, and
then perhaps I 'd get a chance to say a word for myself."

" I 'd be very glad to have you come," said Bles,
cordially.

The secretary hesitated a little when the two started
in, but Miss Wynn's air was so quietly assured that he
yielded.

Senator Smith looked at the tall, straight black man
with his smooth skin and frank eyes. And for a second
time that morning a vision of his own youth dimmed his
eyes. But he spoke coldly:

" Mr. Alwyn, I believe."

MISS CAROLINE WYNN 237

" Yes, sir."

"And—"

" My friend, Miss Wynn."

The Senator glanced at Miss Wynn and she bowed
demurely. Then he turned to Alwyn.

" Well, Mr. Alwyn, Washington is a bad place to start
in the world."

Bles looked surprised and incredulous. He could con
ceive of no finer starting-place, but he said nothing.

" It is a grave," continued the Senator, " of ambitions
and ideals. You would far better go back to Alabama "
— pausing and looking at the young man keenly < — " but
you won't — you won't — not yet, at any rate." And
Bles shook his head slowly.

"No — well, what can I do for you?"

" I want work — I '11 do anything."

" No, you '11 do one thing — be a clerk, and then if you
have the right stuff in you you will throw up that job in
a year and start again."

" I 'd like at least to try it, sir."

" Well, I can't help you much there ; that 's in
civil-service, and you must take the examination."

" I have, sir."

" So? Where, and what mark? "

" In the Treasury Department ; I got a mark of ninety-
three."

"What! — and no appointment?" The Senator was
incredulous.

"No, sir; not yet."

Here Miss Wynn interposed.

" You see, Senator," she said, " civil-service rules are
not always impervious to race prejudice."

The Senator frowned.

238 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Do you mean to intimate that Mr. Alwyn's appoint
ment is held up because he is colored? "

" I do."

" Well — well ! " The Senator rang for a clerk.

" Get me the Treasury on the telephone."

In a moment the bell rang.

"I want Mr. Cole. Is that you, Mr. Cole? Good-
morning. Have you a young man named Alwyn on your
eligible list? What? Yes?" A pause. "Indeed?
Well, why has he no appointment? Of course, I know,
he 's a Negro. Yes, I desire it very much — thank you."

" You '11 get an appointment to-morrow morning,"
and the Senator rose. "How is my sister?" he asked
absently.

" She was looking worried, but hopeful of the new en
dowment when I left." The Senator held out his hand;
Bles took it and then remembered.

" Oh, I beg pardon, but Miss Wynn wanted a word on
another matter."

The Senator turned to Miss Wynn.

" I am a school-teacher, Senator Smith, and like all
the rest of us I am deeply interested in the appointment
of the new school-board."

" But you know the district committee attends to those
things," said the Senator hastily. " And then, too, I
believe there is talk of abolishing the school-board and
concentrating power in the hands of the superintendent."

" Precisely," said Miss Wynn. " And I came to tell
you, Senator Smith, that the interests which are back of
this attack upon the schools are no friends of yours."
Miss Wynn extracted from her reticule a typewritten
paper.

He took the paper and read it intently. Then he

MISS CAROLINE WYNN 239

keenly scrutinized the young woman, and she steadily re
turned his regard.

" How am I to know this is true? "

" Follow it up and see."

He mused.

" Where did you get these facts ? " he asked suddenly.

She smiled.

" It is hardly necessary to say."

" And yet," he persisted, " if I were sure of its source
I would know my ground better and — my obligation to
you would be greater."

She laughed and glanced toward Alwyn. He had
moved out of ear-shot and was waiting by the window.

" I am a teacher in the M Street High School," she
said, " and we have some intelligent boys there who work
their way through."

" Yes," said the Senator.

" Some," continued Miss Wynn, tapping her boot on
the carpet, " some — wait on table."

The Senator slowly put the paper in his pocket.

" And now," he said, " Miss Wynn, what can I do for
you?"

She looked at him.

" If Judge Haynes is reappointed to the school-board
I shall probably continue to teach in the M Street High
School," she said slowly.

The Senator made a memorandum and said:

" I shall not forget Miss Wynn — nor her friends."
And he bowed, glancing at Alwyn.

The woman contemplated Bles in momentary perplex
ity, then bowing in turn, left. Bles followed, debat
ing just what he ought to say, how far he might venture
to accompany her, what — but she easily settled it all.

240 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" I thank you — good-bye," she said briefly at the door,
and was gone. Bles did not know whether to feel relieved
or provoked, or disappointed, and by way of compromise
felt something of all three.

The next morning he received notice of his appoint
ment to a clerkship in the Treasury Department, at a
salary of nine hundred dollars. The sum seemed fabulous
and he was in the seventh heaven. For many days the
consciousness of wealth, the new duties, the street scenes,
and the city life kept him more than busy. He planned
to study, and arranged with a professor at Howard Uni
versity to guide him. He bought an armful of books and
a desk, and plunged desperately to work.

Gradually as he became used to the office routine, and
in the hours when he was weary of study, he began to find
time hanging a little heavily on his hands ; indeed — al
though he would not acknowledge it — he was getting
lonesome, homesick, amid the myriad men of a busy city.
He argued to himself that this was absurd, and yet he
knew that he was longing for human companionship.
When he looked about him for fellowship he found himself
in a strange dilemma: those black folk in whom he rec
ognized the old sweet-tempered Negro traits, had also
looser, uglier manners than he was accustomed to, from
which he shrank. The uE£^£-£j^£ses of Negroes, on the
other haueb. ne s^ observed^from afar^they were stran
gers not only in acquaintance butjbecause of a curious
coldness and aloofness that made them cease to seem his
own kind; they seemed almost at times like black white
people — strangers in way and thought.

He tried to shake off this feeling but it clung, and at
last in sheer desperation, he promised to go out of a
night with a fellow clerk who rather boasted of the

MISS CAROLINE WYNN

" people " he knew. He was soon tired of the strange
company, and had turned to go home, when he met a
newcomer in the doorway.

" Why, hello, Sam ! Sam Stillings ! " he exclaimed de
lightedly, and was soon grasping the hand of a slim, well-
dressed man of perhaps thirty, with yellow face, curling
hair, and shifting eyes.

"Well, of all things, Bles — er — ah — Mr. Alwyn!
Thought you were hoeing cotton."

Bles laughed and continued shaking his hand. He was
foolishly glad to see the former Cresswell butler, whom
he had known but slightly. His face brought back un-
uttered things that made his heart beat faster and
a yearning surge within him.

" I thought you went to Chicago," cried Bles.

" I did, but goin' into politics — having entered the
political field, I came here. And you graduated, I sup
pose, and all that? "

" No," Bles admitted a little sadly, as he told of his
coming north, and of Senator Smith's influence. " But —
but how are — all ? "

Abruptly Sam hooked his arm into Alwyn's and pulled
him with him down the street. Stillings was a type. Up
from servility and menial service he was struggling to
climb to money and power. He was shrewd, willing to
stoop to anything in order to win. The very slights and
humiliations of prejudice he turned to his advantage.
When he learned all the particulars of Alwyn's visit to
Senator Smith and his cordial reception he judged it best
to keep in touch with this young man, and he forthwith
invited Bles to accompany him the next night to the
Fifteenth Street Presbyterian Church.

"You'll find the best people there," he said; "the

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

aristocracy. The Treble Clef gives a concert, and every
body that 's anybody will be there."

They met again the following evening and proceeded to
the church. It was a simple but pleasant auditorium,
nearly filled with well-dressed people. \ During the pro
gramme Bles applauded vociferously every number that
pleased him, which is to say, every one — and stamped
his feet, until he realized that he was attracting consider
able attention to himself. Then the entertainment
straightway lost all its charm; he grew painfully embar
rassed, and for the remainder of the evening was awk
wardly self-conscious. ! When all was over, the audience
rose leisurely and stood in little knots and eddies, laugh
ing and talking; many moved forward to say a word to
the singers and players. Stillings stepped aside to a
group of men, and Bles was left miserably alone. * A man
came to him, a white-faced man, with slightly curling
close gray hair, and high-bred ascetic countenance.

" You are a stranger? " he asked pleasantly, and Bles
liked him.

" Yes, sir," he answered, and they fell to talking. He
discovered that this was the pastor of the church.

" Do you know no one in town ? "

" One or two of my fellow clerks and Mr. Stillings.
Oh, yes, I 've met Miss Wynn."

" Why, here is Miss Wynn now."

Bles turned. She was right behind him, the centre of
a group. She turned, slowly, and smiled.

" Oh ! " she uttered twice, but with difference cadence.
Then something like amusement lurked a moment in her
eye, and she quietly presented Bles to her friends, while
Stillings hovered unnoticed in the offing :

" Miss Jones — Mr. Alwyn of — " she paused a sec
ond — " Alabama. Miss Taylor — Mr. Alwyn — and,"

MISS CAROLINE WYNN

with a backward curving of her neck, " Mr. Teerswell,"
and so on. Mr. Teerswell was handsome and indolent,
with indecision in his face and a cynical voice. In a
moment Bles felt the subtle antagonism of the group. He
was an intruder. Mr. Teerswell nodded easily and turned
away, continuing his conversation with the ladies.

But Miss Wynn was perverse and interrupted. " I
saw you enjoyed the concert, Mr. Alwyn," she said, and
one of the young ladies rippled audibly. Bles darkened
painfully, realizing that these people must have been
just behind him. But he answered frankly:

" Yes, I did immensely — I hope I did n't disturb you ;
you see, I 'm not used to hearing such singing."

Mr. Teerswell, compelled to listen, laughed drily.

" Plantation melodies, I suppose, are more your spe
cialty," he said with a slight cadence.

" Yes," said Bles simply. A slight pause ensued.

Then came the surprise of the evening for Bles Alwyn.
Even his inexperienced eye could discern that Miss Wynn
was very popular, and that most of the men were rivals
for her attentions.

" Mr. Alwyn," she said graciously, rising, " I 'm going
to trouble you to see me to my door ; it 's only a block.
Good-night, all ! " she called, but she bowed to Mr.
Teerswell.

Miss Wynn placed her hand lightly on Bles's arm, and
for a moment he paused. A thrill ran through him as he
felt again the weight of a little hand and saw beside him
the dark beautiful eyes of a girl. He felt again the warm
quiver of her body. Then he awoke to the lighted church
and the moving, well-dressed throng. The hand on his
arm was not so small; but it was well-gloved, and some
how the fancy struck him that it was a cold hand and not
always sympathetic in its touch.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE TRAINING OF ZORA

I DID not know the world was so large," remarked
Zora as she and Mrs. Vanderpool flew east and
northward on the New York-New Orleans limited.
For a long time the girl had given herself up to the sheer
delight of motion. Gazing from the window, she com
pared the lands she passed with the lands she knew: not
ing the formation of the cotton; the kind and growth of
the trees ; the state of the roads. Then the comparisons
became infinite, endless; the world stretched on and on
until it seemed mere distance, and she suddenly realized
how vast a thing it was and spoke.

Mrs. Vanderpool was amused. " It 's much smaller
than one would think," she responded.

When they came to Atlanta Zora stared and wrinkled
her brows. It was her first large city. The other towns
were replicas of Toomsville; strange in number, not in
kind; but this was different, and she could not under
stand it. It seemed senseless and unreasonable, and yet
so strangely so that she was at a loss to ask questions.
She was very solemn as they rode on and night came
down with dreams.

She awoke in Washington to new fairylands and won
ders ; the endless going and coming of men ; great piles

]

THE TRAINING OF ZORA 245

that challenged heaven, and homes crowded on homes till
one could not believe that they were full of living things.
They rolled by Baltimore and Philadelphia, and she
talked of every-day matters: of the sky which alone stood
steadfast amid whirling change; of bits of empty earth
that shook themselves here and there loose from their
burden of men, and lay naked in the cold shining sunlight.

All the while the greater questions were beating and
curling and building themselves back in her brain, and
above all she was wondering why no one had told her
before of all this mighty world. Mrs. Vanderpool, to
whom it seemed too familiar for comment, had said no
word; or, if she had spoken, Zora's ears had not been
tuned to understand; and as they flew toward the tower
ing ramparts of New York, she sat up big with the terror
of a new thought: suppose this world were full yet of
things she did not know nor dream of? How could she
find out? She must know.

When finally they were settled in New York and sat
high up on the Fifth Avenue front of the hotel, gradually
the inarticulate questioning found words, albeit strange
ones.

" It reminds me of the swamp," she said.

Mrs. Vanderpool, just returned from a shopping tour,
burst into laughter.

" It is — but I marvel at your penetration."

" I mean, it is moving — always moving."

" The swamp seemed to me unearthly still."

" Yes — yes," cried Zora, eagerly, brushing back the
rumpled hair ; " and so did the city, at first, to me."

"Still! New York?"

" Yes. You see, I saw the buildings and forgot the
men; and the buildings were so tall and silent against

246 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Heaven. And then I came to see the people, and suddenly
I knew the city was like the swamp, always restless and
changing."

"And more beautiful?" suggested Mrs. Vanderpool,
slipping her arms into her lounging-robe.

" Oh, no ; not nearly so beautiful. And yet — more
interesting." Then with a puzzled look: "I wonder
why?"

" Perhaps because it 's people and not things."

" It 's people in the swamp," asserted Zora, dreamily,
smoothing out the pillows of the couch, " ' little people,'
I call them. The difference is, I think, that there I know
how the story will come out; everything is changing, but
I know how and why and from what and to what. Now
here, everything seems to be happening; but what is it
that is happening? "

" You must know what has happened, to know what
may happen," said Mrs. Vanderpool.

" But how can I know? "

" I '11 get you some books to-morrow."

" I 'd like to know what it means," wistfully.

" It is meaningless." The woman's cynicism was lost
upon Zora, of course, but it possessed the salutary effect
of stimulating the girl's thoughts, encouraging her to dis
cover for herself.

" I think' not ; so much must mean something," she
protested.

Zora gathered up the clothes and things and shaded
the windows, glancing the while down on the street.

" Everybody is going, going," she murmured. " I
wonder where. Don't they ever get there ? "

" Few arrive," said Mrs. Vanderpool. Zora softly bent
and passed her cool soft hand over her forehead.

THE TRAINING OF ZORA 247

" Then why do they go? "

" The zest of the search, perhaps."

" No," said Zora as she noiselessly left the room and
closed the door ; " no, they are searching for something
they have lost. Perhaps they, too, are searching for the
Way," and the tears blinded her eyes.

Mrs. Vanderpool lay in the quiet darkened room with a
puzzled smile on her lips. A month ago she had not
dreamed that human interest in anybody would take so
strong a hold upon her as her liking for Zora had done.
She was a woman of unusual personal charm, but her own
interest and affections were seldom stirred. Had she been
compelled to earn a living she would have made a success
ful teacher or manipulator of men. As it was, she viewed
the human scene with detached and cynical interest. She
had no children, few near relations, a husband who went
his way and still was a gentleman.

Essentially Mrs. Vanderpool was unmoral. She held
the code of her social set with sportsmanlike honor; but
even beyond this she stooped to no intrigue, because none
interested her. She had all the elements of power save
the motive for doing anything in particular. For the
first time, perhaps, Zora gave her life a peculiar human
interest. She did not love the girl, but she was intensely
interested in her; some of the interest was selfish, for
Zora was going to be a perfect maid. The girl's language
came to be more and more like Mrs. Vanderpool's ; her
dress and taste in adornment had been Mrs. VanderpooPs
first care, and it led to a curious training in art and sense
of beauty until the lady now and then found herself learner
before the quick suggestiveness of Zora's mind.

When Mrs. Harry Cresswell called a month or so later
the talk naturally included mention of Zora. Mary was

248 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

happy and vivacious, and noted the girl's rapid
development.

"I wonder what I shall make out of her?" queried
Mrs. Vanderpool. " Do you know, I believe I could mould
her into a lady if she were not black."

Mary Cresswell laughed. "With that hair?"

" It has artistic possibilities. You should have seen
my hair-dresser's face when I told her to do it up. Her
face and Zora's were a pantomine for the gods. Yet it
was done. It lay in some great twisted cloud and in that
black net gown of mine Zora was simply magnificent.
Her form is perfect, her height is regal, her skin is satin,
and my jewels found a resting place at last. Jewels, you
know, dear, were never meant for white folk. I was
tempted to take her to the box at the opera and let New
York break its impudent neck."

Mary was shocked.

"But, Mrs. Vanderpool," she protested, "is it right?
Is it fair? Why should you spoil this black girl and put
impossible ideas into her head? You can make her a
perfect maid, but she can never be much more in America."

" She is a perfect maid now ; that 's the miracle of it —
she 's that deft and quick and quiet and thoughtful ! The
hotel employees think her perfect ; my friends rave —
really, I 'm the most blessed of women. But do you know
I like the girl? I — well, I think of her future."

" It.'s wrong to treat her as you do. You make her
an equal. Her room is one of the best and filled with
books and bric-a-brac. She sometimes eats with you —
is your companion, in fact."

" What of it? She loves to read, and I guide her while
she keeps me up on the latest stuff. She can talk much bet
ter than many of my friends and then she piques my

THE TRAINING OF ZORA 249

curiosity : she 's a sort of intellectual sauce that stirs my
rapidly failing mental appetite. I think that as soon as
I can make up my mind to spare her, I '11 take her to
France and marry her off in the colonies."

" Well, that 's possible ; but one does n't easily give up
good servants. By the way, I learn from Miss Smith that
the boy, Bles Alwyn, in whom Zora was so interested, is
a clerk in the Treasury Department at Washington."

" Indeed ! I 'm going to Washington this winter ; I '11
look him over and see if he 's worth Zora — which I
greatly doubt."

Mrs. Cresswell pursed her lips and changed the
subject.

" Have you seen the Easterlys ? "

" The ladies left their cards — they are quite impos
sible. Mr. Easterly calls this afternoon. I can't imagine
why, but he asked for an appointment. Will you go
South with Mr. Cresswell? I 'm glad to hear he 's enter
ing politics."

" No, I shall do some early house hunting in Washing
ton," said Mrs. Cresswell, rising as Mr. Easterly was
announced.

Mr. Easterly was not at home in Mrs. Vanderpool's
presence. She spoke a language different from his, and
she had shown a disconcerting way, in the few times when
he had spoken with her, of letting the weight of the con
versation rest on him. He felt very distinctly that Mrs.
Vanderpool was not particularly desirous of his company,
nor that of his family. Nevertheless, he needed Mrs.
Vanderpool's influence just now, and he was willing to
pay considerable for it. Once under obligation to him her
services would be very valuable. He was glad to find
Mrs. Cresswell there. It showed that the Cresswells were

250 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

still intimate, and the Cresswells were bound to him and
his interests by strong ties. He bowed as Mrs, Cress-
well left, and then did not beat around the bush because,
in this case, he did not know how.

" Mrs. Vanderpool, I need your aid."

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled politely, and murmured some
thing.

" We are, you know, in the midst of a rather warm-
presidential campaign," continued Mr. Easterly.

"Yes?" with polite interest.

" We are going to win easily, but our majority in Con
gress for certain matters will depend on the attitude of
Southerners and you usually spend the winters in Wash
ington. If, now, you could drop a word here and
there — "

"But why should I?" asked Mrs. Vanderpool.

" Mrs. Vanderpool, to be frank, I know some excel
lent investments that your influence in this line would
help. I take it you 're not so rich but that — "

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled faintly.

" Really, Mr. Easterly, I know little about such mat
ters and care less. I have food and clothes. Why worry
with more? "

Mr. Easterly half expected this and he determined to
deliver his last shot on the run. He arose with a dis
appointed air.

" Of course, Mrs. Vanderpool, I see how it is : you
have plenty and one can't expect your services or in
fluence for nothing. It had occurred to me that your
husband might like something political; but I presume
not."

" Something political? "

" Yes. You see, it 's barely possible, for instance, that

THE TRAINING OF ZORA 251

there will be a change in the French ambassadorship.
The present ambassador is old and — well, I don't know,
but as I say, it 's possible. Of course though, that may
not appeal to you, and I can only beg your good offices
in charity if — if you see your way to help us. Well,
I must be going."

" What is — I thought the President appointed ambas
sadors."

" To be sure, but we appoint Presidents," laughed Mr.
Easterly. " Good-day. I shall hope to .see you in Wash
ington."

" Good-day," Mrs. Vanderpool returned absently.

After he had gone she walked slowly to Zora's room
and opened the door. For a long time«she stood quietly
looking in. Zora was curled in a chair with a book. She
was in dreamland; in a world of books builded thought
fully for her by Mrs. Vanderpool, and before that by
Miss Smith. Her work took but little of her time and
left hours for reading and thinking. In that thought-
life, more and more her real living centred.

Hour after hour, day after day, she lay buried, deaf
and dumb to all else. Her heart cried, up on the World's
four corners of the Way, and to it came the Vision Splen
did. She gossiped with old Herodotus across the earth
to the black and blameless Ethiopians; she saw the
sculptured glories of Phidias marbled amid the splendor
of the swamp: she listened to Demosthenes and walked
the Appian Way with Cornelia — while all New York
streamed beneath her window.

She saw the drunken Goths reel upon Rome and heard
the careless Negroes yodle as they galloped to Tooms-
ville. Paris, she knew, — wonderful, haunting Paris: the
Paris of Clovis, and St. Louis; of Louis the Great, and

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Napoleon III; of Balzac, and her own Dumas. She
tasted the mud and comfort of thick old London, and
the while wept with Jeremiah and sang with Deborah,
Semiramis, and Atala. Mary of Scotland and Joan of
Arc held her dark hands in theirs, and Kings lifted up
their sceptres.

She walked on worlds, and worlds of worlds, and heard
there in her little room the tread of armies, the paeans
of victory, the breaking of hearts, and the music of the
spheres.

Mrs. Vanderpool watched her a while.

" Zora," she presently broke into the girl's absorption,
" how would we like to be Ambassador to France ? "

CHAPTER XXIV

THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN

MISS CAROLINE WYNN of Washington had
little faith in the world and its people. Nor
was this wholly her fault. [The world had dealt
cruelly with the young dreams and youthful ambitions
of the girl; partly with its usual heartlessness, partly
with that cynical and deadening reserve fund which it
has to-day for its darker peoples.J The girl had bitterly
resented her experiences at first: she was brilliant and
well-trained; she had a real talent for sculpture, and
had studied considerably; she was sprung from at least
three generations of respectable mulattoes, who had left
a little competence which yielded her three or four hun
dred dollars a year. Furthermore, while not precisely
pretty, she was good-looking and interesting, and she had
acquired the marks and insignia of good breeding. Per
haps she wore her manners just a trifle consciously;
perhaps she was a little morbid that she would fail of
recognition as a lady. Nor was this unnatural: her
brown skin invited a different assumption. Despite this
almost unconscious mental aggressiveness, she was un
usually presentable and always well-gowned and pleasant
of speech. Yet she found nearly all careers closed to
her. At first it seemed accidental, the luck of life. Then

[253]

254 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

she attributed it to her sex; but at last she was sure
that, beyond chance and womanhood, it was the color-
line that was hemming her in. Once convinced of this,
she let her imagination play and saw the line even where
it did not exist.

With her bit of property and brilliant parts she had had
many suitors but they had been refused one after another
for reasons she could hardly have explained. For years
now Tom Teerswell had been her escort. Whether or not
Caroline Wynn would ever marry him was a perennial
subject of speculation among their friends and it usually
ended in the verdict that she could not afford it — that
it was financially impossible.

Nevertheless, the two were usually seen in public to
gether, and although she often showed her quiet mastery
of the situation, seldom had she snubbed him so openly
as at the Treble Clef concert.

Teerswell was furious and began to plot vengeance;
but Miss Wynn was attracted by the personality of Bles
Alwyn. Southern country Negroes were rare in her set,
but here was a man of intelligence and keenness coupled
with an amazing frankness and modesty, and perceptibly
shadowed by sorrow. The combination was, so far as
she had observed, both rare and temporary and she was
disposed to watch it in this case purely as a matter of
intellectual curiosity. At the door of her home, there
fore, after a walk of unusual interest, she said:

" I 'm going to have a few friends in next Tuesday
night; won't you come, Mr. Alwyn?" And Mr. Alwyn
said that he would.

Next morning Miss Wynn rather repented her hasty
invitation, but of course nothing could be done now.
Nothing? Well, there was one thing; and she went to

THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN 255

the telephone. A suggestion to Bles that he might
profitably extend his acquaintance sent him to a certain
tailor shop kept by a friend of hers ; a word to the tailor
guarded against the least suspicion of intrigue entering
Bles's head.

It turned out quite as Miss Wynn had designed; Mr.
Grey, the tailor, gave Bles some points on dressing, and
made him, Southern fashion, a frock-coat for dress wear
that set off his fine figure. On the night of the gathering
at Miss Wynn's Bles dressed with care, hesitating long
over a necktie, but at last choosing one which he had
recently purchased and which pleased him particularly.
He was prompt to the minute and was consequently the
first guest; but Miss Wynn's greeting was so quietly
cordial that his embarrassment soon fled. She looked
him over at leisure and sighed at his tie; otherwise he
was thoroughly presentable according to the strictest
Washington standard.

They sat down and talked of generalities. Then an
idea occurring to her, she conducted the conversation by
devious paths to ties and asked Alwyn if he had heard
of the fad of collecting ties. He had not, and she showed
him a sofa pillow.

" Your tie quite attracted me," she said ; " it would
make just the dash of color I need in my new pillow."

" You may have it and welcome. I '11 send — "

" Oh, no ! A bird in the hand, you know. I '11 trade
with you now for another I have."

" Done ! "

The exchange was soon made, Miss Wynn tying the
new one herself and sticking a small carved pin in it.
Bles slowly sat down again, and after a pause said,
" Thank you."

256 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

She looked up quickly, but he seemed quite serious and
good-natured.

" You see," he explained, " in the country we don't
know much about ties."

The well-balanced Miss Wynn for a moment lost her
aplomb, but only for a moment.

" We must all learn," she replied with penetration, and
so their friendship was established.

The company now began to gather, and soon the double
parlor held an assemblage of twenty-five or thirty per
sons. They formed a picturesque group: conventional
but graceful in dress; animated in movement; full of
good-natured laughter, but quite un-American in the beau
tiful modulation of their speaking tones ; chiefly noticeable,
however, to a stranger, in the vast variety of color in
skin, which imparted to the throng a piquant and un
usual interest. Every color was here; from the dark
brown of Alwyn, who was customarily accounted black,
to the pale pink-white of Miss Jones, who could " pass for
white " when she would, and found her greatest difficulties
when she was trying to " pass " for black. Midway be
tween these two extremes lay the sallow pastor of the
church, the creamy Miss Williams, the golden yellow of
Mr. Teerswell, the golden brown of Miss Johnson, and
the velvet brown of Mr. Grey. The guests themselves
did not notice this ; they were used to asking one's color
as one asks of height and weight; it was simply an extra
dimension in their world whereby to classify men.

Beyond this and their hair, there was little to distin
guish them from a modern group of men and women. The
speech was a softened English, purely and, on the whole,
correctly spoken — so much so that it seemed at first
almost unfamiliar to Bles, and he experienced again the

THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN 257

uncomfortable feeling of being among strangers. Then,
too, he missed the loud but hearty good-nature of what
he had always called " his people." To be sure, a more
experienced observer might have noted a lively, excitable
tropical temperament set and cast in a cold Northern
mould, and yet flashing fire now and then in a sudden
anomalous outbursting. But Bles missed this ; he seemed
to have slipped and lost his bearings, and the character
istics of his simple world were rolling curiously about.
Here stood a black man with a white man's voice, and
yonder a white woman with a Negro's musical cadences ;
and yet again, a brown girl with exactly Miss Cresswell's
air, and yonder, Miss Williams, with Zora's wistful wil-
fulness.

Bles was bewildered and silent, and his great undying
sorrow sank on his heart with sickening hopeless weight.
His hands got in the way, and he found no natural nook
in all those wide and tastefully furnished rooms. Once
he discovered himself standing by a marble statue of a
nude woman, and he edged away; then he stumbled over
a rug and saved himself only to step on Miss Jones's
silken train. Miss Jones's smile of pardon was wintry.
When he did approach a group and listen, they seemed
speaking of things foreign to him — usually of people he
did not know, their homes, their doings, their daughters
and their fathers. They seemed to know people intimately
who lived far away.

" You mean the Smiths of Boston? " asked Miss Jones.

" No, of Cleveland. They 're not related."

" I heard that McGhee of St. Paul will be in the city
next week with his daughter."

" Yes, and the Bentleys of Chicago."

Bles passed on. He was disappointed. He was full

258 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

of things to say, of mighty matters to discuss; he felt
like stopping these people and crying : " Ho ! What
of the morning? How goes the great battle for black
men's rights? I have came with messages from the host,
to you who guard the mountain tops."

Apparently they were not discussing or caring about
^ the Problem." He grew disgusted and was edging to
ward the cloor when he encountered his hostess.

" Is all well with you, Mr. Alwyn ? " she asked lightly.

"No, I'm not enjoying myself," said Bles, truthfully.

" Delicious ! And why not? "

He regarded her earnestly.

" There are so many things to talk about," he said ;
" earnest things ; things of importance. I — I think
when our people — " he hesitated. Our? — was our right ?
But he went on : " When our people meet we ought to talk
of our situation, and what to do and — "

Miss Wynn continued to smile.

" We 're all talking of it all the time," she said.

He looked incredulous.

" Yes, we are," she insisted. " We veil it a little, and
laugh as lightly as we can ; but there is only one thought
in this room, and that 's grave and serious enough to
suit even you, and quite your daily topic,"

" But I don't understand."

" Ah, there 's the rub. You have n't learned our lan
guage yet. We don't just blurt into the Negro Prob
lem ; that 's voted bad form. We leave that to our white
friends. We saunter to it sideways, touch it delicately
because " — - her face became a little graver — " because,
you see, it hurts."

Bles stood thoughtful and abashed.

"I — I think I understand," he gravely said at last.

THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN 259

" Come here," she said with a sudden turn, and they
joined an absorbed group in the midst of a conversa
tion.

" — Thinking of sending Jessie to Bryn Mawr," Bles
heard Miss Jones saying.

"Could she pass?"

" Oh, they might think her Spanish."

" But it 's a snobbish place and she would have to give
up all her friends."

" Yes, Freddie could scarcely visit — ' the rest was
lost.

" Which, being interpreted," whispered Miss Wynn,
" means that Bryn Mawr draws the color line while we
at times surmount it."

They moved on to another group.

" — Splendid draughtsman," a man was saying, " and
passed at the head of the crowd; but, of course, he has
no chance."

" Why, it 's civil-service, is n't it ? "

"It is. But what of that? There was Watson — "

Miss Wynn did not pause. She whispered : " This is
the tale of Civil Service Reform, and how this mighty
government gets rid of black men who know too much."

" But — " Bles tried to protest.

" Hush," Miss Wynn commanded and they joined the
group about the piano. Teerswell, who was speaking,
affected not to notice them, and continued :

" — I tell you, it 's got to come. We must act inde
pendently and not be bought by a few offices."

" That 9s all well enough for you to talk, Teerswell ;
you have no wife and babies dependant on you. Why
should we who have sacrifice the substance for the
shadow?"

260 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" You see, the Judge has got the substance," laughed
Teerswell. " Still I insist : divide and conquer."

" Nonsense ! Unite, and keep."

Bles was puzzled.

" They 're talking of the coming campaign," said Miss
Wynn. "

" What ! " exclaimed Bles aloud. " You don't mean
that any one can advise a black man to vote the Demo
cratic ticket? "

An elderly man turned to them.

" Thank you, sir," he said; " that is just my attitude;
I fought for my freedom. I know what slavery is ; may
I forget God when I vote for traitors and slave-holders."

The discussion waxed warm and Miss Wynn turned
away and sought Miss Jones.

"Come, my dear," she said, "it's 'The Problem'
again." They sauntered away toward a ring of laughter.

The discussion thus begun at Miss Wynn's did not end
there. It was on the eve of the great party conventions,
and the next night Sam Stillings came around to get
some crumbs from this assembly of the inner circle, into
which Alwyn had been so unaccountably snatched, and
outside of which, despite his endeavors, Stillings lingered
and seemed destined to linger. But Stillings was a pa
tient, resolute man beneath his deferential exterior, and
he saw in Bles a stepping stone. So he began to drop
in at his lodgings and to-night invited him to the Bethel
Literary.

" What 's that? " asked Bles.

" A debating club — oldest in the city ; the best people
all attend."

Bles hesitated. He had half made up his mind that
this was the proper time to call on Miss Wynn. He told

THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN 261

Stillings so, and told him also of the evening and the
discussion.

" Why, that 's the subject up to-night," Stillings de
clared, " and Miss Wynn will be sure to be there. You
can make your call later. Perhaps you wouldn't mind
taking me when you call." Alwyn reached for his hat.

When they arrived, the basement of the great church
was filling with a throng of men and women. Soon the
officers and the speaker of the evening appeared. The
president was a brown woman who spoke easily and well,
and introduced the main speaker. He was a tall, thin,
hatchet-faced black man, clean shaven and well dressed,
a lawyer by profession. His theme was " The Democratic
Party and the Negro." His argument was cool, carefully
reasoned, and plausible. He was evidently feeling for the
sympathy of his audience, and while they were not en
thusiastic, they warmed to him gradually and he certainly
was strongly impressing them.

Bles was thinking. He sat in the back of the hall,
tense, alert, nervous. As the speaker progressed a white
man came in and sat down beside him. He was spectacled,
with bushy eyebrows and a sleepy look. But he did not
sleep. He was very observant.

" Who 's speaking? " he asked Bles, and Bles told him.
Then he inquired about one or two other persons. Bles
could not inform him, but Stillings could and did. Still
ings seemed willing to devote considerable time to him.

Bles forgot the man. He was almost crouching for
a spring, and no sooner had the speaker, with a really
fine apostrophe to independence and reason in voting,
sat down, than Bles was on his feet, walking forward. His
form was commanding, his voice deep and musical, and
his earnestness terribly evident. He hardly waited for

262 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

recognition from the slightly astonished president, but
fairly burst into speech.

" I am from Alabama," he began earnestly, " and I
know the Democratic Party." Then he told of govern
ment and conditions in the Black Belt, of the lying, op
pression, and helplessness of the sodden black masses;
then, turning, he reminded them of the history of slav
ery. Finally, he pointed to Lincoln's picture and to
Sumner's and mentioned other white friends.

" And, my brothers, they are not all dead yet. The
gentleman spoke of Senator Smith and blamed and ridi
culed him. I know Senator Smith but slightly, but I do
know his sister well."

Dropping to simple narrative, he told of Miss Smith
and of his coming to school; and if his audience felt the
great depth of emotion that welled beneath his quiet,
almost hesitating, address, it was not simply because of
what he did say, but because, too, of the unspoken story
that lay too deep for words. He spoke for nearly an
hour, and when he stopped, for a moment his hearers
sighed and then sprang into a whirlwind of applause.
They shouted, clapped, and waved while he sat in blank
amazement, and was with difficulty forced to the rostrum
to bow again and again. The spectacled white man leaned
over to Stillings.

"Who is he?" he asked. Stillings told him. The
man noted the name and went quietly out.

Miss Wynn sat lost in thought, and Teerswell beside
her fumed. She was not easily moved, but that speech
had moved her. If he could thus stir men and not be him
self swayed, she mused, he would be — invincible.! But
to-night he was moved as greatly as his hearers had been,
and that was dangerous. If his intense belief happened

THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN

to be popular, all right; but if not? She frowned. He
was worth watching, she concluded; quite worth watch
ing, and perhaps worth guiding.

When Alwyn accompanied her home that night, Miss
Wynn set herself to know him better for she suspected
that he might be a coming man. The best preliminary
to her purpose was, she knew, to speak frankly of her
self, and that she did. She told him of her youth and
training, her ambitions, her disappointments. Quite un
consciously her cynicism crept to the fore, until in word
and tone she had almost scoffed at many things that
Alwyn held true and dear. The touch was too light, the
meaning too elusive, for Alwyn to grasp always the point
of attack; but somehow he got the distant impression
that Miss Wynn had little faith in Truth and Goodness
and Love. Vaguely shocked he grew so silent that she
noticed it and concluded she had said too much. But he
pursued the subject.

" Surely there must be many friends of our race willing
to stand for the right and sacrifice for it? "

She laughed unpleasantly, almost mockingly.

"Where?"

" Well — there 's Miss Smith."

" She gets a salary, does n't she ? "

" A very small one."

" About as large as she could earn North, I don't
doubt."

" But the unselfish work she does — the utter sacri
fice? "

" Oh, well, we '11 omit Alabama, and admit the excep
tion."

" Well, here, in Washington — there 's your friend, the
Judge, who has befriended you so, as you admit."

264 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

She laughed again.

"You remember our visit to Senator Smith?"

" Yes."

" Well, it got the Judge his reappointment to the
school board."

"He deserved it, didn't he?"

"I* deserved it," she said luxuriously, hugging her
knee and smiling ; " you see, his appointment meant
mine."

"Well, what of it — didn't— "

" Listen," she cut in a little sharply. " Once a young
brown girl, with boundless faith in white folks, went to a
Judge's office to ask for an appointment which she de
served. There was no one there. The benign old Judge
with his saintly face and white hair suggested that she
lay aside her wraps and spend the afternoon."

Bles arose to his feet.

"What — what did you do?" he asked.

" Sit down — there 's a good boy." I said : * Judge,
a friend is expecting me at two,' it was then half-past one,
* would I not best telephone ? ' "

" ' Step right into the booth,' said the Judge, quite
indulgently." Miss Wynn leaned back, and Bles felt his
heart sinking ; but he said nothing. " And then," she
continued, " I telephoned the Judge's wife that he was
anxious to see her on a matter of urgent business ;
namely, my appointment." She gazed reflectively out of
the window. " You should have seen his face when I told
him," she concluded. " I was appointed."

But Bles asked coldly:

" Why did n't you have him arrested ? "

"For what? And suppose I had?"

Bles threw out his arms helplessly.

THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN 265

" Oh! it is n't as bad as that all over the world, is it? "
" It 's worse," affirmed Miss Wynn, quietly positive.
"And you are still friendly with him?"
" What would you have ? I use the world ; I did not
make it; I did not choose it. He is the world. Through
him I earn my bread and butter. I have shown him his
place. Shall I try in addition to reform? Shall I make
him an enemy? I have neither time nor inclination.
Shall I resign and beg, or go tilting at windmills? If
he were the only one it would be different ; but they 're
all alike." Her face grew hard. " Have I shocked
you? " she said as they went toward the door.

" No," he answered slowly. " But I still — believe in
the world."

" You are young yet, my friend," she lightly replied.
"And besides, that good Miss Smith has gone and grafted
a New England conscience on a tropical heart, and —
dear me ! — but it 's a gorgeous misfit. Good-bye —
come again." She bowed him graciously out, and paused
to take the mail from the box. There was, among many
others, a letter from Senator Smith.

CHAPTER XXV

THE CAMPAIGN

MR. EASTERLY sat in Mrs. Vanderpool's apart
ments in the New Willard, Washington, drinking
tea. His hostess was saying rather carelessly:

" Do you know, Mr. Vanderpool has developed a quite
unaccountable liking for the idea of being Ambassador
to France? "

*' Dear me ! " mildly exclaimed Mr. Easterly, helping
himself liberally to cakes. " I do hope the thing can
be managed, but — "

" What are the difficulties ? " Mrs. Vanderpool inter
rupted.

" Well, first and foremost, the difficulty of electing our
man."

" I thought that a foregone conclusion."

" It was. But do you know that we Jre encountering
opposition from the most unexpected source? "

The lady was receptive, and the speaker concluded:

" The Negroes."

" The Negroes ! "

"Yes. There are five hundred thousand or more
black voters in pivotal Northern States, you know, and
they 're in revolt. In a close election the Negroes of New
York, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois choose the President."

[266 ]

THE CAMPAIGN 367

"What's the matter?"

" Well, business interests have driven our party to
make friends with the South. The South has disfran
chised Negroes and lynched a few. The darkies say we 've
deserted them."

Mrs. Vanderpool laughed.

" What extraordinary penetration," she cried.

" At any rate," said Mr. Easterly, drily, " Mr. Van-
derpool's first step toward Paris lies in getting the
Northern Negroes to vote the Republican ticket. After
that the way is clear."

Mrs. Vanderpool mused.

" I don't suppose you know any one who is acquainted
with any number of these Northern darkies ? " con
tinued Mr. Easterly.

" Not on my calling-list," said Mrs. Vanderpool, and
then she added more thoughtfully:

" There 's a young clerk in the Treasury Department
named Alwyn who has brains. He 's just from the South,
and I happened to read of him this morning — see here."

Mr. Easterly read an account of the speech at the
Bethel Literary.

" We '11 look this young man up," he decided ; " he
may help. Of course, Mrs. Vanderpool, we '11 probably
win ; we can buy these Negroes off with a little money and
a few small offices ; then if you will use your influence
for the party with the Southerners, I can confidently
predict from four to eight years' sojourn in Paris."

Mrs, Vanderpool smiled and called her maid as Mr.
Easterly went.

" Zora ! " She had to call twice, for Zora, with widened
eyes, was reading the Washington Post.

Meantime in the office of Senator Smith, toward which

268 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Mr. Easterly was making his way, several members of
the National Republican campaign committee had been
closeted the day before.

" Now, about the niggers," the chairman had asked ;
" how much more boodle do they want ? "

" That 's what 's bothering us," announced a member ;
" it is n't the boodle crowd that 's hollering, but a new set,
and I don't understand them; I don't know what they
represent, nor just how influential they are."

"What can I do to help you?" asked Senator Smith.

" This. You are here at Washington with these Ne
gro office-holders at your back. Find out for us just what
this revolt is, how far it goes, and what good men we
can get to swing the darkies into line — see?"

" Very good," the Senator acquiesced. He called in a
spectacled man with bushy eyebrows and a sleepy look.

" I want you to work the Negro political situation,"
directed the Senator, " and bring me all the data you
can get. Personally, I 'm at sea. I don't understand
the Negro of to-day at all ; he puzzles me ; he does n't
fit any of my categories, and I suspect that I don't fit
his. See what you can find out."

The man went out, and the Senator turned to his
desk, then paused and smiled. One day, not long since,
he had met a colored person who personified his perplex
ity concerning Negroes ; she was a lady, yet she was
black — that is, brown ; she was educated, even cultured,
yet she taught Negroes ; she was quiet, astute, quick
and diplomatic — everything, in fact, that " Negroes "
were not supposed to be; and yet she was a "Negro."
She had given him valuable information which he had
sought in vain elsewhere, and the event proved it correct.
Suppose he asked Caroline Wynn to help him in this

THE CAMPAIGN 269

case? It would certainly do no harm and it might elect
a Republican president. He wrote a short letter with
his own hand and sent it to post.

Miss Wynn read the letter after Alwyn's departure
with a distinct thrill which was something of a luxury
for her. Evidently she was coming to her kingdom. The
Republican boss was turning to her for confidential in
formation.

" What do the colored people want, and who can best
influence them in this campaign ? "

She curled up on the ottoman and considered. The
first part of the query did not bother her.

" Whatever they want they won't get," she said de
cisively.

But as to the man or men who could influence them
to believe that they were getting, or about to get, what
they wanted — there was a question. One by one she
considered the men she knew, and, by a process of elimi
nation, finally arrived at Bles Alwyn.

Why riot take this young man in hand and make a
Negro leader of him — a protagonist of ten millions ? It
would not be unpleasant. But could she do it? Would
he be amenable to her training and become worldly wise?
She flattered herself that he would, and yet — there was
a certain steadfast look in the depths of his eyes that
might prove to be sheer stubbornness. At any rate, who
was better? There was a fellow, Stillings, whom Alwyn
had introduced and whom she had heard of. Now he was
a politician — but nothing else. She dismissed him. Of
course, there was the older set of office-holders and round
ers. But she was determined to pick a new man. He
was worth trying, at any rate; she knew none other with
the same build, the brains, the gifts, the adorable youth.

270 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Very goo'd. She wrote two letters, and then curled up
to her novel and candy.

Next day Senator Smith held Miss Wynn's letter un
opened in his hand when Mr. Easterly entered. They
talked of the campaign and various matters, until at
last Easterly said:

" Say, there 's a Negro clerk in the Treasury named
Alwyn."

" I know him — I had him appointed."

" Good. He may help us. Have you seen this? "

The Senator read the clipping.

" I had n't noticed it — but here 's my agent."

The spectacled man entered with a mass of documents.
He had papers, posters, programmes, and letters.

" The situation is this," he said. " A small group of
educated Negroes are trying to induce the rest to punish
the Republican Party for not protecting them. These
men are not politicians, nor popular leaders, but they
have influence and are using it. The old-style Negro
politicians are no match for them, and the crowd of office
holders are rather bewildered. Strong measures are
needed. Educated men of earnestness and ability might
stem the tide. And I believe I know one such man. He
spoke at a big meeting last night at the Metropolitan
church. His name is Alwyn."

Senator Smith listened as he opened the letter from
Caroline Wynn. Then he started.

" Well! " he ejaculated, looking quickly up at Easterly.
" This is positively uncanny. From three separate sources
the name of Alwyn pops up. Looks like a mascot. Call
up the Treasury. Let 's have him up when the sub-com
mittee meets to-morrow."

THE CAMPAIGN 271

Bles Alwyn hurried up to Senator Smith's office, hop
ing to hear something about the school; perhaps even
about — but he stopped with a sigh, and sat down in
the ante-room. He was kept waiting a few moments while
Senator Smith, the chairman, and one other member of the
sub-committee had a word.

" Now, I don't know the young man, mind you," said
the Senator ; " but he 's strongly recommended."

"What shall we offer him?" asked the chairman.

" Try him at twenty-five dollars a speech. If he balks,
raise to fifty dollars, but not more."

They summoned the young man. The chairman pro
duced cigars.

" I don't smoke," said Bles apologetically.

" Well, we have n't anything to drink," said the chair
man. But Senator Smith broke in, taking up at once the
paramount interest.

" Mr. Alwyn, as you know, the Democrats are making
an effort to get the Negro vote in this campaign. Now, I
know the disadvantages and wrongs which black men in
this land are suffering. I believe the Republicans ought
to do more to defend them, and I 'm satisfied they will ;
but I doubt if the way to get Negro rights is to vote for
those who took them away."

" I agree with you perfectly," said Bles.

" I understand you do, and that you made an unusually
fine speech on the subject the other night"

" Thank you, sir." This was a good deal more than
Bles had expected, and he was embarrassed.

" Well, now, we think you 're just the man to take
the stump during September and October and convince
the colored people of their real interests."

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" I doubt if I could, sir ; I 'm not a speaker. In fact,
that was my first public speech."

" So much the better. Are you willing to try? "

" Why, yes, sir ; but I could hardly afford to give up
my position."

" We '11 arrange for a leave of absence."

"Then I'll try, sir."

" What would you expect as pay ? "

" I suppose my salary would stop? "

" I mean in addition to that."

" Oh, nothing, sir ; I 'd be glad to do the work."

The chairman nearly choked; sitting back, he eyed
the young man. Either they were dealing with a fool, or
else a very astute politician. If the former, how far
could they trust him; if the latter, what was his game?

" Of course, there '11 be considerable travelling," the
chairman ventured, looking reflectively out of the window.

" Yes, sir, I suppose so."

" We might pay the railroad fare."

" Thank you, sir. When shall I begin? "

The chairman consulted his calendar.

" Suppose you hold yourself in readiness for one week
from to-day."

" All right," and Bles rose. " Good-day, gentlemen."

But the chairman was still puzzled.

" Now, what 's his game ? " he asked helplessly.

" He may be honest," offered Senator Smith, con
templating the door almost wistfully.

The campaign progressed. The National Republican
Committee said little about the Negro revolt and affected
to ignore it. The papers were silent. Underneath this
calm, however, the activity was redoubled. The promi
nent Negroes were carefully catalogued, written to, and

THE CAMPAIGN 273

put under personal influence. The Negro papers were
quietly subsidized, and they began to ridicule and reproach
the new leaders.

As the Fall progressed, mass-meetings were held in
Washington and the small towns. Larger and larger ones
were projected, and more and more Alwyn was pushed to
the front. { He was developing into a most effective
speaker. He had the voice, the presence, the ideas, and
above all he was intensely in earnest. There were other
colored orators with voice, presence, and eloquence; but
their people knew their record and discounted them. Alwyn
was new, clear, and sincere, and the black folk hung on his
words. Large and larger crowds greeted him until he was
the central figure in a half dozen great negro mass-meet
ings in the chief cities of the country, culminating in New
York the night before election. Perhaps the secret news
paper work, the personal advice of employers and friends,
and the liberal distribution of cash, would have delivered
a large part of the Negro vote to the Republican candi
date. Perhaps — but there was a doubt. With the work
of Alwyn, however, all doubt disappeared, and there was
little reason for denying that the new President walked
into the White House through the instrumentality of an
unknown Georgia Negro, little past his nfajority. This
is what Senator Smith said to Mr. Easterly; what Miss
Wynn said to herself; and it was what Mrs. Vander-
pool remarked to Zora as Zora was combing her hair on
the Wednesday after election.

Zora murmured an indistinct response. As already
something of the beauty of the world had found question
and answer in her soul, and as she began to realize how
the world had waxed old in thought and stature, so now
in their last days a sense of the power of men, as set over

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

against the immensity and force of their surroundings,
became real to her. She had begun to read of the lives
and doing of those called great, and in her mind a plan
was forming. She saw herself standing dim within the
shadows, directing the growing power of a man: a man
who would be great as the world counted greatness, rich,
high in position, powerful — wonderful because his face
was black. He would never see her; never know how
she worked and planned, save perhaps at last, in that
supreme moment as she passed, her soul would cry to
his, " Redeemed ! " And he would understand.

All this she was thinking and weaving; not clearly
and definitely, but in great blurred clouds of thoughts
of things as she said slowly:

" He should have a great position for this."

" Why, certainly," Mrs. Vanderpool agreed, and then
curiously: "What?"

Zora considered. " Negroes," she said, " have been Reg
isters of the Treasury, and Recorders of Deeds here in
Washington, and Douglas was Marshal; but I want
Bles — " she paused and started again. " Those are not
great enough for Mr. Alwyn; he should have an office
so important that Negroes would not think of leaving
their party again."

Mrs. Vanderpool took pains to repeat Zora's words
to Mr. Easterly. He considered the matter.

" In one sense, it 's good advice," he admitted ; " but
there 's the South to reckon with. I '11 think it over and
speak to the President. Oh, yes ; I 'm going to mention
France at the same time."

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled and leaned back in her car
riage. She noted with considerable interest the young
colored woman who was watching her from the sidewalk:

THE CAMPAIGN 275

a brown, well-appearing young woman of notable self-
possession. Caroline Wynn scrutinized Mrs. Vanderpool
because she had been speaking with Mr. Easterly, and
Mr. Easterly was a figure of political importance. That
very morning Miss Wynn had telegraphed Bles Alwyn.
Alwyn arrived at Washington just as the morning
papers heralded the sweeping Republican victory. All
about he met new deference and new friends ; strangers
greeted him familiarly on the street; Sam Stillings be
came his shadow; and when he reported for work his
chief and fellow clerks took unusual interest in him.

" Have you seen Senator Smith yet ? " Miss Wynn
asked after a few words of congratulation.

"No. What for?"

"What for?" she answered. "Go to him to-day;
don't fail. I shall be at home at eight to-night."

It seemed to Bles an exceedingly silly thing to do —
calling on a busy man with no errand; but he went. He
decided that he would just thank the Senator for his in
terest, and get out; or, if the Senator was busy, he
would merely send in his card. Evidently the Senator
was busy, for his waiting-room was full. Bles handed
the card to the secretary with a word of apology, but
the secretary detained him.

" Ah, Mr. Alwyn," he said affably ; " glad to see
you. The Senator will want to see you, I know. Wait
just a minute." And soon Bles was shaking Senator
Smith's hand.

"Well, Mr. Alwyn," said the Senator heartily, "you
delivered the goods."

"Thank you, sir. I tried to."

Senator Smith thoughtfully looked him over and drew
out the letters.

276 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Your friends, Mr. Alwyn," he said, adjusting his
glasses, " have a rather high opinion of you. Here now
is Stillings, who helped on the campaign. He suggests an
eighteen-hundred-dollar clerkship for you." The Senator
glanced up keenly and omitted to state what Stillings
suggested for himself. Alwyn was visibly grateful as
well as surprised.

"I — I hoped," he began hesitatingly, " that perhaps
I might get a promotion, but I had not thought of a
first-class clerkship."

" H'm." Senator Smith leaned back and twiddled his
thumbs, staring at Alwyn until the hot blood darkened
his cheeks. Then Bles sat up and stared politely but
steadily back. The Senator's eyes dropped and he put
out his hand for the second note.

" Now, your friend, Miss Wynn " - — Alwyn started —
" is even more ambitious." He handed her letter to the
young man, and pointed out the words.

" Of course, Senator," Bles read, " we expect Mr,
Alwyn to be the next Register of the Treasury."

Bles looked up in amazement, but the Senator reached
for a third letter. The room was very still. At last he
found it. " This," he announced quietly, " is from a
man of great power and influence, who has the ear of the
new President." He smoothed out the letter, paused
briefly, then read aloud:

" * It has been suggested to me by ' " — the Senator did
not read the name ; if he had " Mrs. Vanderpool " would
have meant little to Alwyn — " ' It has been suggested
to me by blank that the future allegiance of the Negro
vote to the Republican Party might be insured by giving
to some prominent Negro a high political position — for
instance, Treasurer of the United States' — salary, six

THE CAMPAIGN' 277

thousand dollars," interpolated Senator Smith — " ' and
that Alwyn would be a popular and safe appointment for
that position.' "

The Senator did not read the concluding sentence,
which ran : " Think this over ; we can't touch political
conditions in the South; perhaps this sop will do."

For a long time Alwyn sat motionless, while the Senator
said nothing. Then the young man rose unsteadily.

" I don't think I quite grasp all this," he said as he
shook hands. " I '11 think it over," and he went out.

When Caroline Wynn heard of that extraordinary con
versation her amazement knew no bounds. Yet Alwyn
ventured to voice doubts :

•s^Jr?

" I 'm not fitted for either of those high offices ; there
are many others who deserve more, and I don't some
how like the idea of seeming to have worked hard in the
campaign simply for money or fortune. You see, I talked
against that very thing."

Miss Wynn's eyes widened.

" Well, what else — " she began and then changed.
" Mr. Alwyn, the line between virtue and foolishness is
dim and wavering, and I should hate to see you lost in
that marshy borderland. By a streak of extraordinary
luck you have gained the political leadership of Negroes
in America. Here 's your chance to lead your people,
and here you stand blinking and hesitating. Be a man ! "

Alwyn straightened up and felt his doubts going. The
evening passed very pleasantly.

" I 'm going to have a little dinner for you," said Miss
Wynn finally, and Alwyn grew hot with pleasure. He
turned to her suddenly and said:

" Why, I 'm rather — black." She expressed no sur
prise but said reflectively:

278 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

"You are dark."

" And I 've been given to understand that Miss Wynn
and her set rather — well, preferred the lighter shades
of colored folk."

Miss Wynn laughed lightly.

" My parents did," she said simply. " No dark man
ever entered their house ; they were simply copying the
white world. Now I, as a matter of aesthetic beauty,
prefer your brown-velvet color to a jaundiced yellow,
or even an uncertain cream ; but the world does n't."

"The world?"

" Yes, the world ; and especially America. One may
be Chinese, Spaniard, even Indian — anything white or
dirty white in this land, and demand decent treatment;
but to be Negro or darkening toward it unmistakably
means perpetual handicap and crucifixion."

" Why not, then, admit that you draw the color-line? "

" Because I don't; but the world does. I am not preju
diced as my parents were, but I am foresighted. Indeed,
it is a deep ethical query, is it not, how far one has the
right to bear black children to the world in the Land of
the Free and the home of the brave. Is it fair - — to the
children?"

" Yes, it is ! " he cried vehemently. " The more to
take up the fight, the surer the victory."

She laughed at his earnestness.

" You are refreshing," she said. " Well, we '11 dine
next Tuesday, and we '11 have the cream of our world
to meet you."

He knew that this was a great triumph. It flattered
his vanity. After all, he was entering this higher dark
world whose existence had piqued and puzzled him so long.
He glanced at Miss Wynn beside him there in the dimly

THE CAMPAIGN 279

lighted parlor: she looked so aloof and unapproachable,
so handsome and so elegant. He thought how she would
complete a house — such a home as his prospective four or
six thousand dollars a year could easily purchase. She
saw him surveying her, and she smiled at him.

" I find but one fault with you," she said.

He stammered for a pretty speech, but did not find it
before she continued:

" Yes — you are so delightfully primitive ; you will
not use the world as it is but insist on acting as if it
were something else."

" I am not sure I understand."

" Well, there is the wife of my Judge : she is a fact in
my world; in yours she is a problem to be stated,
j straightened, and solved. If she had come to you, as she
did to me yesterday, with her theory that all that South
ern Negroes needed was to learn how to make good serv
ants and lay brick — "

"I should have shown her — " Bles tried to interject. -

" Nothing of the sort. You would have tried to show
her and would have failed miserably. She has n't learned
anything in twenty years."

"But surely you didn't join her in advocating that
ten million people be menials? "

" Oh, no ; I simply listened."

" Well, there was no harm in that ; I believe in silence
at times."

" Ah ! but I did not listen like a log, but positively and
eloquently; with a nod, a half-formed word, a comment
begun, which she finished."

Bles frowned.

" As a result," continued Miss Wynn, " I have a check
for five hundred dollars to finish our cooking-school and

280 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

buy a cast of Minerva for the assembly-room. More than
that, I have now a wealthy friend. She thinks me an un
usually clever person who, by a process of thought not un
like her own, has arrived at very similar conclusions."

" But — but," objected Bles, " if the time spent cajol
ing fools were used in convincing the honest and upright,
think how much we would gain."

" Very little. The honest and upright are a sad minor
ity. Most of these white folk — believe me, boy," she
said caressingly, — " are fools and knaves : they don't
want truth or progress ; they want to keep niggers down."

" I don't believe it ; there are scores, thousands, per
haps millions such, I admit; but the average American
loves justice and right, and he is the one to whom I
appeal with frankness and truth. Great heavens! don't
you love to be frank and open ? "

She narrowed her eyelids.

" Yes, sometimes I do ; once I was ; but it 's a luxury
few of us Negroes can afford. Then, too, I insist that
it's jolly to fool them."

" Don't you hate the deception? "

She chuckled and put her head to one side.

" At first I did ; but, do you know, now I believe I
prefer it."

He looked so horrified that she burst out laughing. He
laughed too. She was a puzzle to him. He kept think
ing what a mistress of a mansion she would make.

" Why do you say these things ? " he asked suddenly.

" Because I want you to do well here in Washington."

" General philanthropy ? "

" No, special." Her eyes were bright with meaning.

" Then you care — for me? "

" Yes."

THE CAMPAIGN 281

i

He bent forward and cast the die.

" Enough to marry me? "

She answered very calmly and certainly:

" Yes."

He leaned toward her. And then between him and
her lips rose a dark and shadowy face; two great storm-
swept eyes looked into his out of a world of infinite pain,
and he dropped his head in hesitation and shame, and
kissed her hand. Miss Wynn thought him delightfully
bashful.

CHAPTER XXVI

CONGRESSMAN CRESSWELL

THE election of Harry Cresswell to Congress was
a very simple matter. The Colonel and his son
drove to town and consulted the Judge; together
they summoned the sheriff and the local member of the
State legislature.

" I think it 's about time that we Cresswells asked for
a little of the political pie," the Colonel smilingly opened.

" Well, what do you want ? " asked the Judge.

" Harry wants to go to Congress."

The Judge hesitated. " We 'd half promised that to
Caldwell," he objected.

" It will be a little costly this year, too," suggested
the sheriff, tentatively.

" About how much ? " asked the Colonel.

u At least five thousand," said the Legislator.

The Colonel said nothing. He simply wrote a check
and the matter was settled. In the Fall Harry Cresswell
was declared elected. There were four hundred and sev
enty-two votes cast but the sheriff added a cipher. He
said it would look better.

Early December found the Cresswells domiciled in a
small house in Du Pont Circle, Washington. They had
an automobile and four servants, and the house was fur-

CONGRESSMAN CRESSWELL 283

nished luxuriously. Mary Taylor Cresswell, standing in
her morning room and looking out on the flowers of the
square, told herself that few people in the world had cause
to be as happy as she. She was tastefully gowned, in a
way to set off her blonde beauty and her delicate rounded
figure. She was surrounded with wealth, and above all,
she was in that atmosphere of aristocracy for which she
had always yearned ; and already she was acquiring that
poise of the head, and a manner of directing the servants,
which showed her born to the purple.

She had cause to be extremely happy, she told herself
this morning, and yet she was puzzled to understand why
she was not. Why was she restless and vaguely ill at
ease so often these days?

One matter, indeed, did worry her; but that would
right itself in time, she was sure. She had always pic
tured herself as directing her husband's work. She did
not plan to step in and demand a share; she knew from
experience with her brother that a woman must prove her
usefulness to a man before he will admit it, and even then
he may be silent. She intended gradually and tactfully
to relieve her husband of care connected with his public
life so that, before he realized it, she would be his guiding
spirit and his inspiration. She had dreamed the details
of doing this so long that it seemed already done, and she
could imagine no obstacle to its realization. And yet
she found herself to-day no nearer her goal than when
first she married. Not because Mr. Cresswell did not
share his work, but because, apparently, he had no work,
no duties, no cares. At first, in the dim glories of the
honeymoon, this seemed but part of his delicate courtesy
toward her, and it pleased her despite her thrifty New
England nature ; but now that they were settled in Wash-

284 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

ington, the election over and Congress in session, it really
seemed time for Work and Life to begin in dead earnest,
and New England Mary was dreaming mighty dreams
and golden futures.

But Harry apparently was as content as ever with do
ing nothing. He arose at ten, dined at seven, and went to
bed between midnight and sunrise. There were some com
mittee meetings and much mail, but Mary was admitted
to knowledge of none of these. The obvious step, of
course, would be to set him at work ; but from this under
taking Mary unconsciously recoiled. She had already
recognized that while her tastes and her husband's were
mostly alike, they were also strikingly different in many
respects. They agreed in the daintiness of things, the
elegance of detail; but they did not agree always as to
the things themselves. Given the picture, they would
choose the same frame — but they would not choose the
same picture. They liked the same voice, but not the
same song; the same company, but not the same conver
sation. Of course, Mary reflected, frowning at the
flowers — of course, this must always be so when two
human beings are thrown into new and intimate associa
tion. In time they would grow to sweet communion ; only,
she hoped the communion would be on tastes nearer hers
than those he sometimes manifested.

She turned impatiently from the window with a feeling
of loneliness. But why lonely? She idly fingered a new
book on the table and then put it down sharply. There
had been several attempts at reading aloud between them
some evenings ago, and this book reminded her of them.
She had bought Jane Addams' " Newer Ideals of Peace,"
and he had yawned over it undisguisedly. Then he had
brought this novel, and — well, she had balked at the

CONGRESSMAN CRESSWELL 285

second chapter, and he had kissed her and called her his
" little prude." She did not want to be a prude ; she
hated to seem so, and had for some time prided herself
on emancipation from narrow New England prejudices.
For example, she had not objected to wine at dinner; it
had seemed indeed rather fine, imparting, as it did, an old-
fashioned flavor; but she did not like the whiskey, and
Harry at times appeared to become just a bit too lively

— nothing excessive, of course, but his eyes and the smell
and the color were a little too suggestive. And yet he
was so kind and good, and when he came in at evening he
bent so gallantly for his kiss, and laid fresh flowers be
fore her: could anything have been more thoughtful and
knightly ?

Just here again she was puzzled; with her folk, hard
work and inflexible duty were of prime importance; they
were the rock foundation; and she somehow had always
counted on the courtesies of life as added to them, mak
ing them sweet and beautiful. But in this world, not per
haps so much with Harry as with others of his set, the
depths beneath the gravely inclined head, the deferential
smile and ceremonious action, the light clever converse,
had sounded strangely hollow once or twice when she had
essayed to sound them, and a certain fear to look and see
possessed her.

The bell rang, and she was a little startled at the fright
that struck her heart. She did not analyze it. In reality

— pride forbade her to admit it — she feared it was a
call of some of Harry's friends: some languid, assured
Southern ladies, perilously gowned, with veiled disdain
for this interloping Northerner and her strong mind.
Especially was there one from New Orleans, tall and
dark —

286 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

But it was no caller. It was simply some one named
Stillings to see Mr. Cresswell. She went down to see
him — he might be a constituent — and found a smirky
brown man, very apologetic.

"You don't know me — does you, Mrs. Cresswell? "
said Stillings. He knew when it was diplomatic to forget
his grammar and assume his dialect.

" Why — no."

" You remember I worked for Mr. Harry and served
you-all lunch one day. "

" Oh, yes — why, yes ! I remember now very well."

" Well, I wants to see Mr. Harry very much ; could I
wait in the back hall? "

Mary started to have him wait in the front hall, but
she thought better of it and had him shown back. Less
than an hour later her husband entered and she went
quickly to him. He looked worn and white and tired, but
he laughed her concern lightly off.

" I '11 be in earlier to-night," he declared.

"Is the Congressional business very heavy?"

He laughed so hilariously that she felt uncomfortable,
which he observed.

" Oh, no," he answered deftly ; " not very." And as
they moved toward the dining-room Mary changed the
subject.

" Oh," she exclaimed, suddenly remembering. " There
is a man — a colored man — waiting to see you in the
back hall, but I guess he can wait until after lunch.

They ate leisurely.

;* There *s going to be racing out at the park this
evening," said Harry. " Want to go? "

" I was going to hear an art lecture at the Club," Mary
returned, and grew thoughtful ; for here walked her ghost

CONGRESSMAN CRESSWELL 287

again. Of course, the Club was an affair with more of
gossip than of intellectual effort, but to-day, largely
through her own suggestion, an art teacher of European
reputation was going to lecture, and Mary preferred it
to the company of the race track. And — just as cer
tainly — her husband did n't.

" Don't forget the man, dear," she reminded him ; but
he was buried in his paper, frowning.

" Look at that," he said finally. She glanced at the
head-lines — " Prominent Negro Politician Candidate for
High Office at Hands of New Administration. B. Alwyn
of Alabama."

" Why, it 's Bles ! " she said, her face lighting as his
darkened.

" An impudent Negro," he voiced his disgust. " If they
must appoint darkies why can't they get tractable ones
like my nigger Stillings."

"Stillings?" she repeated. "Why, he's the man
that 's waiting."

"Sam, is it? Used to be one of our servants — you
remember? Wants to borrow more money, I presume."
He went down-stairs, after first helping himself to a glass
of whiskey, and then gallantly kissing his wife. Mrs.
Cresswell was more unsatisfied than usual. She could not
help feeling that Mr. Cresswell was treating her about as
he treated his wine — as an indulgence ; a loved one, a
regular one, but somehow not as the reality and prose
of life, unless — she started at the thought — his life was
all indulgence. Having nothing else to do, she went out
and paraded the streets, watching the people who were
happy enough to be busy.

Cresswell and Stillings had a long conference, and
when Stillings hastened away he could not forbear cutting

288 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

a discreet pigeon-wing as he rounded the corner. He had
been promised the backing of the whole Southern delega
tion in his schemes.

That night Teerswell called on him in his modest
lodgings, where over hot whiskey and water they talked.

" The damned Southern upstart," growled Teerswell,
forgetting Stillings' birth-place. " Do you mean to say
he 's actually slated for the place ? "

" He 's sure of it, unless something turns up."

" Well, who 'd have dreamed it ? " Teerswell mixed
another stiff dram.

" And that is n't all," came Sam Stillings' unctuous
voice.

Teerswell glanced at him. " What else ? " he asked,
pausing with the steaming drink poised aloft.

" If I 'm not mistaken, Alwyn intends to marry Miss
Wynn."

" You lie ! " the other suddenly yelled with an oath,
overturning his tumbler and striding across the floor.
" Do you suppose she 'd look at that black — "

" Well, see here," said the astute Stillings, checking the
details upon his fingers. " They visit Senator Smith's
together; he takes her home from the Treble Clef; they
say he talked to nobody else at her party; she recom
mends him for the campaign — "

" What ! " Teerswell again exploded. But Stillings
continued smoothly:

" Oh, I have ways of finding things out. She corre
sponds with him during the campaign ; she asks Smith to
make him Register ; and he calls on her every night."

Teerswell sat down limply.

" I see," he groaned. " It 's all up. She 's jilted me —
and I — and I — "

CONGRESSMAN CRESSWELL 289

" I don't see as it 9s all up yet," Stillings tried to reas
sure him.

" But did n't you say they were engaged ? "

" I think they are ; but — - well, you know Carrie Wynn
better than I do : suppose, now — suppose he should lose
the appointment? "

" But you say that 's sure."

" Unless something turns up."

" But what can turn up ? "

" We might turn something."

" What — what — I tell you man, I 'd — I 'd do any
thing to down that nigger. I hate him. If you '11 help
me I '11 do anything for you."

Stillings arose and carefully opening the hall door
peered out. Then he came back and, seating himself close
to Teerswell, pushed aside the whiskey.

" Teerswell," he whispered, " you know I was working
to be Register of the Treasury. Well, now, when the
scheme of making Alwyn Treasurer came up they deter
mined to appoint a Southern white Republican and give
me a place under Alwyn. Now, if Alwyn fails to land
I 've got no chance for the bigger place, but I 've got a
good chance to be Register according to the first plan.
I helped in the campaign ; I 've got the Negro secret
societies backing me and — I do n't mind telling you —
the solid Southern Congressional delegation. I 'm trying
now ostensibly for a chief-clerkship under Bles, and I 'm
pretty sure of it : it pays twenty-five hundred. See here :
if we can make Bles do sorpe fool talking and get it into
the papers, he '11 be ditched, and 1 11 be Register."

"Greet!" shouted Teerswell.

" Wait — wait. Now, if I get the job, how would you
like to be my assistant ? "

290 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Like it ? Why, great Jehoshaphat ! I 'd marry
Carrie — but how can I help you?"

" This way. I want to be better known among in
fluential Negroes. You introduce me and let me make
myself solid. Especially I must get in Miss Wynn's set
so that both of us can watch her and Alwyn, and make
her friends ours."

" I '11 do it — shake ! " And Stillings put his oily
hand into Teerswell's nervous grip.

" Now, here," Stillings went on, " you stow all that
jealousy and heavy tragedy. Treat Alwyn well and call
on Miss Wynn as usual — see ? "

" It 's a hard pill — but all right."

" Leave the rest to me ; 1 'm hand in glove with Alwyn.
I '11 put stuff into him that '11 make him wave the bloody
shirt at the next meeting of the Bethel Literary — see?
Then I'll go to Cresswell and say, ' Dangerous nigger — ,
just as I told you.' He '11 begin to move things. You
see? Cresswell is in with Smith — both directors in the
big Cotton Combine — and Smith will call Alwyn down.
Then we '11 think further."

" Stillings, you look like a fool, but you 're a genius."
And Teerswell fairly hugged him. A few more details
settled, and some more whiskey consumed, and Teerswell
went home at midnight in high spirits. Stillings looked
into the glass and scowled.

" Look like a fool, do I? " he mused. " Well, I ain't ! "

Congressman Cresswell was stirred to his first political
activity by the hint given him through Stillings. He not
only had a strong personal dislike for Alwyn, but he re
garded the promise to him of a high office as a menace to
the South.

The second speech which Alwyn made at the Bethel

CONGRESSMAN CRESSWELL 291

Literary was, as Stillings foresaw, a reply to the sting
ing criticisms of certain colored papers engineered by
Teerswell, who said that Alwyn had been bribed to remain
loyal to the Republicans by a six thousand dollar office.
Alwyn had been cut to the quick, and his reply was a
straight out defence of Negro rights and a call to the Re
publican Party to redeem its pledges.

Caroline Wynn, seeing the rocks for which her political
craft was headed, adroitly steered several newspaper re
ports into the waste basket, but Stillings saw to it that a
circumstantial account was in the Colored American, and
that a copy of this paper was in Congressman CresswelPs
hands. Cresswell lost no time in calling on Senator Smith
and pointing out to him that Bles Alwyn was a dangerous
Negro: seeking social equality, hating white people, and
scheming to make trouble. He was too young and heady.
It would be fatal to give such a man office and influence ;
fatal for the development of the South, and bad for the
Cotton Combine.

Senator Smith was unconvinced. Alwyn struck him as
a well-balanced fellow, and he thought he deserved the
office. He would, however, warn him to make no further
speeches like that of last night. Cresswell mentioned
Stillings as a good, inoffensive Negro who knew his place
and could be kept track of.

" Stillings is a good man," admitted Smith ; " but
Alwyn is better. However, I '11 bear what you say in
mind."

Cresswell found Mr. Easterly in Mrs. Vanderpool's
parlor, and that gentleman was annoyed at the news.

" I especially picked out this Alwyn because he was
Southern and tractable, and seemed to have sense enough
to know how to say well what we wanted to say."

292 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" When, as a matter of fact," drawled Mrs. Vander-
pool, " he was simply honest."

" The South won't stand it," Cresswell decisively
affirmed.

" Well — " began Mr. Easterly.

" See here," interrupted Mrs. Vanderpool. " I 'm in
terested in Alwyn; in fact, an honest man in politics,
even if he is black, piques my curiosity. Give him a
chance and I '11 warrant he '11 develop all the desirable
traits of a first class office-holder."

Easterly hesitated. " We must not offend the South,
and we must placate the Negroes," he said.

" The right sort of Negro — one like Stillings — ap
pointed to a reasonable position, would do both," opined
Cresswell.

"It evidently didn't," Mrs. Vanderpool interjected.

Cresswell arose. "I tell you, Mr. Easterly, I object;
— it must n't go through." He took his leave.

Mrs. Vanderpool did not readily give up her plea for
Alwyn, and bade Zora get Mr. Smith on the telephone for
discussion.

" Well," reported Easterly, hanging up the receiver,
" we may land him. It seems that he is engaged to a
Washington school-teacher, and Smith says she has him
well in hand. She 's a pretty shrewd proposition, and
understands that Alwyn's only chance now lies in keep
ing his mouth shut. We may land him," hte repeated,

" Engaged ! " gasp«d Mrs. Vanderpool.

Zora quietly closed the door.

CHAPTER XXVII
THE VISION OF ZORA

HOW Zora found the little church she never knew;
but somehow, in the long dark wanderings which
she had fallen into the habit of taking at night
fall, she stood one evening before it. It looked warm, and
she was cold. It was full of her people, and she was very,
very lonely. She sat in a back seat, and saw with un
seeing eyes. She said again, as she had said to herself
a hundred times, that it was all right and just what she
had expected. What else could she have dreamed? That
he should ever marry her was beyond possibility; that
had been settled long since — there where the tall, dark
pines, wan with the shades of evening, cast their haunt
ing shadows across the Silver Fleece and half hid the
blood-washed west. After that he would marry some one
else, of course; some good and pure woman who would
help and uplift and serve him.

She had dreamed that she would help — unknown, un
seen — and perhaps she had helped a little through Mrs.
Vanderpool. It was all right, and yet why so suddenly
had the threads of life let go? Why was she drifting in
vast waters; in uncharted wastes of sea? Why was the
puzzle of life suddenly so intricate when but a little week
ago she was reading it, and its beauty and wisdom and

[ 293]

294 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

power were thrilling her delighted hands? Could it be
possible that all unconsciously she had dared dream a
forbidden dream? No, she had always rejected it. When
no one else had the right ; when no one thought ; when no
one cared, she had hovered over his soul as some dark
guardian angel; but now, now somebody else was receiv
ing his gratitude. It was all right, she supposed; but
she, the outcast child of the swamp, what was there for
her to do in the great world — her, the burden of whose
sin —

But then came the voice of the preacher : " Behold the
Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world."

She found herself all at once intently listening. She
had been to church many times before, but under the ser
mons and ceremonies she had always sat coldly inert. In
the South the cries, contortions, and religious frenzy left
her mind untouched; she did not laugh or mock, she
simply sat and watched and wondered. At the North, in
the white churches, she enjoyed the beauty of wall, win
dow, and hymn, liked the voice and surplice of the
preacher; but his words had no reference to anything in
which she was interested. Here suddenly came an earnest
voice addressed, by singular chance, to her of all the
world.

She listened, bending forward, her eyes glued to the
speaker's lips and letting no word drop. He had the
build and look of the fanatic : thin to emaciation ; brown ;
brilliant-eyed; his words snapped in nervous energy and
rang in awful earnestness.

" Life is sin, and sin is sorrow. Sorrow is born of
selfishness and self-seeking — our own good, our own
happiness, our own glory. As if any one of us were worth
a life! No, never. A single self as an end is, and ought

THE VISION OF ZORA 095

to be, disappointment; it is too low; it is nothing. Only
in a whole world of selves, infinite, endless, eternal world
on worlds of selves — only in their vast good is true sal
vation. The good of others is our true good; work for
others; not for your salvation, but the salvation of the
world." The audience gave a low uneasy groan and the
minister in whose pulpit the stranger preached stirred
uneasily. But he went on tensely, with flying words :

" Unselfishness is sacrifice — Jesus was supreme sac
rifice." ("Amen," screamed a voice.) "In your dark
lives," he cried, "who is the King of Glory? Sacrifice.
Lift up your heads, then, ye gates of prejudice and hate,
and let the King of Glory come in. Forget yourselves
and your petty wants, and behold your starving people.
The wail of black millions sweeps the air — east and west
they cry, Help ! Help ! Are you dumb ? Are you blind ?
Do you dance and laugh, and hear and see not? The cry
of death is in the air ; they murder, burn, and maim us ! "
( " Oh — oh — " moaned the people swaying in their
seats.) " When we cry they mock us ; they ruin our women
and debauch our children — what shall we do ?

" Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away sin. Be
hold the Supreme Sacrifice that makes us clean. Give up
your pleasures; give up your wants; give up all to the
weak and wretched of our people. Go down to Pharaoh
and smite him in God's name. Go down to the South
where we writhe. Strive — work — build — hew — lead
— inspire! God calls. Will you hear? Come to Jesus. >
The harvest is waiting. Who will cry : ' Here am I, send
me! '

Zora rose and walked up the aisle; she knelt before the
altar and answered the call : " Here am I — send me."

And then she walked out. Above her sailed the same

296 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

great stars ; around her hummed the same hoarse city ;
but within her soul sang some new song of peace.

" What is the matter, Zora ? " Mrs. Vanderpool in
quired, for she seemed to see in the girl's face and car
riage some subtle change; something that seemed to tell
how out of the dream had stepped the dreamer into the
realness of things ; how suddenly the seeker saw ; how to
the wanderer, the Way was opened.

Just how she sensed this Mrs. Vanderpool could not
have explained, nor could Zora. Was there a change,
sudden, cataclysmic? No. There were to come in future
days all the old doubts and shiverings, the old restless
cry : " It is all right — all right ! " But more and more,
above the doubt and beyond the unrest, rose the great
end, the mighty ideal, that flickered and wavered, but
ever grew and waxed strong, until it became possible,
and through it all things else were possible. Thus from
the grave of youth and love, amid the soft, low singing
of dark and bowed worshippers, the Angel of the Resur
rection rolled away the stone.

"What is the matter, Zora?" Mrs. Vanderpool
repeated.

Zora looked up, almost happily — standing poised on
her feet as if to tell of strength and purpose.

" I have found the Way," she cried joyously.

Mrs. Vanderpool gave her a long searching look.

" Where have you been ? " she asked. " I 've been
waiting."

" I 'm sorry — but I Ve been — converted." And she
told her story.

" Pshaw, Zora ! " Mrs. Vanderpool uttered impatiently.
" He 's a fakir."

THE VISION OF ZORA 297

" Maybe," said Zora serenely and quietly ; " but he
brought the Word."

" Zora, don't talk cant ; it is n't worthy of your
intelligence."

" It was more than intelligent — it was true."

" Zora — listen, child ! You were wrought up to-night,
nervous — wild. You were happy to meet your people,
and where he said one word you supplied two. What you
attribute to him is the voice of your own soul."

But Zora merely smiled. " All you say may be true.
But what does it matter? I know one thing, like the man
in the Bible : ' Whereas I was blind now I see.' '

Mrs. Vanderpool gave a little helpless gesture. " And
what shall you do ? " she asked.

" I 'm going back South to work for my people."

" When ? " The old careworn look stole across Mrs.
Vanderpool's features.

Zora came gently forward and slipped her arms lov
ingly about the other woman's neck.

" Not right off," she said gently ; " not until I learn
more. I hate to leave you, but — it calls ! "

Mrs. Vanderpool held the dark girl close and began
craftily :

" You see, Zora, the more you know the more you
can do."

" Yes."

" And if you are determined I will see that you are
taught. You must know settlement-work and reform
movements ; not simply here but — " she hesitated —
" in England — in France."

" Will it take long? " Zora asked, smoothing the lady's
hair.

298 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Mrs. Vanderpool considered. " No — five years is not
long; it is all too short."

" Five years : it is very long ; but there is a great deal
to learn. Must I study five years ? "

Mrs. Vanderpool threw back her head.

" Zora, I am selfish I know, but five years truly is none
too long. Then, too, Zora, we have work to do in that
time."

"What?"

" There is Alwyn's career," and Mrs. Vanderpool
looked into Zora's eyes.

The girl did not shrink, but she paused.

" Yes," she said slowly, " we must help him."

" And after he rises — "

" He will marry."

"Whom?"

" The woman he loves," returned Zora, quietly.

" Yes — that is best," sighed Mrs. Vanderpool. " But
how shall we help him? "

" Make him Treasurer of the United States without
sacrificing his manhood or betraying his people."

" I can do that," said Mrs. Vanderpool slowly.

" It will cost something," said Zora.

" I will do it," was the lady's firm assurance. Zora
kissed her.

The next afternoon Mrs. Cresswell went down to a
white social settlement of which Congressman Todd had
spoken, where a meeting of the Civic Club was to be held.
She had come painfully to realize that if she was to have
a career she must make it for herself. The plain, un
welcome truth was that her husband had no great inter
ests in life in which she could find permanent pleasure.
Companionship and love there was and, she told herself,

THE VISION OF ZORA 299

always would be; but in some respects their lives must
flow in two streams. Last night, for the second time, she
had irritated him; he had spoken almost harshly to her,
and she knew she must brood or work to-day. And so
she hunted work, eagerly.

She felt the atmosphere the moment she entered. There
were carelessly gowned women and men smart and shabby,
but none of them were thinking of clothes nor even of
one another. They had great deeds in mind; they were
scanning the earth ; they were toiling for men. The same
grim excitement that sends smaller souls hunting for birds
and rabbits and lions, had sent them hunting the enemies
of mankind: they were bent to the chase, scenting the
game, knowing the infinite meaning of their hunt and
the glory of victory. Mary Cresswell had listened but a
half hour before her world seemed so small and sordid
and narrow, so trivial, that a sense of shame spread over
her. These people were not only earnest, but expert.
They acknowledged the need of Mr. Todd's educational
bill.

" But the Republicans are going to side-track it ; I
have that on the best authority," said one.

" True; but can't we force them to it? "

" Only by political power, and they 've just won a
campaign."

" They won it by Negro votes, and the Negro who se
cured the votes is eager for this bill ; he 's a fine, honest
fellow."

" Very well ; work with him ; and when we can be of real
service let us know. Meantime, this Child Labor bill is
different. It 's bound to pass. Both parties are back of
it, and public opinion is aroused. Now our work is to
force amendments enough to make the bill effective."

300 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Discussion followed; not flamboyant and declamatory,
but tense, staccato, pointed. Mrs. Cresswell found her
self taking part. Someone mentioned her name, and one
or two glances of interest and even curiosity were thrown
her way. Congressmen's wives were rare at the Civic
Club.

Congressman Todd urged Mrs. Cresswell to stay after
the discussion and attend a meeting of the managers and
workers of the Washington social settlements.

" Have you many settlements ? " she inquired.

" Three in all — two white and one colored."

"And will they all be represented?"

" Yes, of course, Mrs. Cresswell. If you object to
meeting the colored people —

Mrs. Cresswell blushed.

" No, indeed," she answered ; " I used to teach colored
people."

She watched this new group gather: a business man,
two fashionable ladies, three college girls, a gray-haired
colored woman, and a young spectacled brown man, and
then, to her surprise, Mrs. Vanderpool and Zora.

Zora was scarcely^ seated when that strange sixth sense
of hers told her that something had happened, and it
needed but a side-glance from Mrs. Vanderpool to indi
cate what it was. She sat with folded hands and the old
dreamy look in her eyes. In one moment she lived it all
again — the red cabin, the moving oak, the sowing of the
Fleece, and its fearful reaping. And now, when she turned
her head, she would see the woman who was to marry
Bles Alwyn. She had often dreamed of her, and had set
a high ideal. She wanted her to be handsome, well dressed,
earnest and good. She felt a sort of personal proprietor-

THE VISION OF ZORA 301

ship in her, and when at last the quickened pulse died to
its regular healthy beat, she turned and looked and knew.

Caroline Wynn deemed it a part of the whit* world's
education to participate in meetings like this; doing so
was not pleasant, but it appealed to her cynicism and
mocking sense of pleasure. She always roused hostility
as she entered: her gown was too handsome, her gloves
too spotless, her air had hauteur enough to be almost
impudent in the opinion of most white people. Then
gradually her intelligence, her cool wit and self-posses
sion, would conquer and she would go gracefully out
leaving a rather bewildered audience behind. She sat to
day with her dark gold profile toward Zora, and the girl
looked and was glad. She was such a woman she would
have Bles marry. She was glad, and she choked back
the sob that struggled and fought in her throat.

The meeting never got beyond a certain constraint.
The Congressman made an excellent speech; there were
various sets of figures read by the workers; and Miss
Wynn added a touch of spice by several pertinent ques
tions and comments. Then, as the meeting broke up and
Mrs. Cresswell came forward to speak to Zora, Mrs.
Vanderpool managed to find herself near Miss Wynn and
to be introduced. They exchanged a few polite phrases,
fencing delicately to test the other's wrist and interest.
They touched on the weather, and settlement work;
but Miss Wynn did not propose to be stranded on the
Negro probiem.

" I suppose the next bit of excitement will be the in
auguration," she said to Mrs. Vanderpool.

" I understand it will be unusually elaborate," re
turned Mrs. Vanderpool, a little surprised at the turn.

302 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Then she added pleasantly : " I think I shall see it
through, from speech to ball."

" Yes, I do usually," Miss Wynn asserted, adjusting
her furs.

Mrs. Vanderpool was further surprised. Did colored
people attend the ball?

" We sorely need a national ball-room," she said.
" Is n't the census building wretched ? "

" I do not know," smiled Miss Wynn.

" Oh, I thought you said — "

" I meant our ball."

" Oh ! " said Mrs. Vanderpool in turn. " Oh ! " Here
a thought came. Of course, the colored people had their
own ball; she remembered having heard about it. Why
not send Zora? She plunged in:

" Miss Wynn, I have a maid — such an intelligent girl ;
I do wish she could attend your ball — - " seeing her
blunder, she paused. Miss Wynn was coolly buttoning
her glove.

" Yes," she acknowledged politely, " few of us can af
ford maids, and therefore we do not usually arrange for
them ; but I think we can have your protegee look on from
the gallery. Good-afternoon."

As Mrs. Vanderpool drove home she related the talk to
Zora. Zora was silent at first. Then she said de
liberately :

"Miss Wynn was right."

"Why, Zora!"

" Did Helene attend the ball four years ago? "

" But, Zora, must you folk ape our nonsense as well as
our sense ? "

" You force us to," said Zora.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE ANNUNCIATION

THE new President had been inaugurated. Beneath
the creamy pile of the old Capitol, and facing the
new library, he had stood aloft and looked down
on a waving sea of faces — black-coated, jostling, eager-
eyed fellow creatures. They had watched his lips move,
had scanned eagerly his dress and the gowned and dec
orated dignitaries beside him; and then, with blare of
band and prancing of horses, he had been whirled down
the dip and curve of that long avenue, with its medley of
meanness and thrift and hurry and wealth, until, swing
ing sharply, the dim walls of the White House rose before
him. He entered with a sigh.

Then the vast, welter of humanity dissolved and
streamed hither and thither, gaping and laughing until
night, when thousands poured into the red barn of the
census shack and entered the artificial fairyland within.
The President walked through, smiling; the senators pro
tected their friends in the crush; and Harry Cresswell led
his wife to a little oasis of Southern ladies and gentlemen.

" This is democracy for you," said he, wiping his brow.

From a whirling eddy Mrs. Vanderpool waved at them,
and they rescued her.

" I think I am ready to go," she gasped. " Did you
ever ! "

[303]

304 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Come," Cresswell invited. But just then the crowd
pushed them apart and shot them along, and Mrs. Cress-
well found herself clinging to her husband amid two great
whirling variegated throngs of driving, white-faced
people. The band crashed and blared ; the people laughed
and pushed; and with rhythmic sound and swing the
mighty throng was dancing.

It took much effort, but at last the Cresswell party es
caped and rolled off in their carriages. They swept into
the avenue and out again, then up 14th Street, where,
turning for some street obstruction, they passed a throng
of carriages on a cross street.

" It 's the other ball," cried Mrs. Vanderpool, and
amid laughter she added, " Let *s go ! "

It was — the other ball. For Washington is itself, and
v something else besides. Along beside it ever runs that
dark and haunting echo ; that shadowy world-in-world
with its accusing silence, its emphatic self-sufficiency.
Mrs. Cresswell at first demurred. She thought of Els-
peth's cabin : the dirt, the smell, the squalor : of course,
this would be different; but — well, Mrs. Cresswell had

I little inclination for slumming. She was interested in the
under-world, but intellectually, not by personal contact.
She did not know that this was a side-world, not an under
world. Yet the imposing building did not look sordid.
" Hired ? " asked some one.
" No, owned."
"Indeed!"

TJaen there was a hitch.
" Tickets ?"

" Where can we buy them ? "
" Not on sale," was the curt reply.
" Actually exclusive ! " sneered Cresswell, for he could

THE ANNUNCIATION 305

not imagine any one unwelcome at a Negro ball. Then
he bethought himself of Sam Stillings and sent for
him. In a few minutes he had a dozen complimentary
tickets in his hand.

They entered the balcony and sat down. Mary Cress-
well leaned forward. It was interesting. Beneath her
was an ordinary pretty ball — flowered, silked, and rib
boned ; with swaying whirling figures, music, and laughter,
and all the human fun of gayety and converse.

And then she was impressed with the fact that this
was no ordinary scene; it was, on the contrary, most
extraordinary.

There was a black man waltzing with a white woman —
no, she was not white, for Mary caught the cream and
curl of the girl as she swept past: but there was a white
man (was he white?) and a black woman. The color of
the scene was wonderful. The hard human white seemed
to glow and live and run a mad gamut of the spectrum,
from morn till night, from white to black ; through red and
sombre browns, pale and brilliant yellows, dead and liv
ing blacks. Through her opera-glasses Mary scanned
their hair; she noted everything from the infinitely
twisted, crackled, dead, and grayish-black to the piled mass
of red golden sunlight. Her eyes went dreaming; there
below was the gathering of the worlds. She saw types
of all nations and all lands swirling beneath her in hu
man brotherhood, and a great wonder shook her. They
seemed so happy. Surely, this was no nether world; it
was upper earth, and — her husband beckoned; he had
been laughing incontinently. He saw nothing but a crowd
of queer looking people doing things they were not made
to do and appearing absurdly happy over it. It irritated
him unreasonably.

306 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" See the washer-woman in red," he whispered. " Look
at the monkey. Come, let 's go."

They trooped noisily down-stairs, and Cresswell walked
unceremoniously between a black man and his partner.
Mrs. Vanderpool recognized and greeted the girl as Miss
Wynn. Mrs. Cresswell did not notice her, but she paused
with a start of recognition at the sight of the man.

" Why, Bles ! " she exclaimed impetuously, starting to
hold out her hand. She was sincerely pleased at seeing
him. Then she remembered. She bowed and smiled, look
ing at him with interest and surprise. He was correctly
dressed, and the white shirt set off the comeliness of his
black face in compelling contrast. He carried himself
like a man, and bowed with gravity and dignity. She
passed on and heard her husband's petulant voice in
her ear.

" Mary — Mary ! for Heaven's sake, come on ; don't
shake hands with niggers."

It was recurring flashes of temper like this, together
with evidences of dubious company and a growing fond
ness for liquor, that drove Mary Cresswell more and
more to find solace in the work of Congressman Todd's
Civic Club. She collected statistics for several of the
Committee, wrote letters, interviewed a few persons, and
felt herself growing in usefulness and importance. She
did not mention these things to her husband; she knew
he would not object, but she shrank from his ridicule.

The various causes advocated by the Civic Club felt
the impetus of the aggressive work of the organization.
This was especially the case with the National Education
Bill and the amendment to the Child Labor Bill. The
movement became strong enough to call Mr. Easterly

THE ANNUNCIATION 307

down from New York. He and the inner circle went over
matters carefully.

"We need the political strength of the South," said
Easterly ; " not only in framing national legislation in
our own interests, but always in State laws. Particularly,
we must get them into line to offset Todd's foolishness.
The Child Labor Bill must either go through unamended
or be killed. The Cotton Inspection Bill — our chief meas
ure — must be slipped through quietly by Southern votes,
while in the Tariff mix-up we must take good care of
cotton.

" Now, on the other hand, we are offending the South
erners in three ways : Todd's revived Blair Bill is too good
a thing for niggers; the South is clamoring for a first
class embassy appointment; and the President's nomina
tion of Alwyn as Treasurer will raise a howl from Virginia
to Texas."

" There is some strong influence back of Alwyn," said
Senator Smith ; " not only are the Negroes enthused, but
the President has daily letters from prominent whites."

" The strong influence is named Vanderpool," Easterly
drily remarked. " She 's playing a bigger political game
than I laid out for her. That 's the devil with women :
they can't concentrate: they get too damned many side
issues. Now, I offered her husband the French ambassa
dorship provided she 'd help keep the Southerners feel
ing good toward us. She 's hand in glove with the
Southerners, all right; but she wants not only her hus
band's appointment but this darkey's too."

" But that 's been decided, has n't it? " put in Smith.

" Yes," grumbled Easterly ; " but it makes it hard al
ready. At any rate, the Educational Bill must be killed
right off. No more talk ; no more consideration — kill

308 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

it, and kill it now. Now about this Child Labor Bill:
Todd's Civic Club is raising the mischief. Who 's respon
sible?"

The silent Jackson spoke up. " Congressman Cress-
well's wife has been very active, and Todd thinks they *ve
got the South with them."

" Congressman Cresswell's wife ! " Easterly's face was
one great exclamation point. " Now what the devil does
this mean? "

" I 'm afraid," said Senator Smith, " that it may mean
an attempt on the part of Cresswell's friends to boost
him for the French ambassadorship. He 's the only
Southerner with money enough to support the position,
and there 's been a good deal of quiet talk, I understand,
in Southern circles."

" But it 's treason ! " Easterly shouted. " It will ruin
the plans of the Combine to put this amended Child Labor
Bill through. John Taylor has just written me that he 's
starting mills at Toomsville, and that he depends on un
restricted labor conditions, as we must throughout the
South. Does n't Cresswell know this ? "

" Of course. I think it 's just a bluff. If he gets the
appointment he '11 let the bill drop."

" I see — everybody is raising his price, is he? Pretty
soon the darky will be holding us up. Well, see Cress-
well, and put it to him strong. I must go. Wire me."

Senator Smith presented the matter bluntly to Cress-
well as soon as he saw him. " Which would the South
prefer — Todd's Education Bill, or Alwyn's appoint
ment? "

It was characteristic of Cresswell that the smaller mat
ter of Stillings' intrigue should interest him more than
Todd's measure, of which he knew nothing.

THE ANNUNCIATION 309

"What is Todd's bill?" asked Harry Cresswell, dark
ening.

Smith, surprised, got out a copy and explained. Cress-
well interrupted before he was half through.

" Don't you see," he said angrily, " that that will ruin
our plans for the Cotton Combine?"

" Yes, I do," replied Smith ; " but it will not do the
immediate harm that the amended Child Labor Bill will
do."

"What's that?" demanded Cresswell, frowning again.

Senator Smith regarded him again : was Cresswell play
ing a shrewd game?

" Why," he said at length, " are n't you promoting it? "

" No," was the reply. " Never heard of it."

" But," Senator Smith began, and paused. He turned
and took up a circular issued by the Civic Club, giving
a careful account of their endeavors to amend and pass
the Child Labor Bill. Cresswell read it, then threw it
aside.

" Nonsense ! " he indignantly repudiated the measure.
" That will never do ; it 's as bad as the Education Bill."

" But your wife is encouraging it and we thought you
were back of it."

Cresswell stared in blank amazement.

" My wife ! " he gasped. Then he bethought himself.
" It 's a mistake," he supplemented ; " Mrs. Cresswell gave
them no authority to sign her name."

" She 's been very active," Smith persisted, " and nat
urally we were all anxious."

Cresswell bit his lip. " I shall speak to her ; she does
not realize what use they are making of her passing
interest."

He hurried away, and Senator Smith felt a bit sorry

310 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

for Mrs. Cresswell when he recalled the expression on
her husband's face.

Mary Cresswell did not get home until nearly dinner
time; then she came in glowing with enthusiasm. Her
work had received special commendation that afternoon,
and she had been asked to take the chairmanship of the
committee on publicity. Finding that her husband was
at home, she determined to tell him — it was so good to
be doing something worth while. Perhaps, too, he might
be made to show some interest. She thought of Mr. and
Mrs. Todd and the old dream glowed faintly again.

Cresswell looked at her as she entered the library where
he was waiting and smoking. She was rumpled and muddy,
with flying hair and thick walking shoes and the air of
bustle and vigor which had crept into her blood this last
month. Truly, her cheeks were glowing and her eyes
bright, but he disapproved. Softness and daintiness,
silk and lace and glimmering flesh, belonged to women
in his mind, and he despised Amazons and " business "
women. He received her kiss coldly, and Mary's heart
sank. She essayed some gay greeting, but he interrupted
her.

"What's this stuff about the Civic Club?" he began
sharply.

" Stuff? " she queried, blankly.

" That 's what I said."

" I 'm sure I do n't know," she answered stiffly. " I
belong to the Civic Club, and have been working with it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" His resentment grew as
he proceeded.

" I did not think you were interested."

" Did n't you know that this Child Labor business was
opposed to my interests ? "

THE ANNUNCIATION 311

" Dear, I did not dream it. It >s a Republican bill,
to be sure; but you seemed very friendly with Senator
Smith, who introduced it. We were simply trying to
improve it."

" Suppose we did n't want it improved."

" That 's what some said ; but I did not believe such —
deception."

The blood rushed to Cresswell's face.

"Well, you will drop this bill and the Civic Club from
now on."

"Why?"

" Because I say so," he retorted explosively, too angry
to explain further.

She looked at him — a long, fixed, penetrating look
which revealed more than she had ever seen before, then
turned away and went slowly up-stairs. She did not
come down to dinner, and in the evening the doctor was
called.

Cresswell drooped a bit after eating, hesitated, and
reflected. He had acted too cavalierly in this Civic Club
mess, he concluded, and yet he would not back down.
He 'd go see her and pet her a bit, but be firm.

He opened her boudoir door gently, and she stood
before him radiant, clothed in silk and lace, her hair
loosened. He paused, astonished. But she threw her
self upon his neck, with a joyful, half hysterical cry.

" I will give it all up — everything ! Willingly, will
ingly ! " Her voice dropped abruptly to a tremulous
whisper. " Oh, Harry ! I — I am to be the mother of a
child!"

CHAPTER XXIX
A MASTER OF FATE

THERE is not the slightest doubt, Miss Wynn,"
Senator Smith was saying, " but that the schools
of the District will be reorganized."

"And the Board of Education abolished?" she added.

" Yes. The power will be delegated to a single white
superintendent."

The vertical line in Caroline Wynn's forehead became
pronounced.

"Whose work is this, Senator?" she asked.

" Well, there are, of course, various parties back of
the change : the c outs,' the reformers, the whole tendency
to concentrate responsibility, and so on. But, frankly,
the deciding factor was the demand of the South."

" Is there anything in Washington that the South does
not already own ? "

Senator Smith smiled thinly.

* Not much," drily ; " but we own the South."

" And part of the price is putting the colored schools
of the District in the hands of a Southern man and de
priving us of all voice in their control ? "

" Precisely, Miss Wynn. But you 'd be surprised to
know that it was the Negroes themselves who stirred the
South to this demand."

[312]

A MASTER OF FATE 313

" Not at all ; you mean the colored newspapers, I pre
sume."

" The same, with TeerswelPs clever articles ; then his
partner Stillings worked the ' impudent Negro teacher '
argument on Cresswell until Cresswell was wild to get
the South in control of the schools."

"But what do Teerswell and Stillings want?"

" They want Bles Alwyn to make a fool of himself."

" That is a trifle cryptic," Miss Wynn mused. The
Senator amplified.

" We are giving the South the Washington schools
and killing the Education Bill in return for their sup
port of some of our measures and their assent to Alwyn's
appointment. You see I speak frankly."

" I can stand it, Senator."

" I believe you can. Well, now, if Alwyn should act
unwisely and offend the South, somebody else stands in
line for the appointment."

"As Treasurer? " she asked in surprise.

" Oh, no, they are too shrewd to ask that ; it would
offend their backers, or shall I say their tools, the
Southerners. No, they ask only to be Register and As
sistant Register of the Treasury. This is an office colored
men have held for years, and it is quite ambitious enough
for them ; so Stillings assures Cresswell and his friends."

" I see," Miss Wynn slowly acknowledged. " But how
do they hope to make Mr. Alwyn blunder ? "

" Too easily, I fear — unless you are very careful.
Alwyn has been working like a beaver for the National
Educational Bill. He 's been in to see me several times,
as you probably know. His heart is set on it. He re
gards its passage as a sort of vindication of his defence
of the party."

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Yes."

" Now, the party has dropped the bill for good, and
Alwyn does n't like it. If he should attack the party — ':

" But he would n't," cried Miss Wynn with a start that
belied her conviction.

" Did you know that he is to be invited to make the
principal address to the graduates of the colored high-
school? "

" But " she objected, " They have selected Bishop John
son; I — "

" I know you did," laughed the Senator, " but the
Judge got orders from higher up."

" Shrewd Mr. Teerswell," remarked Miss Wynn, sagely,

" Shrewd Mr. Stillings," the Senator corrected ; " but
perhaps too shrewd. Suppose Mr. Alwyn should take
this occasion to make a thorough defence of the party? "

"But — will he?"

" That 's where you come in," Senator Smith pointed
out, rising, " and the real reason of this interview. We 're
depending on you to pull the party out of an awkward
hole," and he shook hands with his caller.

Miss Wynn walked slowly up Pennsylvania Avenue
with a smile on her face.

" I did not give him the credit," she declared, repeat
ing it ; "I did not give him the credit. Here I was,
playing an alluring game on the side, and my dear Tom
transforms it into a struggle for bread and butter; for
of course, if the Board of Education goes, I lose my
place." She lifted her head and stared along the avenue.

A bitterness dawned in her eyes. The whole street
was a living insult to her. Here she was, an American
girl by birth and breeding, a daughter of citizens who
had fought and bled and worked for a dozen generations

A MASTER OF FATE 315

on this soil ; yet if she stepped into this hotel to rest, even
with full purse, she would be politely refused accommo
dation. Should she attempt to go into this picture show
she would be denied entrance. She was thirsty with the
walk; but at yonder fountain the clerk would roughly
refuse to serve her. It was lunch time; there was no
place within a mile where she was allowed to eat. The
revolt deepened within her. Beyond these known and
definite discriminations lay the unknown and hovering.
In yonder store nothing hindered the clerk from being
exceptionally pert; on yonder street-car the conductor
might reserve his politeness for white folk; this police
man's business was to keep black and brown people in ,
their places. All this Caroline Wynn thought of, and then \
smiled.

This was the thing poor blind Bles was trying to at
tack by "appeals" for "justice." Nonsense! Does
one " appeal " to the red-eyed beast that throttles him ?
No. He composes himself, looks death in the eye, and
speaks softly, on the chance. Whereupon Miss Wynn
composed herself, waved gayly at a passing acquaintance,
and matched some ribbons in a department store. The
clerk was new and anxious to sell.

Meantime her brain was busy. She had a hard task
before her. Alwyn's absurd conscience and Quixotic ideas
were difficult to cope with. After his last indiscreet talk
she had ventured deftly to remonstrate, and she well
remembered the conversation.

" Was n't what I said true? " he had asked.

" Perfectly. Is that an excuse for saying it? "

" The facts ought to be known."

" Yes, but ought you to tell them? "

"If not I, who?"

316 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Some one who is less useful elsewhere, and whom I
like less."

" Carrie," he had been intensely earnest. " I want to
do the best thing, but I 'm puzzled. I wonder if I 'm sell
ing my birthright for six thousand dollars ? "

" In case of doubt, do it."

" But there 's the doubt : I may convert ; I may open
the eyes of the blind; I may start a crusade for Negro
rights."

" Don't believe it ; it 's useless ; we '11 never get our
rights in this land."

" You don't believe that! " he had ejaculated, shocked.

Well, she must begin again. As she had hoped, he
was waiting for her when she reached home. She wel
comed him cordially, made a little music for him, and
served tea.

" Bles," she said, " the Opposition has been laying a
pretty shrewd trap for you."

"What?" he asked absently.

" They are going to have you chosen as High School
commencement orator."

"Me? Stuff!"

" You — and not stuff, but ' Education ' will be your
natural theme. Indeed, they have so engineered it that the
party chiefs expect from you a defence of their dropping
of the Educational Bill."

"What!"

" Yes, and probably your nomination will come before
the speech and confirmation after."

Bles walked the floor excitedly for a while and then
sat down and smiled.

" It was a shrewd move," he said ; " but I think I
thank them for it."

A MASTER OF FATE 317

"I don't. But still,

" ' 'T is the sport to see the engineer hoist
by his own petar.' '

Bles mused and she watched him covertly. Suddenly
she leaned over.

" Moreover," she said, " about that same date I 'm lia
ble to lose my position as teacher."

He looked at her quickly, and she explained the com
ing revolution in school management.

He did not discuss the matter, and she was equally
reticent ; but when he entered the doors of his lodging-
place and, gathering his mail, slowly mounted the stairs,
there came the battle of his life.

He knew it and he tried to wage it coolly and with
method. He arrayed the arguments side by side: on
this side lay success; the greatest office ever held by a
Negro in America — greater than Douglass or Bruce or
Lynch had held — a landmark, a living example and
inspiration. A man owed the world success; there were
plenty who could fail and stumble and give multiple
excuses. Should he be one? He viewed the other side.
What must he pay for success ? Aye, face it boldly —
what? Mechanically he searched for his mail and undid the
latest number of the Colored American. He was sure the
answer stood there in Teerswell's biting vulgar English.
And there it was, with a cartoon:

His MASTER'S VOICE

Alwyn is Ordered to Eat His Words or Get Out
Watch Him Do It Gracefully
The Republican Leaders, etc.

He threw down his paper, and the hot blood sang in his
ears. The sickening thought was that it was true. If

318 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

he did make the speech demanded it would be like a dog
obedient to his master's voice.

The cold sweat oozed on his face; throwing up the
window, he drank in the Spring breeze, and stared at the
city he once had thought so alluring. Somehow it looked
like the swamp, only less beautiful; he stretched his arms
and his lips breathed — " Zora ! "

He turned hastily to his desk and looked at the other
piece of mail — a single sealed note carefully written
on heavy paper. He did not recognize the handwriting.
Then his mind flew off again. What would they say if
he failed to get the office? How they would silently hoot
and jeer at the upstart who suddenly climbed so high
and fell. And Carrie Wynn — poor Carrie, with her
pride and position dragged down in his ruin: how would
she take it? He writhed in soul. And yet, to be a man;
to say calmly, " No " ; to stand in that great audience and
say, " My people first and last " ; to take Carrie's hand
and together face the world and struggle again to newer
finer triumphs — all this would be very close to attain
ment of the ideal. He found himself staring at the little
letter. Would she go? Would she, could she, lay aside
her pride and cynicism, her dainty ways and little extrava
gances? An odd fancy came to him: perhaps the
answer to the riddle lay sealed within the envelope he
fingered.

He opened it. Within lay four lines of writing — no
more — no address, no signature ; simply the words :

" It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishment the scroll ;
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul."

A MASTER OF FATE 319

He stared at the lines. Eleven o'clock — twelve —
one — chimed the deep-voiced clock without, before Alwyn
went to bed.

Miss Wynn had kept a vigil almost as long. She knew
that Bles had influential friends who had urged his pre
ferment; it might be wise to enlist them. Before she
fell asleep she had determined to have a talk with Mrs.
Vanderpool. She had learned from Senator Smith that
the lady took especial interest in Alwyn.

Mrs. Vanderpool heard Miss Wynn's story next day
with some inward dismay. Really the breadth and depth
of intrigue in this city almost frightened her as she walked
deeper into the mire. She had promised Zora that Bles
should receive his reward on terms which would not wound
his manhood. It seemed an easy, almost an obvious thing,
to promise at the time. Yet here was this rather un
usual young woman asking Mrs. Vanderpool to use her
influence in making Alwyn bow to the yoke. She fenced
for time.

" But I do not know Mr. Alwyn."

" I thought you did ; you recommended him highly."

" I knew of him slightly in the South and I have
watched his career here."

" It would be too bad to have that career spoiled now."

"But is it necessary? Suppose he should defend the
Education Bill."

"And criticise the party?" asked Miss Wynn. "It
would take strong influence to pull him through."

" And if that strong influence were found? " said Mrs.
Vanderpool thoughtfully.

" It would surely involve some other important con
cession to the South."

Mrs. Vanderpool looked up, and an interjection hov-

320 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

ered on her lips. Was it possible that the price of Alwyn's
manhood would be her husband's appointment to Paris?
And if it were?

" I '11 do what I can," she said graciously ; " but I am
afraid that will not be much."

Miss Wynn hesitated. She had not succeeded even in
guessing the source of Mrs. Vanderpool's interest in
Alwyn, and without that her appeal was but blind grop
ing. She stopped on her way to the door to admire a
bronze statuette and find time to think.

" You are interested in bronzes ? " asked Mrs. Van-
derpool.

" Oh, no ; I 'm far too poor. But I 've dabbled a bit
in sculpture."

" Indeed ? " Mrs. Vanderpool revealed a mild interest,
and Miss Wynn was compelled to depart with little en
lightenment.

On the way up town she concluded that there was but
one chance of success: she must write Alwyn's speech.
With characteristic decision she began her plans at once.

" What will you say in your speech ? " she asked him
that night as he rose to go.

He looked at her and she wavered slightly under his
black eyes. The fight was becoming a little too desper
ate even for her steady nerves.

" You would not like me to act dishonestly, would
you? " he asked.

" No," she involuntarily replied, regretting the word tne
moment she had uttered it. He gave her one of his rare
sweet smiles, and, rising, before she realized his intent,
he had kissed her hands and was gone.

She asked herself why she had been so foolish; and

A MASTER OF FATE 321

yet, somehow, sitting there alone in the firelight, she felt
glad for once that she had risen above intrigue. Then
she sighed and smiled, and began to plot anew. Teerswell
dropped in later and brought his friend, Stillings. They
found their hostess gay and entertaining.

Miss Wynn gathered books about her, and in the days
of April and May she and Alwyn read up on education.
He marvelled at the subtlety of her mind, and she at
the relentlessness of his. They were very near each other
during these days, and yet there was ever something be
tween them: a vision to him of dark and pleading eyes
that he constantly saw beside her cool, keen glance. And
he to her was always two men : one man above men, whom
she could respect but would not marry, and one man
like all men, whom she would marry but could not respect.
His devotion to an ideal which she thought so utterly
unpractical, aroused keen curiosity and admiration. She
was sure he would fail in the end, and she wanted him
to fail; and somehow, somewhere back beyond herself,
her better self longed to find herself defeated; to see
this mind stand firm on principle, under circumstances
where she believed men never stood. Deep within her
she discovered at times a passionate longing to believe in
somebody; yet she found herself bending every energy
to pull this man down to the level of time-servers, and
even as she failed, feeling something like contempt for his
stubbornness.

The great day came. He had her notes, her sugges
tions, her hints, but she had no intimation of what he
would finally say.

" Will you come to hear me ? " he asked.

" No," she murmured.

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" That is best," he said, and then he added slowly, " I
would not like you ever to despise me."

She answered sharply : " I want to despise you ! "

Did he understand? She was not sure. She was sorry
she had said it; but she meant it fiercely. Then he left
her, for it was already four in the afternoon and he
spoke at eight.

In the morning she came down early, despite some
dawdling over her toilet. She brought the morning paper
into the dining-room and sat down with it, sipping her
coffee. She leaned back and looked leisurely at the head
ings. There was nothing on the front page but a divorce,
a revolution, and a new Trust. She took another sip of
her coffee, and turned the page. There it was, " Colored
High Schools Close — Vicious Attack on Republican
Party by Negro Orator."

She laid the paper aside and slowly finished her coffee.
A few minutes later she went to her desk and sat there
so long that she started at hearing the clock strike nine.

The day passed. When she came home from school
she bought an evening paper. She was not surprised to
learn that the Senate had rejected Alwyn's nomination;
that Samuel Stillings had been nominated and confirmed
as Register of the Treasury, and that Mr. Tom Teers-
well was to be his assistant. Also the bill reorganizing
the school board had passed. She wrote two notes and
posted them as she went out to walk.

When she reached home Stillings was there, and they
talked earnestly. The bell rang violently. Teerswell
rushed in.

" Well, Carrie ! " he cried eagerly.

" Well, Tom," she responded, giving him a languid hand.
Stillings rose and departed. Teerswell nodded and said:

A MASTER OF FATE

" Well, what do you think of last night? "

" A great speech, I hear."

" A fool speech — that speech cost him, I calculate,
between twenty-four and forty-eight thousand dollars."

" Possibly he 's satisfied with his bargain."

"Possibly. Are you?"

"With his bargain?" quickly. "Yes."

" No," he pressed her, " with your bargain ? "

" What bargain ? " she parried.

"To marry him."

"Oh, no; that's off."

" Is it off? " cried Teerswell delightedly. " Good! It
was foolish from the first — that black country —

" Gently," Miss Wynn checked him. " I 'm not yet
over the habit."

" Come. See what I 've bought. You know I have a
salary now." He produced a ring with a small diamond
cluster.

" How pretty ! " she said, taking it and looking at it.
Then she handed it back.

He laughed gayly. " It 's yours, Carrie. You 're going
to marry me."

She looked at him queerly.

" Am I ? But I 've got another ring already," she said.

" Oh, send Alwyn's back."

" I have. This is still another." And uncovering her
hand she showed a ring with a large and beautiful dia
mond.

He rose. " Whose is that ? " he demanded apprehen
sively.

" Mine — " her eyes met his.

" But who gave it to you ? "

" Mr. Stillings," was the soft reply.

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

He stared at her helplessly. "I — I — don't under
stand ! " he stammered.

" Well, to be brief, I 'm engaged to Mr. Stillings."

"What! To that flat-headed — "

" No," she coolly interrupted, " to the Register of the
Treasury."

The man was too dumbfounded, too overwhelmed for
coherent speech.

" But — but — come ; why in God's name — will you
throw yourself away on — on such a — you're joking
— you — "

She motioned him to a chair. He obeyed like one in
a trance.

" Now, Tom, be calm. When I was a baby I loved
you, but that is long ago. To-day, Tom, you 're an
insufferable cad and I — well, I 'm too much like you
to have two of us in the same family."

" But, Stillings ! " he burst forth, almost in tears.
" The snake — what is he? "

" Nearly as bad as you, I '11 admit ; but he has four
thousand a year and sense enough to keep it. In truth,
I need it; for, thanks to your political activity, my own
position is gone."

" But he 's a — a damned rascal ! " Wounded self-con
ceit was now getting the upper hand.

She laughed.

" I think he is. But he 's such an exceptional rascal ;
he appeals to me. You know, Tom, we 're all more or
less rascally — except one."

"Except who?" he asked quickly.

" Bles Alwyn."

"The fool!"

" Yes," she slowly agreed. " Bles Alwyn, the Fool —

A MASTER OF FATE 825

and the Man. But by grace of the Negro Problem, I
cannot afford to marry a man — Hark ! some one is on
the steps. I 'm sure it 's Bles. You 'd better go now.
Don't attempt to fight with him ; he 's very strong. Good
night."

Alwyn entered. He did n't notice Teerswell as he passed
out. He went straight to Miss Wynn holding a crumpled
note, and his voice faltered a little.

" Do you mean it? "

" Yes, Bles."

"Why?"

" Because I am selfish and — small."

" No, you are not. You want to be ; but give it up,
Carrie ; it is n't worth the cost. Come, let 's be honest
and poor — and free."

She regarded him a moment, searchingly, then a look
half quizzical, half sorrowful came into her eyes. She put
both her hands on his shoulders and said as she kissed
his lips:

" Bles, almost thou persuadest me — to be a fool. Now
go."

CHAPTER XXX

THE RETURN OF ZORA

I NEVER realized before just what a lie meant," said
Zora.

The paper in Mrs. Vanderpool's hands fell quickly
quickly to her lap, and she gazed across the toilet-table.

As she gazed that odd mirage of other days haunted
her again. She did not seem to see her maid, nor the
white and satin morning-room. She saw, with some long
inner sight, a vast hall with mighty pillars; a smooth,
marbled floor and a great throng whose silent eyes looked
curiously upon her. Strange carven beasts gazed on from
a setting of rich, barbaric splendor and she herself — the
Liar — lay in rags before the gold and ivory of that
lofty throne whereon sat Zora,.

The foolish phantasy passed with the second of time
that brought it, and Mrs. Vanderpool's eyes dropped
again to her paper, to those lines, —

" The President has sent the following nominations to
the Senate . . . To be ambassador to France, John
Vanderpool, Esq."

The first feeling of triumph thrilled faintly again un
til the low voice of Zora startled her. It was so low and
calm, it came as though journeying from great distances
and weary with travel.

[326 ]

THE RETURN OF ZORA 327

" I used to think a lie a little thing, a convenience ;
but now I see. It is a great No and it kills things. You
remember that day when Mr. Easterly called?"

" Yes," replied Mrs. Vanderpool, faintly.

" I heard all he said. I could not help it ; my transom
was open. And then, too, after he mentioned — Mr.
Alwyn's name, I wanted to hear. I knew that his ap
pointment would cost you the embassy — unless Bles was
tempted and should fall. So I came to you to say —
to say you must n't pay the price."

" And I lied," said Mrs. Vanderpool. " I told you
that he should be appointed and remain a man. I meant
to make him see that he could yield without great cost.
But I let you think I was giving up the embassy when I
never intended to."

She spoke coldly, yet Zora knew. She reached out and
took the white, still hands in hers, and over the lady's
face again flitted that stricken look of age.

" I do not blame you," said Zora gently. " I blame
the world."

" I am the world," Mrs. Vanderpool uttered harshly,
then suddenly laughed. But Zora went on:

" It bewildered me when I first read the news early
this morning ; the world — everything — seemed wrong.
You see, my plan was all so splendid. Just as I turned
away from him, back to my people, I was to help him to
the highest. I was so afraid he would miss it and think
that Right did n't win in Life, that I wrote him -

" You wrote him? So did I."

Zora glanced at her quickly.

" Yes," said Mrs. Vanderpool. " I thought I knew
him. He seemed an ordinary, rather priggish, opin
ionated country boy, and I wrote and said — Oh, I said

328 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

that the world is the world; take it as it is. You wrote
differently, and he obeyed you."

" No; he did not know it was I. I was just a Voice
from nowhere calling to him. I thought I was right.
I wrote each day, sometimes twice, sending bits of verse,
quotations, references, all saying the same thing: Right
always triumphs. But it doesn't, does it?"

" No. It never does save by accident."

" I do not think that is quite so," Zora pondered aloud,
" and I am a little puzzled. I do not belong in this world
where Right and Wrong get so mixed. With us yonder
there is wrong, but we call it wrong — mostly. Oh, I
don't know; even there things are mixed." She looked
sadly at Mrs. Vanderpool, and the fear that had been
hovering behind her mistress's eyes became visible.

" It was so beautiful," said Zora, " I expected a great
thing of you — a sacrifice. I do not blame you because
you could not do it ; and yet — yet, after this, — don't
you see? — I cannot stay here."

Mrs. Vanderpool arose and walked over to her. She
stood above her, in her silken morning-gown, her brown
and gray sprinkled hair rising above the pale, strong-
lined face.

"Zora," she faltered, "will you leave me?"

Zora answered, " Yes." It was a soft " yes," a " yes "
full of pity and regret, but a " yes " that Mrs. Vander
pool knew in her soul to be final.

She sat down again on the lounge and her fingers crept
along the cushions.

" Ambassadorships come — high," she said with a catch
in her voice. Then after a pause : " When will you
go, Zora?"

THE RETURN OF ZORA 329

" When you leave for the summer."

Mrs. Vandexpool looked out upon the beautiful city.
She was a little surprised at herself. She had found
herself willing to sacrifice almost anything for Zora. No
living soul had ever raised in her so deep an affection,
and yet she knew now that, although the cost was great,
she was willing to sacrifice Zora for Paris. After all, it
was not too late; a rapid ride even now might secure
high office for Alwyn and make Cresswell ambassador.
It would be difficult but possible. But she had not the
slightest inclination to attempt it, and she said aloud,
half mockingly :

" You are right, Zora. I promised — and — I lied.
Liars have no place in heaven and heaven is doubtless a
beautiful place — but oh, Zora ! you have n't seen Paris ! "

Two months later they parted simply, knowing well
it was forever. Mrs. Vanderpool wrote a check.

" Use this in your work," she said. " Miss Smith asked
for it long ago. It is — my campaign contribution."

Zora smiled and thanked her. As she put the sealed
envelope in her trunk her hand came in contact with a
long untouched package. Zora took it out silently and
opened it and the beauty of it lightened the room.

" It is the Silver Fleece," said Zora, and Mrs. Van
derpool kissed her and went.

Zora walked alone to the vaulted station. She did not
try to buy a Pullman ticket, although the journey was
thirty-six hours. She knew it would be difficult if not
impossible and she preferred to share the lot of her peo
ple. Once on the foremost car, she leaned back and
looked. The car seemed clean and comfortable but
strangely short. Then she realized that half of it was

330 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

cut off for the white smokers and as the door swung
whiffs of the smoke came in. But she was content for she
was almost alone.

It was eighteen little months ago that she had ridden
up to the world with widening eyes. In that time what
had happened? Everything. How well she remembered
her coming, the first reflection of yonder gilded dome

and the soaring of the capitol;\the swelling of her heart,
with inarticulate wonder; the pain of the thirst to know
and understand. She did not know much now but she
had learned how to find things out. She did not under
stand all, but some things she — }

" Ticket " — the tone was harsh and abrupt. Zora
started. She had always noted how polite conductors
were to her and Mrs. Vanderpool — was it simply because
Mrs. Vanderpool was evidently a great and rich lady?
She held up her ticket and he snatched it from her mut
tering some direction.

" I beg your pardon ? " she said.

" Change at Charlotte," he snapped as he went on.

It seemed to Zora that his discourtesy was almost
forced : that he was afraid he might be betrayed into some
show of consideration for a black woman, i She felt no
anger, she simply wondered what he f eared. | The in
creasing smell of tobacco smoke started her coughing.
She turned. To be sure. Not only was the door to the
smoker standing open, but a white passenger was in her
car, sitting by the conductor and puffing heartily. As
the black porter passed her she said gently :

" Is smoking allowed in here ? "

" It ain't none o' my business," he flung back at her
and moved away. All day white men passed back and

THE RETURN OF ZORA 331

forward through the car as through a thoroughfare.
They talked loudly and laughed and joked, and if they
did not smoke they carried their lighted cigars. At her
they stared and made comments, and one of them came
and lounged almost over her seat, inquiring where she
was going.

She did not reply; she neither looked nor stirred, but
kept whispering to herself with something like awe:
" This is what they must endure — my poor people ! "

At Lynchburg a newsboy boarded the train with his
wares. The conductor had already appropriated two
seats for himself, and the newsboy routed out two colored
passengers, and usurped two other seats. Then he began
to be especially annoying. He joked and wrestled with
the porter, and on every occasion pushed his wares at
Zora, insisting on her buying.

"Ain't you got no money?" he asked. "Where you
going? "

" Say," he whispered another time, " don't you want
to buy these gold spectacles? I found 'em and I dassen't
sell 'em open, see? They 're worth ten dollars — take 'em
for a dollar."

Zora sat still, keeping her eyes on the window ; but her
hands worked nervously, and when he threw a book with
a picture of a man and half-dressed woman directly under
her eyes, she took it and dropped it out of the window.

The boy started to storm and demanded pay, while
the conductor glared at her; but a white man in the
conductor's seat whispered something, and the row sud
denly stopped.

A gang of colored section hands got on, dirty and
loud. They sprawled about and smoked, drank, and

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

bought candy and cheap gewgaws. They eyed her
respectfully, and with one of them she talked a little as
he awkwardly fingered his cap.

As the day wore on Zora found herself strangely weary.
It was not simply the unpleasant things that kept hap
pening, but the continued apprehension of unknown pos
sibilities. Then, too, she began to realize that she had
had nothing to eat. Travelling with Mrs. Vanderpool
there was always a dainty lunch to be had at call. She
did not expect this, but she asked the porter:

" Do you know where I can get a lunch? "

" Search me," he answered, lounging into a seat. " Ain't
no chance betwixt here and Danville as I knows on."

Zora viewed her plight with a certain dismay — twelve
hours without food! How foolish of her not to have
thought of this. The hours passed. She turned desper
ately to the gruff conductor.

" Could I buy a lunch from the dining-car? " she
inquired.

" No," was the curt reply.

She made herself as comfortable as she could, and tried
to put the matter from her mind. She remembered how,
forgotten years ago, she had often gone a day without eat
ing and thought little of it. Night came slowly, and she
fell to dreaming until the cry came, " Charlotte ! Change
cars ! " She scrambled out. There was no step to the
platform, her bag was heavy, and the porter was busy
helping the white folks to alight. She saw a dingy lunch
room marked " Colored," but she had no time to go to it
for her train was ready.

There was another colored porter on this, and he was
very polite and affable.

THE RETURN OF ZORA 333

" Yes, Miss ; certainly I '11 fetch you a lunch * — plenty
of time." And he did. It did not look clean but Zora
was ravenous.

The white smoker now had few occupants, but the
white train crew proceeded to use the colored coach as
a lounging-room and sleeping-car. There was no passen
ger except Zora. They took off their coats, stretched
themselves on the seats, and exchanged jokes ; but Zora was
too tired to notice much, and she was dozing wearily when
she felt a touch on the arm and found the porter in the
seat beside her with his arm thrown familiarly behind her
along the top of the back. She rose abruptly to her feet
and he started up.

" I beg pardon," he said, grinning.

Zora sat slowly down as he got up and left. She de
termined to sleep no more. Yet a vast vision sank on
her weary spirit — the vision of a dark cloud that
dropped and dropped upon her, and lay as lead along
her straining shoulders. She must lift it, she knew, though
it were big as a world, and she put her strength to it and
groaned as the porter cried in the ghostly morning light:

"Atlanta! All change!"

Away yonder at the school near Toomsville, Miss Smith
sat waiting for the coming of Zora, absently attending
the duties of the office. Dark little heads and hands
bobbed by and soft voices called:

" Miss Smith, I wants a penny pencil."

"Miss Smith, is yo' got a speller fo' ten cents?"

" Miss Smith, mammy say please lemme come to school
this week and she '11 sho' pay Sata'day."

Yet the little voices that summoned her back to earth
were less clamorous than in other years, for the school

334 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

was far from full, and Miss Smith observed the falling
off with grave eyes. This condition was patently the
result of the cotton corner and the subsequent manipula
tion. When cotton rose, the tenants had already sold
their cotton; when cotton fell the landlords squeezed the
rations and lowered the wages. When cotton rose again,
up went the new Spring rent contracts. So it was that
the bewildered black serf dawdled in listless inability to
understand. The Cresswells in their new wealth, the Max
wells and Tollivers in the new pinch of poverty, stretched
long arms to gather in the tenants and their children.
Excuse after excuse came to the school.

" I can't send the chilluns dis term, Miss Smith ; dey
has to work."

" Mr. Cresswell won't allow Will to go to school this
term."

" Mr. Tolliver done put Sam in the field."

And so Miss Smith contemplated many empty desks.

Slowly a sort of fatal inaction seized her. The school
went on; daily the dark little cloud of scholars rose up
from hill and vale and settled in the white buildings; the
hum of voices and the busy movements of industrious
teachers filled the day; the office work went on methodi
cally; but back of it all Miss Smith sat half hopeless.
It cost five thousand a year to run the school, and this sum
she raised with increasingly greater difficulty. Extra and
heart-straining effort had been needed to raise the eight
hundred dollars additional for interest money on the mort
gage last year. Next year it might have to come out of
the regular income and thus cut off two teachers. Beyond
all this the raising of ten thousand dollars to satisfy the
mortgage seemed simply impossible, and Miss Smith sat in
fatal resignation, awaiting the coming day.

THE RETURN OF ZORA 335

" It 's the Lord's work. I 've done what I could. I
guess if He wants it to go on, He '11 find a way. And
if He does n't — " She looked off across the swamp and
was silent.

Then came Zora's letter, simple and brief, but breath
ing youth and strength of purpose. Miss Smith seized
upon it as an omen of salvation. In vain her shrewd New
England reason asked : " What can a half-taught black
girl do in this wilderness?" Her heart answered back:
"What is impossible to youth and resolution?" Let the
shabbiness increase; let the debts pile up; let the board
ers complain and the teachers gossip — Zora was com
ing. And somehow she and Zora would find a way.

And Zora came just as the sun threw its last crimson
through the black swamp; came and gathered the frail
and white-haired woman in her arms ; and they wept to
gether. Long and low they talked, far into the soft
Southern night; sitting shaded beneath the stars, while
nearby blinked the drowsy lights of the girls' dormitory.
At last Miss Smith said, rising stiffly:

" I forgot to ask about Mrs. Vanderpool. How is she,
and where? "

Zora murmured some answer; but as she went to bed
in her little white room she sat wondering sadly. Where
was the poor spoiled woman? Who was putting her to
bed and smoothing the pillow? Who was caring for her,
and what was she doing? And Zora strained her eyes
Northward through the night.

At this moment, Mrs. Vanderpool, rising from a
gala dinner in the brilliant drawing-room of her Lake
George mansion, was reading the evening paper which
her husband had put into her hands. With startled
eyes she caught the impudent headlines :

336 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

VANDEEPOOL DROPPED

Senate Refuses to Confirm

Todd Insurgents Muster Enough Votes to Defeat

Confirmation of President's Nominee

Rumored Revenge for Machine's Defeat of Child Labor

Bill Amendment.

The paper trembled in her jewelled hands. She glanced
down the column.

"Todd asks: Who is Vanderpool, anyhow? Wlmt
did he ever do? He is known only as a selfish millionaire
who thinks more of horses than of men."

Carelessly Mrs. Vanderpool threw the paper to the
floor and bit her lips as the angry blood dyed her face.

" They shall confirm him," she whispered, " if I have
to mortgage my immortal soul ! " And she rang up long
distance on the telephone.

CHAPTER XXXI
A PARTING OF WAYS

WAS the child born dead? "
"Worse than dead!"

Somehow, somewhere, Mary Cresswell had
heard these words ; long, long, ago, down there in the great
pain-swept shadows of utter agony, where Earth seemed
slipping its moorings; and now, to-day, she lay repeat
ing them mechanically, grasping vaguely at their mean
ing. Long she had wrestled with them as they twisted
and turned and knotted themselves, and she worked and
toiled so hard as she lay there to make the thing clear —
to understand.

"Was the child born dead?"

"Worse than dead!"

Then faint and fainter whisperings : what could be worse
than death? She had tried to ask the grey old doctor,
but he soothed her like a child each day and left her ly
ing there. To-day she was stronger, and for the first
time sitting up, looking listlessly out across the world —
a queer world. Why had they not let her see the child —
just one look at its little dead face? That would have
been something. And again, as the doctor cheerily turned
to go, she sought to repeat the old question. He looked
at her sharply, then interrupted, saying kindly:

[337]

338 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" There, now ; you 've been dreaming. You must rest
quietly now." And with a nod he passed into the other
room to talk with her husband.

She was not satisfied. She had not been dreaming.
She would tell Harry to ask him — she did not often see
her husband, but she must ask him now and she arose
unsteadily and swayed noiselessly across the floor. A
moment she leaned against the door, then opened it
slightly. From the other side the words came distinctly
and clearly:

" — other children, doctor? "

" You must have no other children, Mr. Cresswell."

"Why?"

" Because the sins of the fathers are visited upon the
children unto the third and fourth generation."

Slowly, softly, she crept away. Her mind seemed very
clear. And she began a long journey to reach her win
dow and chair — a long, long j ourney ; but at last she
sank into the chair again and sat dry-eyed, wondering
who had conceived this world and made it, and why.

A long time afterward she found herself lying in bed,
awake, conscious, clear-minded. Yet she thought as little
as possible, for that little was pain; but she listened
gladly, for without she heard the solemn beating of the
sea, the mighty rhythmic beating of the sea. Long days
she lay, and sat and walked beside those vast and speak
ing waters, till at last she knew their voice and they spoke
to her and the sea-calm soothed her soul.

For one brief moment of her life she saw herself clearly :
a well-meaning woman, ambitious, but curiously narrow;
not willing to work long for the Vision, but leaping at it
rashly, blindly, with a deep-seated sense of duty which
she made a source of offence by preening and parading

A PARTING OF WAYS 339

it, and forcing it to ill-timed notice. She saw that she
had looked on her husband as a means not an end. She
had wished to absorb him and his work for her own glory.
She had idealized for her own uses a very human man
whose life had been full of sin and fault. She must atone.

No sooner, in this brief moment, did she see herself
honestly than her old habits swept her on tumultuously.
No ordinary atonement would do. The sacrifice must be
vast; the world must stand in wonder before this clever
woman sinking her soul in another and raising him by
sheer will to the highest.

So after six endless months Mary Cresswell walked into,
her Washington home again. She knew she had changed
in appearance, but she had forgotten to note how much
until she saw the stare — almost the recoil — of her hus
band, the muttered exclamation, the studied, almost over
done welcome. Then she went up to her mirror and looked
long, and knew.

She was strong; she felt well; but she was slight, al
most scrawny, and her beauty was gone forever. It had
been of that blonde white-and-pink type that fades in a
flash, and its going left her body flattened and angular,
her skin drawn and dead white, her eyes sunken. From
the radiant girl whom Cresswell had met three years earlier
the change was startling, and yet the contrast seemed
even greater than it was, for her glory then had been
her abundant and almost golden hair. Now that hair was
faded, and falling so fast that at last the doctor advised
her to cut it short. This left her ill-shaped head exposed
and emphasized the sunken hollows of her face. She
knew that she was changed but she did not quite realize
how changed, until now as she stood and gazed.

Yet she did not hesitate but from that moment set

340 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

herself to her new life task. Characteristically, she started
dramatically and largely. She was to make her life an
endless sacrifice ; she was to revivify the manhood in Harry
Cresswell, and all this for no return, no partnership of
soul — all was to be complete sacrifice and sinking of
soul in soul^

If Mary Cresswell had attempted less she would have
accomplished more. As it was, she began well; she went
to work tactfully, seeming to note no change in his man
ner toward her; but his manner had changed. He was
studiously, scrupulously polite in private, and in public
devoted; but there was no feeling, no passion, no love.
The polished shell of his clan reflected conventional light
even more carefully than formerly because the shell was
cold and empty. There were no little flashes of anger now,
no poutings nor sweet reconciliations. Life ran very
smoothly and courteously; and while she did not try to
regain the affection, she strove to enthrall his intellect.
She supplied a sub-committee upon which he was serving —
not directly, but through him — with figures, with reports,
books, and papers, so that he received special commenda
tions; a praise that piqued as well as pleased him, be
cause it implied a certain surprise that he was able to
do it.

"The damned Yankees!" he sneered. "They think
they 've got the brains of the nation."

" Why not make a speech on the subject? " she sug
gested.

He laughed. The matter under discussion was the
cotton-goods schedule of the new tariff bill, about which
really he knew a little; his wife placed every tempta
tion to knowledge before him, even inspiring Senator
Smith to ask him to defend that schedule against the low-

A PARTING OF WAYS 341

tariff advocate. Mary Cresswell worked with redoubled
energy, and for nearly a week Harry staid at home nights
and studied. Thanks to his wife the speech was unusually
informing and well put, and the fact that a prominent
free-trader spoke the same afternoon gave it publicity,
while Mr. Easterly saw to the press despatches.

Cresswell subscribed to a clipping-bureau and tasted
the sweets of dawning notoriety, and Mrs. Cresswell ar
ranged a select dinner-party which included a cabinet
officer, a foreign ambassador, two millionaires, and the
leading Southern Congressmen. The talk came around to
the failure of the Senate to confirm Mr. Vanderpool, and
it was generally assumed that the President would not
force the issue.

Who, then, should be nominated? There were several
suggestions, but the knot of Southern Congressmen about
Mrs. Cresswell declared emphatically that it must be a
Southerner. Not since the war had a prominent South
erner represented America at a first-class foreign court;
it was shameful ; the time was ripe for change. But who ?
Here opinions differed widely. Nearly every one men
tioned a candidate, and those who did not seemed to
refrain from motives of personal modesty.

Mary Cresswell sped her departing guests with a dis
tinct purpose in mind. She must make herself leader
of the Southern set in Washington and concentrate its
whole force on the appointment of Harry Cresswell as
ambassador to France. Quick reward and promotion
were essential to Harry's success. He was not one to
keep up the strain of effort a long time. Unless, then,
tangible results came and came quickly, he was liable to
relapse into old habits. Therefore he must succeed and
succeed at once. She would have preferred a less orna-

342 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

mental position than the ambassadorship, but there were
no other openings. The Alabama senators were firmly
seated for at least four years and the Governorship had
been carefully arranged for. A term of four years abroad,
however, might bring Harry Cress well back in time for
greater advancement. At any rate, it was the only tangi
ble offering, and Mary Cresswell silently determined to
work for it.

Here it was that she made her mistake. It was one
thing for her to be a tactful hostess, pleasing her hus
band and his guests ; it was another for her to aim openly
at social leadership and political influence. She had at
first all the insignia of success. Her dinners became of
real political significance and her husband figured more
and more as a leading Southerner. The result was two
fold. Cresswell, on the one hand, with his usual selfish
ness, took his rising popularity as a matter of course
and as the fruits of his own work ; he was rising, he was
making valuable speeches, he was becoming a social power,
and his only handicap was his plain and over-ambitious
wife. But on the other hand Mrs. Cresswell forgot two
pitfalls : the cleft between the old Southern aristocracy and
the pushing new Southerners; and above all, her own
Northern birth and presumably pro-Negro sympathies.

What Mrs. Cresswell forgot Mrs. Vanderpool sensed
unerringly. She had heard with uneasiness of Cresswell's
renewed candidacy for the Paris ambassadorship, and she
set herself to block it. She had worked hard. The Presi
dent stood ready to send her husband's appointment again
to the Senate whenever Easterly could assure him of fav
orable action. Easterly had long and satisfactory inter
views with several senators, while the Todd insurgents
were losing heart at the prospect of choosing between

A PARTING OF WAYS 343

Vanderpool and Cresswell. At present four Southern
votes were needed to confirm Vanderpool; but if they
could not be had, Easterly declared it would be good
politics to nominate Cresswell and give him Republican
support. Manifestly, then, Mrs. Vanderpool's task was
to discredit the Cresswells with the Southerners. It was
not a work to her liking, but the die was cast and she
refused to contemplate defeat.

The result was that while Mrs. Cresswell was giving
large and brilliant parties to the whole Southern con
tingent, Mrs. Vanderpool was engineering exclusive din
ners where old New York met stately Charleston and
gossiped interestingly. On such occasions it was hinted
not once, but many times, that the Cresswells were well
enough, but who was that upstart wife who presumed to
take social precedence?

It was not, however, until Mrs. Cresswell's plan for
an all-Southern art exhibit in Washington that Mrs.
Vanderpool, in a flash of inspiration, saw her chance. In
the annual exhibit of the Corcoran Art Gallery, a South
ern girl had nearly won first prize over a Western man.
The concensus of Southern opinion was that the judg
ment had been unfair, and Mrs. Cresswell was convinced
of this. With quick intuition she suggested a Southern
exhibit with such social prestige back of it as to impress
the country.

The proposal caught the imagination of the Southern
set. None suspected a possible intrusion of the eternal
race issue for no Negroes were allowed in the Corcoran
exhibit or school. This Mrs. Vanderpool easily ascer
tained and a certain sense of justice combined in a curious
way with her political intrigue to bring about the undoing
of Mary Cresswell.

344 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Mrs. VanderpooPs very first cautious inquiries by way
of the back stairs brought gratifying response — for did
not all black Washington know well of the work in
sculpture done by Mrs. Samuel Stillings, nee Wynn?
Mrs. Vanderpool remembered Mrs. Stillings perfectly,
and she walked, that evening, through unobtrusive thor
oughfares and called on Mrs. Stillings. Had Mrs. Still
ings heard of the new art movement? Did she intend to
exhibit? Mrs. Stillings did not intend to exhibit as she
was sure she would not be welcome. She had had a bust
accepted by the Corcoran Art Gallery once, and when they
found she was colored they returned it. But if she were
especially invited? That would make a difference, al
though even then the line would be drawn somehow.

"Would it not be worth a fight?" suggested Mrs.
Vanderpool with a little heightening of color in her pale
cheek.

" Perhaps," said Mrs. Stillings, as she brought out
some specimens of her work.

Mrs. Vanderpool was both ashamed and grateful.
With money and leisure Mrs. Stillings had been able to
get in New York and Boston the training she had been
denied in Washington on account of her color. The
things she exhibited really had merit and one curiously
original group appealed to Mrs. Vanderpool tremen
dously.

" Send it," she counseled with strangely contradictory
feelings of enthusiasm, and added : " Enter it under the
name of Wynn."

In addition to the general invitations to the art ex
hibit numbers of special ones were issued to promising
Southern amateurs who had never exhibited. For these
a prize of a long-term scholarship and other smaller prizes

A PARTING OF WAYS 345

were offered. When Mrs. Vanderpool suggested the
name of " Miss Wynn " to Mrs. Cresswell among a dozen
others, for special invitation, there was nothing in its
sound to distinguish it from the rest of the names, and the
invitation went duly. As a result there came to the ex
hibit a little group called " The Outcasts," which was
really a masterly thing and sent the director, Signor
Alberni, into hysterical commendation.

In the private view and award of prizes which preceded
the larger social function the jury hesitated long between
" The Outcasts " and a painting from Georgia. Mrs.
Cresswell was enthusiastic and voluble for the bit of
sculpture, and it finally won the vote for the first prize.

All was ready for the great day. The President was
coming and most of the diplomatic corps, high officers of
the army, and all the social leaders. Congress would be
well represented, and the boom for Cresswell as ambassa
dor to France was almost visible in the air.

Mary Cresswell paused a moment in triumph looking
back at the darkened hall, when a little woman fluttered
up to her and whispered:

" Mrs. Cresswell, have you heard the gossip ? "

« No — what?"

" That Wynn woman they say is a nigger. Some are
whispering that you brought her in purposely to force
social equality. They say you used to teach darkies. Of
course, I don't believe all their talk, but I thought you
ought to know." She talked a while longer, then fluttered
furtively away.

Mrs. Cresswell sat down limply. She saw ruin ahead —
to think of a black girl taking a prize at an all-Southern
art exhibit! But there was still a chance, and she leaped
to action. This colored woman was doubtless some poor

346 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

deserving creature. She would call on her immediately,
and by an offer of abundant help induce her to withdraw
quietly.

Entering her motor, she drove near the address and
then proceeded on foot. The street was a prominent one,
the block one of the best, the house almost pretentious.
She glanced at her memorandum again to see if she was
mistaken. Perhaps the woman was a domestic ; probably
she was, for the name on the door was Stillings. It oc
curred to her that she had heard that name before —
but where? She looked again at her memorandum and at
the house.

She rang the bell, asking the trim black maid : " Is
there a person named Caroline Wynn living in this
house?"

The girl smiled and hesitated.

" Yes, ma'am," she finally replied. " Won't you come
in? " She was shown into the parlor, where she sat down.
The room was most interesting, furnished in unimpeach
able taste. A few good pictures were on the walls, and
Mrs. Cresswell was examining one when she heard the
swish of silken skirts. A lady with gold brown face and
straight hair stood before her with pleasant smile. Where
had Mrs. Cresswell seen her before? She tried to remem
ber, but could not.

" You wished to see — Caroline Wynn ? "

" Yes."

"What can I do for you? "

Mrs. Cresswell groped for her proper cue, but the brown
lady merely offered a chair and sat down silently. Mrs.
Cresswell's perplexity increased. She had been planning
to descend graciously but authoritatively upon some
shrinking girl, but this woman not only seemed to assume

A PARTING OF WAYS 347

equality but actually looked it. From a rapid survey,
Mrs. Cresswell saw a black silk stocking, a bit of lace, a
tailor-made gown, and a head with two full black eyes that
waited in calmly polite expectancy.

Something had to be said.

"I — er — came ; that is, I believe you sent a group
to the art exhibit?"

" Yes."

" It was good — very good."

Miss Wynn said nothing, but sat calmly looking at her
visitor. Mrs. Cresswell felt irritated.

" Of course," she managed to continue, " we are very
sorry that we cannot receive it."

" Indeed? I understood it had taken the first prize."

Mrs. Cresswell was aghast. Who had rushed the news
to this woman? She realized that there were depths to
this matter that she did not understand and her irritation
increased.

" You know that we could not give the prize to a —
Negro."

"Why not?"

" That is quite immaterial. Social equality cannot be
forced. At the same time I recognize the injustice, and
I have come to say that if you will withdraw your exhibit
you will be given a scholarship in a Boston school."

" I do not wish it."

"Well, what do you want?"

" I was not aware that I had asked for anything."

Mrs. Cresswell felt herself getting angry.

" Why did you send your exhibit when you knew it
WSLS not wanted? "

" Because you asked me to."

" We did not ask for colored people."

348 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" You asked all Southern-born persons. I am a per
son and I am Southern born. Moreover, you sent me a
personal letter."

Mrs. Cresswell was sure that this was a lie and was
thoroughly incensed.

" You cannot have the prize," she almost snapped.
" If you will withdraw I will pay you any reasonable
sum."

" Thank you. I do not want money; I want justice."
% Mrs. Cresswell arose and her face was white.
L" That is the trouble with you Negroes : you wish to
get above your places and force yourselves where you are
not wanted. It does no good, it only makes trouble and
enemies." ' Mrs. Cresswell stopped, for the colored wo
man had^gone quietly out of the room and in a moment
the maid entered and stood ready. Mrs. Cresswell walked
slowly to the door and stepped out. Then she turned.

" What does Miss Wynn do for a living? "

The girl tittered.

" She used to teach school but she don't do nothing
now. She's just married; her husband is Mr. Stillings,
Register of the Treasury."

Mrs. Cresswell saw light as she turned to go down the
steps. There was but one resource — she must keep the
matter out of the newspapers, and see Stillings, whom she
now remembered well.

" I beg pardon, does the Miss Wynn live here who got
the prize in the art exhibition ? "

Mrs. Cresswell turned in amazement. It was evidently
a reporter, and the maid was admitting him. The news
would reach the papers and be blazoned to-morrow.
Slowly she sought her motor and fell wearily back on its
cushions.

A PARTING OF WAYS 349

"Where to, Madame?" asked the chauffeur.

" I don't care," returned Madame ; so the chauffeur
took her home.

She walked slowly up the stairs. All her carefully laid
plans seemed about to be thwarted and her castles were
leaning toward ruin.

Yet all was not lost, if her husband continued to be
lieve in her. If, as she feared, he should suspect her on
account of this Negro woman, and quarrel with her —

But he must not. This very night, before the morning
papers came out, she must explain. He must see; he
must appreciate her efforts.

She rushed into her dressing-room and called her maid.
Contrary to her Puritan notions, she frankly sought to
beautify herself. She remembered that it was the an
niversary of her coming to this house. She got out her
wedding-dress, and although it hung loosely, the maid
draped the Silver Fleece beautifully about her.

She heard her husband enter and come up-stairs.
Quickly finishing her toilet, she hurried down to arrange
the flowers, for they were alone that night. The tele
phone rang. She knew it would ring up-stairs in his
room, but she usually answered it for he disliked to. She
raised the receiver and started to speak when she realized
that she had broken into the midst of a conversation.

" — committee won't meet to-night, Harry."

"So? All right. Anything on?"

« Yes — big spree at Nell's. Will you go? "

"Sure thing; you know me! What time?"

" Meet us at the Willard by nine. S'long."

" Good-bye."

She slowly, half guiltily, replaced the receiver. She
had not meant to listen, but now to her desperate longing

350 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

to keep him home was added a new motive. Where was
" Nell's " ? What was " Nell's " ? What was — and there
was fear in her heart. At dinner she tried all her powers
on him. She had his favorite dishes; she mixed his salad
and selected his wine; she talked interestingly, and lis
tened sympathetically, to him. He looked at her with
more attention. Her cheeks were more brilliant, for she
had touched them with rouge. Her eyes flashed; but he
glanced furtively at her short hair. She saw the act ;
but still she strove until he was content and laughing;
then coming round back of his chair, she placed her arms
about his neck.

" Harry, will you do me a favor? "

"Why, yes — if — "

" It is something I want very, very much."

"Well, all right, if — "

" Harry, I feel a little — hysterical to-night, and —
you will not refuse me, will you, Harry ? "

Standing there, she saw the tableau in her own mind,
and it looked strange. She was afraid of herself. She
knew that she would do something foolish if she did not
win this battle. She felt that overpowering fanaticism
back within her raging restlessly. If she was not
careful —

" But what is it you want ? " asked her husband.

" I don't want you to go out to-night."

He laughed awkwardly.

" Nonsense, girl ! The sub-committee on the cotton
schedule meets to-night — very important ; otherwise — "

She shuddered at the smooth lie and clasped him closer,
putting her cheek to his.

"Harry," she pleaded, "just this once — for me."

He disengaged himself, half impatiently, and rose,

A PARTING OF WAYS 351

glancing at the clock. It was nearly nine. A feeling of
desperation came over her.

" Harry," she asked again as he slipped on his coat.

" Don't be foolish," he growled.

" Just this once — Harry — I — - " But the door
banged to, and he was gone.

She stood looking at the closed door a moment. Some
thing in her head was ready to snap. She went to the
rack and taking his long heavy overcoat slipped it on.
It nearly touched the floor. She seized a soft broad-
brimmed hat and umbrella and walked out. Just what she
meant to do she did not know, but somehow she must save
her husband and herself from evil. She hurried to the
Willard Hotel and watched, walking up and down the op
posite sidewalk. A woman brushed by her and looked her
in the face.

" Hell ! I thought you was a man," she said. " Is this
a new gag? "

Mrs. Cresswell looked down at herself involuntarily
and smiled wanly. She did look like a man, with her hat
and coat and short hair. The woman peered at her
doubtingly. She was, as Mrs. Cresswell noticed, a young
woman, once pretty, perhaps, and a little over-dressed.

" Are you walking ? " she asked.

" What do you mean? " asked Mrs. Cresswell, and then
in a moment it flashed upon her. She took the woman's
arm and walked with her. Suddenly she stopped.

"Where's — Nell's?"

The woman frowned. " Oh, that 5s a swell place," she
said. " Senators and millionaires. Too high for us to
fly."

Mrs. Cresswell winced. " But where is it? " she asked.

" We '11 walk by it if you want to."

352 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

And Mary Cresswell walked in another world. Up
from the ground of the drowsy city rose pale gray forms ;
pale, flushed, and brilliant, in silken rags. Up and down
they passed, to and fro, looking and gliding like sheeted
ghosts; now dodging policemen, now accosting them
familiarly.

" Hello, Elise," growled one big blue-coat.

" Hello, Jack."

" What 's this? " and he peered at Mrs. Cresswell, who
shrank back.

" Friend of mine. All right."

A horror crept over Mary Cresswell: where had she
lived that she had seen so little before? What was Wash
ington, and what was this fine, tall, quiet residence? Was
this — " Nell's " ?

" Yes, this is it — good-bye — I must —

"Wait — what is your name?"

" I have n't any name," answered the woman sus
piciously.

" Well — pardon me ! Here ! " and she thrust a bill
into the woman's hand.

The girl stared. " Well, you 're a queer one ! Thanks.
Guess I '11 turn in."

Mary Cresswell turned to see her husband and his com
panions ascending the steps of the quiet mansion. She
stood uncertainly and looked at the opening and closing
door. Then a policeman came by and looked at her.

" Come, move on," he brusquely ordered. Her vacilla
tion promptly vanished, and she resolutely mounted the
steps. She put out her hand to ring, but the door flew
silently open and a man-servant stood looking at her.

" I have some friends here," she said, speaking coarsely.

" You will have to be introduced," said the man. She

A PARTING OF WAYS 356

hesitated and started to turn away. Thrusting her hand
in her pocket it closed upon her husband's card-case.
She presented a card. It worked a rapid transformation
in the servant's manner, which did not escape her.

" Come in," he invited her.

She did not stop at the outstretched arm of the cloak-
man, but glided quickly up the stairs toward a vision of
handsome women and strains of music. Harry Cresswell
was sitting opposite and bending over an impudent blue-
and-blonde beauty. Mary slipped straight across to him
and leaned across the table. The hat fell off, but she let
it go.

" Harry ! " she tried to say as he looked up.

Then the table swayed gently to and fro; the room
bowed and whirled about; the voices grew fainter and
fainter — all the world receded suddenly far away. She
extended her hands languidly, then, feeling so utterly
tired, let her eyelids drop and fell asleep.

She awoke with a start, in her own bed. She was phys
ically exhausted but her mind was clear. She must go
down and meet him at breakfast and talk frankly with
him. She would let bygones be bygones. She would ex
plain that she had followed him to save him, not to betray
him. She would point out the great career before him
if only he would be a man ; she would show him that they
had not failed. For herself she asked nothing, only his
word, his confidence, his promise to try.

After his first start of surprise at seeing her at the
table, Cresswell uttered nothing immediately save the
commonplaces of greeting. He mentioned one or two bits
of news from the paper, upon which she commented while
dawdling over her egg. When the servant went out and
closed the door, she paused a moment considering whether

354 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

to open by appeal or explanation. His smooth tones
startled her:

" Of course, after your art exhibit and the scene of
last night, Mary, it will be impossible for us to live longer
together."

She stared at him, utterly aghast — voiceless and
numb.

" I have seen the crisis approaching for some time, and
the Negro business settles it," he continued. " I have
now decided to send you to my home in Alabama, to my
father or your brother. I am sure you will be happier
there."

He rose. Bowing courteously, he waited, coldly and
calmly, for her to go.

All at once she hated him and hated his aristocratic
repression ; this cold calm that hid hell and its fires. She
looked at him, wide-eyed, and said in a voice hoarse with
horror and loathing:

" You brute ! You nasty brute ! "

CHAPTER XXXII
ZORA'S WAY

ZORA was looking on her world with the keener
vision of one who, blind from very seeing, closes
the eyes a space and looks again with wider clearer
vision. Out of a nebulous cloudland she seemed to step ;
a land where all things floated in strange confusion, but
where one thing stood steadfast, and that was love.
When love was shaken all things moved, but now, at last,
for the first time she seemed to know the real and mighty
world that stood behind that old and shaken dream.

So she looked on the world about her with new eyes.
These men and women of her childhood had hitherto
walked by her like shadows; to-day they lived for her in
flesh and blood. She saw hundreds and thousands of black
men and women: crushed, half-spirited, and blind. She
saw how high and clear a light Sarah Smith, for thirty
years and more, had carried before them. She saw, too,
how that the light had not simply shone in darkness, but
had lighted answering beacons here and there in these
dull souls.

There were thoughts and vague stirrings of unrest in
this mass of black folk. They talked long about their-
firesides, and here Zora began to sit and listen, often
speaking a word herself. All through the country-side

[355]

356 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

she flitted, till gradually the black folk came to know her
and, in silent deference to some subtle difference, they
gave her the title of white folk, calling her " Miss " Zora.

To-day, more than ever before, Zora sensed the vast
unorganized power in this mass, and her mind was leap
ing here and there, scheming and testing, when voices ar
rested her.

It was a desolate bit of the Cresswell manor, a tiny
cabin, new-boarded and bare, in front of it a blazing bon
fire. A white man was tossing into the flames different
household articles — a feather bed, a bedstead, two
rickety chairs. A young, boyish fellow, golden-faced and
curly, stood with clenched fists, while a woman with tear-
stained eyes clung to him. The white man raised a
cradle to dash it into the flames ; the woman cried, and
the yellow man raised his arm threateningly. But Zora's
hand was on his shoulder.

"What's the matter, Rob?" she asked.

" They 're selling us out," he muttered savagely.
" Millie 's been sick since the last baby died, and I had to
neglect my crop to tend her and the other little ones - —
I did n't make much. They 've took my mule, now they 're
burning my things to make me sign a contract and be a
slave. But by — "

" There, Rob, let Millie come with me — we '11 see Miss
Smith. We must get land to rent and arrange somehow."

The mother sobbed, " The cradle — was baby's ! "

With an oath the white man dashed the cradle into the
fire, and the red flame spurted aloft.

The crimson fire flashed in Zora's eyes as she passed
the overseer.

" Well, nigger, what are you going to do about it ? "
he growled insolently.

ZORA'S WAY 357

Zora's eyelids drooped, her upper lip quivered.

" Nothing," she answered softly. " But I hope your
soul will burn in hell forever and forever."

They proceeded down the plantation road, but Zora
could not speak. She pushed them slowly on, and turned
aside to let the anger, the impotent, futile anger, rage
itself out. Alone in the great broad spaces, she knew she
could fight it down, and come back again, cool and in
calm and deadly earnest, to lead these children to the
light.

The sorrow in her heart was new and strange ; not sor
row for herself, for of that she had tasted the uttermost ;
but the vast vicarious suffering for the evil of the world.
The tumult and war within her fled, and a sense of help
lessness sent the hot tears streaming down her cheeks.
She longed for rest ; but the last plantation was yet to be
passed. Far off she heard the yodle of the gangs of
peons. She hesitated, looking for some way of escape:
if she passed them she would see something — she always
saw something — that would send the red blood whirling
madly.

" Here, you ! — loafing again, damn you ! " She saw
the black whip writhe and curl across the shoulders of the
plough-boy. The boy crouched and snarled, and again the
whip hissed and cracked.

Zora stood rigid and gray.

" My God ! " her silent soul was shrieking within.
" why does n't the coward — "

And then the " coward " did. The whip was whirring
in the air again; but it never fell. A jagged stone in the
boy's hand struck true, and the overseer plunged with a
grunt into the black furrow. In blank dismay, Zora
came back to her senses.

358 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Poor child ! " she gasped, as she saw the boy flying
in wild terror over the fields, with hue and cry behind him.

" Poor child ! — running to the penitentiary — to
shame and hunger and damnation ! "

She remembered the rector in Mrs. Vanderpool's library,
and his question that revealed unfathomable depths of
ignorance : " Really, now, how do you account for the
distressing increase in crime among your people? "

She swung into the great road trembling with the woe
of the world in her eyes. Cruelty, poverty, and crime she
had looked in the face that morning, and the hurt of it
held her heart pinched and quivering. A moment the
mists in her eyes shut out the shadows of the swamp, and
the roaring in her ears made a silence of the world.

Before she found herself again she dimly saw a couple
sauntering along the road, but she hardly noticed their
white faces until the little voice of the girl, raised timidly,
greeted her.

" Howdy, Zora."

Zora looked. The girl was Emma, and beside her,
smiling, stood a half-grown white man. It was Emma, Ber
tie's child ; and yet it was not, for in the child of other days
Zora saw for the first time the dawning woman.

And she saw, too, the white man. Suddenly the horror
of the swamp was upon her. She swept between the couple
like a gust, gripping the child's arm till she paled and
almost whimpered.

" I — I was just going on an errand for Miss Smith! "
she cried.

Looking down into her soul, Zora discerned its in
nocence and the fright shining in the child's eyes. Her
own eyes softened, her grip became a caress, but her
heart was hard.

ZORA'S WAY 859

The young man laughed awkwardly and strolled away.
Zora looked back at him and the paramount mission of *
her life formed itself in her mind. She would protect this
girl; she would protect all black girls. She would make
it possible for these poor beasts of burden to be decent in
their toil. Out of protection of womanhood as the central
thought, she must build ramparts against cruelty, pov
erty, and crime. All this in turn — but now and first, the
innocent girlhood of this daughter of shame must be res
cued from the devil. It was her duty, her heritage. She
must offer this unsullied soul up unto God in mighty
atonement — but how? Here now was no protection.
Already lustful eyes were in wait, and the child was too
ignorant to protect herself. She must be sent to board
ing-school, somewhere far away ; but the money ? God !
it was money, money, always money. Then she stopped
suddenly, thrilled with the recollection of Mrs. Vander-
pool's check.

She dismissed the girl with a kiss, and stood still a
moment considering. Money to send Emma off to school ;
money to buy a school farm ; money to " buy " tenants to
live on it ; money to furnish them rations ; money —

She went straight to Miss Smith.

"Miss Smith, how much money have you?" Miss
Smith's hand trembled a bit. Ah, that splendid strength
of young womanhood — if only she herself had it ! But
perhaps Zora was the chosen one. She reached up and
took down a well-worn book.

" Zora," she said slowly, " I' ve been going to tell you
ever since you came, but I had n't the courage. Zora,"
Miss Smith hesitated and gripped the book with thin
white fingers, " I 'm afraid — I almost know that this
school is doomed."

360 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

There lay a silence in the room while the two women
stared into each other's souls with startled eyes. Swal
lowing hard, Miss Smith spoke.

" When I thought the endowment sure, I mortgaged
the school in order to buy Tolliver's land. The endow
ment failed, as you know, because — perhaps I was too
stubborn."

But Zora's eyes snapped " No ! " and Miss Smith con
tinued :

" I borrowed ten thousand dollars. Then I tried to get
the land, but Tolliver kept putting me off, and finally I
learned that Colonel Cresswell had bought it. It seems
that Tolliver got caught tight in the cotton corner, and
that Cresswell, through John Taylor, offered him twice
what he had agreed to sell to me for, and he took it. I
don't suppose Taylor knew what he was doing; I hope
he did n't.

" Well, there I was with ten thousand dollars idle on
my hands, paying ten per cent on it and getting less than
three per cent. I tried to get the bank to take the money
back, but they refused. Then I was tempted — and fell."
She paused, and Zora took both her hands in her own.

" You see," continued Miss Smith, " just as soon as
the announcement of the prospective endowment was sent
broadcast by the press, the donations from the North fell
off. Letter after letter came from old friends of the
school full of congratulations, but no money. I ought to
have cut down the teaching force to the barest minimum,
and gone North begging — but I could n't. I guess my
courage was gone. I knew how I 'd have to explain and
plead, and I just could not. So I used the ten thousand
dollars to pay its own interest and help run the school.

ZORA'S WAY S61

Already it's half gone, and when the rest goes then will
come the end."

Without, the great red sun paused a moment over the
edge of the swamp, and the long, low cry of night birds
broke sadly on the twilight silence. Zora sat stroking
the lined hands.

" Not the end," she spoke confidently. " It cannot end
like this. I 've got a little money that Mrs. Vanderpool
gave me, and somehow we must get more. Perhaps I
might go North and — beg." She shivered. "Then she
sat up resolutely and turned to the book.

" Let 's go over matters carefully," she proposed.

Together they counted and calculated.

" The balance is four thousand seven hundred and
ninety-eight dollars," said Miss Smith.

" Yes, and then there 's Mrs. Vanderpool's check."

"How much is that?"

Zora paused ; she did not know. In her world there was
little calculation of money. Credit and not cash is the cur
rency of the Black Belt. She had been pleased to receive
the check, but she had not examined it.

" I really don't know," she presently confessed. " I
think it was one thousand dollars; but I was so hurried
in leaving that I did n't look carefully," and the wild
thought surged in her, suppose it was more !

She ran into the other room and plunged into her
trunk; beneath the clothes, beneath the beauty of the
Silver Fleece, till her fingers clutched and tore the en
velope. A little choking cry burst from her throat, her
knees trembled so that she was obliged to sit down.

In her fingers fluttered a check for — ten thousand
dollars!

2 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

It was not until the next day that the two women were
sufficiently composed to talk matters over sanely.

" What is your plan ? " asked Zora.

" To put the money in a Northern savings bank at
three per cent interest; to supply the rest of the interest,
and the deficit in the running expenses, from our balance,
and to send you North to beg."

Zora shook her head. " It won't do," she objected,
" I 'd make a poor beggar ; I don't know human nature
well enough, and I can't talk to rich white folks the way
they expect us to talk."

" It would n't be hypocrisy, Zora ; you would be serving
in a great cause. If you don't go, I — "

" Wait ! You sha'n't go. If any one goes it must be
me. But let 's think it out : we pay off the mortgage, we
get enough to run the school as it has been run. Then
what? There will still be slavery and oppression all
around us. The children will be kept in the cotton fields ;
the men will be cheated, and the women — " Zora paused
and her eyes grew hard.

She began again rapidly : " We must have land — our
own farm with our own tenants — to be the beginning
of a free community."

Miss Smith threw up her hands impatiently.

"But sakes alive! Where, Zora? Where can we get
land, with Cresswell owning every inch and bound to
destroy us ? "

Zora sat hugging her knees and staring out the win
dow toward the sombre ramparts of the swamp. In her
eyes lay slumbering the madness of long ago; in her brain
danced all the dreams and visions of childhood.

" I 'm thinking," she murmured, " of buying the
swamp."

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP

IT'S a shame," asserted John Taylor with something
like real feeling. He was spending Sunday with
his father-in-law, and both, over their after-dinner
cigars, were gazing thoughtfully at the swamp.

"What's a shame?" asked Colonel Cresswell.

" To see all that timber and prime cotton-land going
to waste. Don't you remember those fine bales of cotton
that came out of there several seasons ago? "

The Colonel smoked placidly. " You can't get it
cleared," he said.

" But could n't you hire some good workers ? "

" Niggers won't work. Now if we had Italians we
might do it."

" Yes, and in a few years they 'd own the country."

" That 's right ; so there we are. There 's only one
way to get that swamp cleared."

"How?"

" Sell it to some fool darkey."

"Sell it? It's too valuable to sell."

"That's just it. You don't understand. The only
way to get decent work out of some niggers is to let them
believe they 're buying land. In nine cases out of ten he
works hard a while and then throws up the job. We get
back our land and he makes good wages for his work."

[ 363]

364 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

— •

" But in the tenth case — suppose he should stick to
it?"

" Oh," — easily, " we could get rid of him when we
want to. White people rule here."

John Taylor frowned and looked a little puzzled. He
was no moralist, but he had his code and he did not under
stand Colonel Cresswell. As a matter of fact, Colonel
Cresswell was an honest man. In most matters of com
merce between men he was punctilious to a degree almost
annoying to Taylor. But there was one part of the
world which his code of honor did not cover, and he saw no
incongruity in the omission. The uninitiated cannot easily
picture to himself the mental attitude of a former slave
holder toward property in the hands of a Negro. Such
property belonged of right to the master, if the master

(needed it ; and since ridiculous laws safeguarded the prop
erty, it was perfectly permissible to circumvent such laws.
, No Negro starved on the Cresswell place, neither did any
accumulate property. Colonel Cresswell saw to both
matters.

As the Colonel and John Taylor were thus conferring,
Zora appeared, coming up the walk.

" Who 's that ? " asked the Colonel shading his eyes.

" It 's Zora — the girl who went North with Mrs. Van-
derpool," Taylor enlightened him.

" Back, is she? Too trifling to stick to a job, and full
of Northern nonsense," growled the Colonel. " Even got
a Northern walk — I thought for a moment she was a
lady."

Neither of the gentleman ever dreamed how long, how
hard, how heart-wringing was that walk from the gate
up the winding way beneath their careless gaze. It was
not the coming of the thoughtless, careless girl of five

THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP 365

years ago who had marched a dozen times unthinking be
fore the faces of white men. It was the approach of a
woman who knew how the world treated women whom it
respected; who knew that no such treatment would be
thought of in her case: neither the bow, the lifted hat,
nor even the conventional title of decency. Yet she must
go on naturally and easily, boldly but circumspectly, and
play a daring game with two powerful men.

" Can I speak with you a moment, Colonel? " she asked.

The Colonel did not stir or remove his cigar; he even
injected a little gruffness into his tone.

"Well, what is it?"

Of course, she was not asked to sit, but she stood with
her hands clasped loosely before her and her eyes half
veiled.

" Colonel, I 've got a thousand dollars." She did not
mention the other nine.

The Colonel sat up.

"Where did you get it?" he asked.

" Mrs. Vanderpool gave it to me to use in helping the
colored people."

*' What are you going to do with it ? "

" Well, that 5s just what J came to see you about. You
see, I might give it to the school, but I 've been thinking
that I 'd like to buy some land for some of the tenants."

" I 've got no land to sell," said the Colonel.

" I was thinking you might sell a bit of the swamp."

Cresswell and Taylor glanced at each other and the
Colonel re-lit his cigar.

" How much of it? " he asked finally.

" I don't know ; I thought perhaps two hundred acres."

" Two hundred acres ? Do you expect to buy that
land for five dollars an acre? "

366 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Oh, no, sir. I thought it might cost as much as
twenty-five dollars."

" But you 've only got a thousand dollars."

" Yes, sir ; I thought I might pay that down and then
pay the rest from the crops."

" Who 's going to work on the place ? "

Zora named a number of the steadiest tenants to whom
she had spoken.

" They owe me a lot of money," said the Colonel.

" We 'd try to pay that, too."

Colonel Cresswell considered. There was absolutely no
risk. The cost of the land, the back debts of the tenants
— no possible crops could pay for them. Then there
was the chance of getting the swamp cleared for almost
nothing.

" How 's the school getting on ? " he asked suddenly.

" Very poorly," answered Zora sadly. " You know
it 's mortgaged, and Miss Smith has had to use the mort
gage money for yearly expenses."

The Colonel smiled grimly.

" It will cost you fifty dollars an acre," he said finally.
Zora looked disappointed and figured out the matter slowly.

" That would be one thousand down and nine thousand
to pay — "

" With interest," said Cresswell.

Zora shook her head doubtfully.

"What would the interest be?" she asked.

" Ten per cent."

She stood silent a moment and Colonel Cresswell spoke
up:

" It 's the best land about here and about the only
land you can buy — I would n't sell it to anybody else."

She still hesitated.

THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP 367

" The trouble is, you see, Colonel Cresswell, the price
is high and the interest heavy. And after all I may not
be able to get as many tenants as I 'd need. I think
though, I 'd try it if — if I could be sure you 'd treat
me fairly, and that I 'd get the land if I paid for it."

Colonel Cresswell reddened a little, and John Taylor
looked away.

" Well, if you don't want to undertake it, all right."

Zora looked thoughtfully across the field —

" Mr. Maxwell has a bit of land," she began medita
tively.

" Worked out, and not worth five dollars an acre ! "
snapped the Colonel. But he did not propose to hand
Maxwell a thousand dollars. " Now, see here, I '11 treat
you as well as anybody, and you know it."

" I believe so, sir," acknowledged Zora in a tone that
brought a sudden keen glance from Taylor; but her face
was a mask. " I reckon I '11 make the bargain."

" All right. Bring the money and we '11 fix the thing
up."

" The money is here," said Zora, taking an envelope
out of her bosom.

" Well, leave it here, and I '11 see to it."

" But you see, sir, Miss Smith is so methodical ; she
expects some papers or receipts."

" Well, it >s too late to-night."

" Possibly you could sign a sort of receipt and later — "

Cresswell laughed. " Well, write one," he indulgently
assented. And Zora wrote.

When Zora left Colonel CresswelPs about noon that
Sunday she knew her work had just begun, and she
walked swiftly along the country roads, calling here and
there. Would Uncle Isaac help her build a log home?

368 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Would the boys help her some time to clear some swamp
land? Would Rob become a tenant when she asked?
For this was the idle time of the year. Crops were laid
by and planting had not yet begun.

This too was the time of big church meetings. She
knew that in her part of the country on that day the
black population, man, woman, and child, were gathered
in great groups ; all day they had been gathering, stream
ing in snake-like lines along the country roads, in well-
brushed, brilliant attire, half fantastic, half crude. Down
where the Toomsville-Montgomery highway dipped to
the stream that fed the Cresswell swamp squatted a square
barn that slept through day and weeks in dull indiffer
ence. But on the First Sunday it woke to sudden mighty
life. The voices of men and children mingled with the
snorting of animals and the cracking of whips. Then
came the long drone and sing-song of the preacher with
its sharp wilder climaxes and the answering " amens "
and screams of the worshippers. This was the shrine
of the Baptists — shrine and oracle, centre and source
of inspiration — and hither Zora hurried.

The preacher was Jones, a big man, fat, black, and
greasy, with little eyes, unctuous voice, and three manners :
his white folks manner, soft, humble, wheedling; his black
folks manner, voluble, important, condescending ; and above
all, his pulpit manner, loud, wild, and strong.) He was
about to don this latter cloak when Zora approached with
a request briefly to address the congregation. Remem
bering some former snubs, his manner was lordly.

• " I does n't see," he returned reflectively, wiping his
brows, " as how I can rightly spare you any time ; the
brethren is a-gettin' mighty onpatient to hear me." He
pulled down his cuffs, regarding her doubtfully.

THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP 369

" I might speak after you 're through," she suggested.
But he objected that there was the regular collection
and two or three other collections, a baptism, a meeting
of the trustees; there was no time, in short; but — he
eyed her again.

" Does you want — a collection ? " he questioned sus
piciously, for he could imagine few other reasons for
talking. Then, too, he did not want to be too inflexible,
for all of his people knew Zora and liked her.

" Oh, no, I want no collection at all. I only want a
little voluntary work on their part." He looked relieved,
frowned through the door at the audience, and looked at
his bright gold watch. The whole crowd was not there
yet — perhaps —

" You kin say just a word before the sermont," he
finally yielded; "but not long — not long. They'se just
a-dying to hear me."

So Zora spoke simply but clearly: of neglect and suf
fering, of the sins of others that bowed young shoulders,
of the great hope of the children's future. Then she told
something of what she had seen and read of the world's ^
newer ways of helping men and women. She talked of *
cooperation and refuges and other efforts ; she praised
their way of adopting children into their own homes;
and then finally she told them of the land she was buying
for new tenants and the helping hands she needed. The
preacher fidgeted and coughed but dared not actually
interrupt, for the people were listening breathless to a
kind of straight-forward talk which they seldom heard
and for which they were hungering.

And Zora forgot time and occasion. The moment*
flew; the crowd increased until the wonderful spell of
those dark and upturned faces pulsed in her blood. She

370 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

felt the wild yearning to help them beating in her ears
and blinding her eyes.

" Oh, my people ! " she almost sobbed. " My own peo
ple, I am not asking you to help others ; I am pleading
with you to help yourselves. Rescue your own flesh and
blood — free yourselves — free yourselves ! " And from
the swaying sobbing hundreds burst a great " Amen ! "
The minister's dusky face grew more and more sombre,
and the angry sweat started on his brow. He felt him
self hoaxed and cheated, and he meant to have his revenge.
Two hundred men and women rose and pledged themselves
to help Zora ; and when she turned with overflowing heart
to thank the preacher he had left the platform, and she
found him in the yard whispering darkly with two deacons.
She realized her mistake, and promised to retrieve it dur
ing the week; but the week was full of planning and
journeying and talking.

Saturday dawned cool and clear. She had dinner pre
pared for cooking in the yard: sweet potatoes, hoe-cake,
and buttermilk, and a hog to be barbecued. Everything
was ready by eight o'clock in the morning. Emma and two
other girl helpers were on the tip-toe of expectancy. Nine
o'clock came and no one with it. Ten o'clock came, and
eleven. High noon found Zora peering down the high
way under her shading hand, but no soul in sight. She
tried to think it out: what could have happened? Her
people were slow, tardy, but they would not thus forget
her and disappoint her without some great cause. She
sent the girls home at dusk and then seated herself misera
bly under the great oak; then at last one half-grown boy
hurried by.

" I wanted to come, Miss Zora, but I was afeared.
Preacher Jones has been talking everywhere against you.

THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP 371

He says your mother was a voodoo woman and that you
don't believe in God, and the deacons voted that the mem
bers must n't help you."

" And do the people believe that ? " she asked in con
sternation.

" They just don't know what to say. They don't
'zactly believe it, but they has to 'low that you didn't
say much 'bout religion when you talked. You ain't
been near Big Meetin' — and — and — you ain't saved."
He hurried on.

Zora leaned her head back wearily, watching the laced
black branches where the star-light flickered through —
as coldly still and immovable as she had watched them
from those gnarled roots all her life — and she murmured
bitterly the world-old question of despair : " What 's the
use? " It seemed to her that every breeze and branch
was instinct with sympathy, and murmuring, " What 's
the use ? " She wondered vaguely why, and as she won
dered, she knew.

For yonder where the black earth of the swamp heaved
in a formless mound she felt the black arms of Elspeth
rising from the sod — gigantic, mighty. They stole to
ward her with stealthy hands and claw-like talons. They
clutched at her skirts. She froze and could not move.
Down, down she slipped toward the black slime of the
swamp, and the air about was horror — down, down, till
the chilly waters stung her knees ; and then with one grip
she seized the oak, while the great hand of Elspeth twisted
and tore her soul. Faint, afar, nearer and nearer and
ever mightier, rose a song of mystic melody. She heard
its human voice and sought to cry aloud. She strove
again and again with that gripping, twisting pain — that
awful hand — until the shriek came and she awoke.

372 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

She lay panting and sweating across the bent and
broken roots of the oak. The hand of Elspeth was gone
but the song was still there. She rose trembling and
listened. It was the singing of the Big Meeting in the
church far away. She had forgotten this religious re
vival in her days of hurried preparation, and the preacher
had used her absence and apparent indifference against
her and her work. The hand of Elspeth was reaching
from the grave to pull her back; but she was no longer
dreaming now. Drawing her shawl about her, she hur
ried down the highway.

The meeting had overflowed the church and spread to
the edge of the swamp. The tops of young trees had been
bent down and interlaced to form a covering and benches
twined to their trunks. Thus a low and wide cathedral,
all green and silver in the star-light, lay packed with a
living mass of black folk. Flaming pine torches burned
above the devotees; the rhythm of their stamping, the
shout of their voices, and the wild music of their singing
shook the night. Four hundred people fell upon their
knees when the huge black preacher, uncoated, red-eyed,
frenzied, stretched his long arms to heaven. Zora saw
the throng from afar, and hesitated. After all, she knew
little of this strange faith of theirs — had little belief in
its mummery. She herself had been brought up almost
without religion save some few mystic remnants of a half-
forgotten heathen cult. The little she had seen of religious
observance had not moved her greatly, save once yonder
in Washington. There she found God after a searching
that had seared her soul ; but He had simply pointed the
Way, and the way was human.

Humanity was near and real. She loved it. But if
she talked again of mere men would these devotees listen?

THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP 373

Already the minister had spied her tall form and feared
her power. He set his powerful voice and the frenzy
of his hearers to crush her.

" Who is dis what talks of doing the Lord's work for
Him? What does de good Book say? Take no thought
'bout de morrow. Why is you trying to make dis ole
world better? I spits on the world! Come out from it.
Seek Jesus. Heaven is my home ! Is it yo's ? " " Yes,"
groaned the multitude. His arm shot out and he pointed
straight at Zora.

" Beware the ebil one ! " he shouted, and the multitude
moaned. " Beware of dem dat calls ebil good. Beware
of dem dat worships debbils; the debbils dat crawl; de
debbils what forgits God."

" Help him, Lord ! " cried the multitude.

Zora stepped into the circle of light. A hush fell on
the throng; the preacher paused a moment, then started
boldly forward with upraised hands. Then a curious
thing happened. A sharp cry arose far off down toward
the swamp and the sound of great footsteps coming, com
ing as from the end of the world; there swelled a rhyth
mical chanting, wilder and more primitive than song. On,
on it came, until it swung into sight. An old man led
the band — tall, massive, with tufted gray hair and
wrinkled leathery skin, and his eyes were the eyes of death.
He reached the circle of light, and Zora started: once
before she had seen that old man. The singing stopped
but he came straight on till he reached Zora's side and
then he whirled and spoke.

The words leaped and flew from his lips as he lashed
the throng with bitter fury. He said what Zora wanted
to say with two great differences : first, he spoke their
religious language and spoke it with absolute confidence

374 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

and authority; and secondly, he seemed to know each one
there personally and intimately so that he spoke to no
inchoate throng — he spoke to them individually, and
they listened awestruck and fearsome.

" God is done sent me," he declared in passionate tones,
" to preach His acceptable time. Faith without works
is dead; who is you that dares to set and wait for the
Lord to do your work ? " Then in sudden fury, " Ye
generation of vipers — who kin save you?" He bent
forward and pointed his long finger. " Yes," he cried,
" pray, Sam Collins, you black devil ; pray, for the corn
you stole Thursday." The black figure moved. " Moan,
Sister Maxwell, for the backbiting you did to-day. Yell,
Jack Tolliver, you sneaking scamp, t'wil the Lord tell
Uncle Bill who ruined his daughter. Weep, May Haynes,
for that baby — "

But the woman's shriek drowned his words, and he
whirled full on the preacher, stamping his feet and wav
ing his hands. His anger choked him; the fat preacher
cowered gray and trembling. The gaunt fanatic towered
over him.

" You — you — ornery hound of Hell ! God never
knowed you and the devil owns your soul ! " There
leapt from his lips a denunciation so livid, specific, and
impassioned that the preacher squatted and bowed, then
finally fell upon his face and moaned.

The gaunt speaker turned again to the people. He
talked of little children; he pictured their sin and neg
lect. " God is done sent me to offer you all salvation,"
he cried, while the people wept and wailed ; " not in
praying, but in works. Follow me ! " The hour was
half way between midnight and dawn, but nevertheless
the people leapt frenziedly to their feet.

THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP 376

" Follow me ! " he shouted.

And, singing and chanting, the throng poured out
upon the black highway, waving their torches. Zora knew
his intention. With a half-dozen of younger onlookers
she unhitched teams and rode across the land, calling at
the cabins. Before sunrise, tools were in the swamp,
axes and saws and hammers. The noise of prayer and
singing filled the Sabbath dawn. The news of the great
revival spread, and men and women came pouring in.
Then of a sudden the uproar stopped, and the ringing
of axes and grating of saws and tugging of mules was
heard. The forest trembled as by some mighty magic,
swaying and falling with crash on crash. Huge bonfires
blazed and crackled, until at last a wide black scar ap
peared in the thick south side of the swamp, which wid
ened and widened to full twenty acres.

The sun rose higher and higher till it blazed at high
noon. The workers dropped their tools. The aroma of
coffee and roasting meat rose in the dim cool shade. With
ravenous appetites the dark, half-famished throng fell
upon the food, and then in utter weariness stretched them
selves and slept: lying along the earth like huge bronze
earth-spirits, sitting against trees, curled in dense bushes.

And Zora sat above them on a high rich-scented pile
of logs. Her senses slept save her sleepless eyes. Amid
a silence she saw in the little grove that still stood, the
cabin of Elspeth tremble, sigh, and disappear, and with
it flew some spirit of evil.

Then she looked down to the new edge of the swamp,
by the old lagoon, and saw Bles Alwyn standing there.
It seemed very natural; and closing her eyes, she fell
asleep.

CHAPTER XXXIV
THE RETURN OF ALWYN

BLES ALWYN stared at Mrs. Harry Cresswell in
surprise. He had not seen her since that mo
ment at the ball, and he was startled at the change.
Her abundant hair was gone; her face was pale and
drawn, and there were little wrinkles below her sunken
eyes. In those eyes lurked the tired look of the bewildered
and the disappointed. It was in the lofty waiting-room
of the Washington station where Alwyn had come to
meet a friend. Mrs. Cresswell turned and recognized him
with genuine pleasure. He seemed somehow a part of
the few things in the world — little and unimportant per
haps — that counted and stood firm, and she shook his
hand cordially, not minding the staring of the people
about. He took her bag and carried it towards the gate,
which made the observers breathe easier, seeing him in
servile duty. Someway, she knew not just how, she found
herself telling him of the crisis in her life before she real
ized; not everything, of course, but a great deal. It was
much as though she were talking to some one from another
world — an outsider ; but one she had known long, one
who understood. Both from what she recounted and
what she could not tell he gathered the substance of the
story, and it bewildered him. He had not thought that

[376]

THE RETURN OF ALWYN 377

white people had such troubles; yet, he reflected, why
not? They, too, were human.

" I suppose you hear from the school ? " he ventured
after a pause.

" Why, yes — not directly — but Zora used to speak
of it."

Bles looked up quickly.

"Zora?"

" Yes. Did n't you see her while she was here ? She
has gone back now."

Then the gate opened, the crowd surged through, sweep
ing them apart, and next moment he was alone.

Alwyn turned slowly away. He forgot the friend he
was to meet. He forgot everything but the field of the
Silver Fleece. It rose shadowy there in the pale con
course, swaying in ghostly breezes. The purple of its
flowers mingled with the silver radiance of tendrils that
trembled across the hurrying throng, like threads of mists
along low hills. In its midst rose a dark, slim, and quiver
ing form. She had been here — here in Washington !
Why had he not known? What was she doing? " She
has gone back now " — back to the Sun and the Swamp,
back to the Burden.

Why should not he go back, too? He walked on
thinking. He had failed. His apparent success had
been too sudden, too overwhelming, and when he had
faced the crisis his hand had trembled. He had chosen
the Right — but the Right was ineffective, impotent, al
most ludicrous. It left him shorn, powerless, and in moral
revolt. The world had suddenly left him, as the vision
of Carrie Wynn had left him, alone, a mere clerk, an
insignificant cog in the great grinding wheel of humdrum
drudgery. His chance to do and thereby to be had
not come.

378 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

He thought of Zora again. Why not go back to the
South where she had gone? He shuddered as one who
sees before him a cold black pool whither his path leads.
To face the proscription, the insult, the lawless hate of
the South again — never ! And yet he went home and
sat down and wrote a long letter to Miss Smith.

The reply that came after some delay was almost curt.
It answered few of his questions, argued with none of
his doubts, and made no mention of Zora. Yes, there
was need of a manager for the new farm and settlement.
She was not sure whether Alwyn could do the work or
not. The salary was meagre and the work hard. If
he wished it, he must decide immediately.

Two weeks later found Alwyn on the train facing
Southward in the Jim Crow car. How he had decided to
go back South he did not know. In fact, he had not de
cided. He had sat helpless and inactive in the grip of
great and shadowed hands, and the thing was as yet
incomprehensible. And so it was that the vision Zora
saw in the swamp had been real enough, and Alwyn felt
strangely disappointed that she had given no sign of
greeting on recognition.

In other ways, too, Zora, when he met her, was to him
a new creature. She came to him frankly and greeted
him, her gladness shining in her eyes, yet looking noth
ing more than gladness and saying nothing more. Just
what he had expected was hard to say; but he had left
her on her knees in the dirt with outstretched hands, and
somehow he had expected to return to some correspond
ing mental attitude. The physical change of these three
years was marvellous. The girl was the woman, well-
rounded and poised, tall, straight, and quick. And with
this went mental change: a self-mastery; a veiling of the

THE RETURN OF ALWYN 879

self even in intimate talk; a subtle air as of one look
ing from great and unreachable heights down on the
dawn of the world. Perhaps no one who had not known
the child and the girl as he had would have noted all this ;
but he saw and realized the transformation with a pang
— something had gone ; the innocence and wonder of the
child, and in their place had grown up something to him
incomprehensible and occult.

Miss Smith was not to be easily questioned on the
subject. She took no hints and gave no information, and
when once he hazarded some pointed questions she turned
on him abruptly, observing acidly : " If I were you I 'd
think less of Zora and more of her work."

Gradually, in his spiritual perplexity, Alwyn turned
to Mary Cresswell. She was staying with the Colonel
at Cresswell Oaks. Her coming South was supposed to
be solely for reasons of health, and her appearance made
this excuse plausible. She was lonely and restless, and
naturally drawn toward the school. Her intercourse with
Miss Smith was only formal, but her interest in Zora's
work grew. Down in the swamp, at the edge of the cleared
space, had risen a log cabin; long, low, spacious, over
hung with oak and pine. It was Zora's centre for her
settlement-work. There she lived, and with her a half-
dozen orphan girls and children too young for the board
ing department of the school. Mrs. Cresswell easily fell
into the habit of walking by here each day, coming down
the avenue of oaks across the road and into the swamp.
She saw little of Zora personally but she saw her girls
and learned much of her plans.

The rooms of the cottage were clean and light, sup
plied with books and pictures, simple toys, and a phono
graph. The yard was one wide green and golden

880 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

play-ground, and all day the music of children's glad
crooning and the singing of girls went echoing and tremb
ling through the trees, as they played and sewed and
washed and worked.

From the Cresswells and the Maxwells and others came
loads of clothes for washing and mending. The Tolliver
girls had simple dresses made, embroidery was ordered
from town, and soon there would be the gardens and
cotton fields. Mrs. Cresswell would saunter down of
mornings. Sometimes she would talk to the big girls and
play with the children; sometimes she would sit hidden
in the forest, listening and glimpsing and thinking, think
ing, till her head whirled and the world danced red be
fore her eyes. To-day she rose wearily, for it was near
noon, and started home. She saw Alwyn swing along
the road to the school dining-room where he had charge
of the students at the noonday meal.

Alwyn wanted Mrs. Cresswell's judgment and advice.
He was growing doubtful of his own estimate of women.
Evidently something about his standards was wrong; con
sequently he made opportunities to talk with Mrs. Cress-
well when she was about, hoping she would bring up the
subject of Zora of her own accord. But she did not. She
was too full of her own cares and troubles, and she was
only too glad of willing and sympathetic ears into which
to pour her thoughts. Miss Smith soon began to look
on these conversations with some uneasiness. Black men
and white women cannot talk together casually in the
South and she did not know how far the North had put
notions in Alwyn's head.

To-day both met each other almost eagerly.

Mrs. Cresswell had just had a bit of news which only
he would fully appreciate.

THE RETURN OF ALWYN 381

" Have you heard of the Vanderpools ? " she asked.

" No — except that he was appointed and confirmed
at last."

" Well, they had only arrived in France when he died
of apoplexy. I do not know," added Mrs. Cresswell,
" I may be wrong and — I hope I 'm not glad." Then
there leapt to her mind a hypothetical question which
had to do with her own curious situation. It was char
acteristic of her to brood and then restlessly to seek relief
in consulting the one person near who knew her story.
She started to open the subject again to-day.

But Alwyn, his own mind full, spoke first and rapidly.
He, too, had turned to her as he saw her come from
Zora's home. He must know more about the girl. He
could no longer endure this silence. Zora beneath her
apparent frankness was impenetrable, and he felt that
she carefully avoided him, although she did it so deftly
that he felt rather than observed it. Miss Smith still sys
tematically snubbed him when he broached the subject
of Zora. With others he did not speak; the matter
seemed too delicate and sacred, and he always had an
awful dread lest sometime, somewhere, a chance and fatal
word would be dropped, a breath of evil gossip which
would shatter all. He had hated to obtrude his trou
bles on Mrs. Cresswell, who seemed so torn in soul. But
to-day he must speak, although time pressed.

" Mrs. Cresswell," he began hurriedly, " there 's a mat
ter — a personal matter of which I have wanted to speak
— a long time — I — " The dinner-bell rang, and he
stopped, vexed.

" Come up to the house this afternoon," she said ;
" Colonel Cresswell will be away — " Then she paused
abruptly. A strange startling thought flashed through

382 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

her brain. Alwyn noticed nothing. He thanked her
cordially and hurried toward the dining-hall, meeting
Colonel Cresswell on horseback just as he turned into
the school gate.

Mary Cresswell walked slowly on, flushing and paling
by turns. Could it be that this Negro had dared to mis
understand her — had presumed? She reviewed her con
duct. Perhaps she had been indiscreet in thus making
a confidant of him in her trouble. She had thought of
him as a boy — an old student, a sort of confidential
servant; but what had he thought? She remembered Miss
Smith's warning of years before — and he had been
North since and acquired Northern notions of freedom
and equality. She bit her lip cruelly.

Yet, she mused, she was herself to blame. She had
unwittingly made the intimacy and he was but a Negro,
looking on every white woman as a goddess and ready
to fawn at the slightest encouragement. There had been
no one else here to confide in. She could not tell Miss
Smith her troubles, although she knew Miss Smith must
suspect. Harry Cresswell, apparently, had written
nothing home of their quarrel. All the neighbors behaved
as if her excuse of ill-health were sufficient to account for
her return South to escape the rigors of a Northern
winter. Alwyn, and Alwyn alone, really knew. Well,
it was her blindness, and she must right it quietly and
quickly with hard ruthless plainness. She blushed again
at the shame of it; then she began to excuse.

After all, which was worse- — a Cresswell or an Alwyn?
It was no sin that Alwyn had done ; it was simply ignorant
presumption, and she must correct him firmly, but gently,
like a child. What a crazy muddle the world was ! She
thought of Harry Cresswell and the tale he told her in

THE RETURN OF ALWYN 383

the swamp. She thought of the flitting ghosts that awful
night in Washington. She thought of Miss Wynn who
had jilted Alwyn and given her herself a very bad quarter
of an hour. What a world it was, and after all how
far was this black boy wrong? Just then Colonel Cress-
well rode up behind and greeted her.

She started almost guiltily, and again a sense of the
awkwardness of her position reddened her face and neck.
The Colonel dismounted, despite her protest, and walked
beside her. They chatted along indifferently, of the crops,
her brother's new baby, the proposed mill.

" Mary," his voice abruptly struck a new note. " I
don't like the way you talk with that Alwyn nigger."

She was silent.

" Of course," he continued, " you 're Northern born
and you have been a teacher in this school and feel dif
ferently from us in some ways; but mark what I sa}%
a nigger will presume on the slightest pretext, and you
must keep them in their place. Then, too, you are a
Cresswell now — "

She smiled bitterly ; he noticed it, but went on :

" You are a Cresswell, even if you have caught Harry
up to some of his deviltry," — she started, — "and got
miffed about it. It '11 all come out right. You 're a Cress-
well, and you must hold yourself too high to ' Mister '
a nigger or let him dream of any sort of equality."

He spoke pleasantly, but with a certain sharp insist
ence that struck a note of fear in Mary's heart. For
a moment she thought of writing Alwyn not to call. But,
no; a note would be unwise. She and Colonel Cresswell
lunched rather silently.

" Well, I must get to town," he finally announced.
" The mill directors meet to-day. If Maxwell calls by

384 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

about that lumber tell him I '11 see him in town." And
Away he went.

He had scarcely reached the highway and ridden a
quarter of a mile or so when he spied Bles Alwyn hurry
ing across the field toward the Cresswell Oaks. He frowned
and rode on. Then reining in his horse, he stopped in
the shadow of the trees and watched Alwyn.

It was here that Zora saw him as she came up from
her house. She, too, stopped, and soon saw whom he
was watching. She had been planning to see Mr. Cress-
well about the cut timber on her land. By legal right it
was hers but she knew he would claim half, treating her
like a mere tenant. Seeing him watching Alwyn she
paused in the shadow and waited, fearing trouble. She,
too, had felt that the continued conversations of Alwyri
and Mrs. Cresswell were indiscreet, but she hoped that
they had attracted no one else's attention. Now she feared
the Colonel was suspicious and her heart sank. Alwyn
went straight toward the house and disappeared in the
oak avenue. Still Colonel Cresswell waited but Zora
waited no longer. Alwyn must be warned. She must
reach CresswelPs mansion before Cresswell did and with
out him seeing her. This meant a long detour of the
swamp to approach the Oaks from the west. She silently
gathered up her skirts and walked quickly and carefully
away.

She was a strong woman, lithe and vigorous, living
in the open air and used to walking. Once out of hearing
she threw away her hat and bending forward ran through
the swamp. For a while the ran easily and swiftly.
Then for a moment she grew dizzy and it seemed as though
she was standing still and the swamp in solemn grandeur

THE RETURN OF ALWYN 385

marching past — in solemn mocking grandeur. She
loosened her dress at the neck and flew on.

She sped at last through the oaks, up the terraces, and
slowing down to an unsteady walk, staggered into the
house. No one would wonder at her being there. She
came up now and then and sorted the linen and piled the
baskets for her girls. She entered a side door and listened.
The Colonel's voice sounded impatiently in the front hall.

"Mary! Mary?"

A pause, then an answer:

"Yes, father!"

He started up the front stairway and Zora hurried up
the narrow back stairs, almost overturning a servant.

" I 'in after the clothes," she explained. She reached
the back landing just in time to see Colonel Cresswell's
head rising up the front staircase. With a quick bound
she almost fell into the first room at the top of the stairs.

Bles Alwyn had hurried through his dinner duties and
hastened to the Oaks. The questions, the doubts, the un
certainty within him were clamoring for utterance. How
much had Mrs. Cresswell ever known of Zora? What
kind of a woman was Zora now? Mrs. Cresswell had
seen her and had talked to her and watched her. What
did she think? Thus he formulated his questions as he
went, half timid, and fearful in putting them and yet
determined to know.

Mrs. Cresswell, waiting for him, was almost panic-
stricken. Probably he would beat round the bush seeking
further encouragement; but at the slightest indication
she must crush him ruthlessly and at the same time
point the path of duty. He ought to marry some good
girl — not Zora, but some one. Somehow Zora seemed too

386 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

unusual and strange for him — too inhuman, as Mary
Cresswell judged humanity. She glanced out from her
seat on the upper verandah over the front porch and saw
Alwyn coming. Where should she receive him? On the
porch and have Mr. Maxwell ride up? In the parlor
and have the servants astounded and talking? If she
took him up to her own sitting-room the servants would
think he was doing some work or fetching something for
the school. She greeted him briefly and asked him in.

" Good-afternoon, Bles " — using his first name to
show him his place, and then inwardly recoiling at its
note of familiarity. She preceded him up-stairs to the
sitting-room, where, leaving the door ajar, she seated
herself on the opposite side of the room and waited.

He fidgeted, then spoke rapidly.

" Mrs. Cresswell — this is a personal affair." She
reddened angrily. " A love affair " — she paled with
something like fear — " and I " — she started to speak,
but could not — "I want to know what you think about
Zora?"

" About Zora ! " she gasped weakly. The sudden re
action, the revulsion of her agitated feelings, left her
breathless.

" About Zora. You know I loved her dearly as a boy

— how dearly I have only j ust begun to realize : I 've
been wondering if I understood- — if I wasn't — "

Mrs. Cresswell got angrily to her feet.

'* You have come here to speak to me of that — that

— " she choked, and Bles thought his worst fears realized,
" Mary, Mary ! " Colonel Cresswell's voice broke sud
denly in upon them. With a start of fear Mrs. Cress-
well rushed out into the hall and closed the door.

" Mary, has that Alwyn nigger been here this after-

THE RETURN OF ALWYN 387

noon? " Mr. Cresswell was corning up-stairs, carrying
his riding- whip.

" Why, no 1 " she answered, lying instinctively before
she quite realized what her lie meant. She hesitated.
" That is, I have n't seen him. I must have nodded over
my book," — looking toward the little verandah at the
front of the upper hall, where her easy chair stood with
her book. Then with an awful flash of enlightenment
she realized what her lie might mean, and her heart
paused.

Cresswell strode up.

" I saw him come up — he must have entered. He 's
nowhere down-stairs," he wavered and scowled. " Have
you been in your sitting-room? " And then, not wait
ing for a reply, he strode to the door.

" But the damned scoundrel would n't dare ! "

He deliberately placed his hand in his right-hand hip-
pocket and threw open the door.

Mary Cresswell stood frozen. The full horror of the
thing burst upon her. Her own silly misapprehension,
the infatuation of Alwyn for Zora, her thoughtless • — no,
vindictive — betrayal of him to something worse than
death. She listened for the crack of doom. She heard
a bird singing far down in the swamp ; she heard the soft
raising of a window and the closing of a door. And then
— great God in heaven ! must she live forever in this
agony? — and then, she heard the door bang and Mr.
Cresswell's gruff voice —

" Well, where is he? — he is n't in there ! "

Mary Cresswell felt that something was giving way
within. She swayed and would have crashed to the
bottom of the staircase if just then she had not seen at
the opposite end of the hall, near the back stairs, Zora

388 !THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

and Alwyn emerge calmly from a room, carrying a basket
full of clothes. Colonel Cresswell stared at them, and
Zora instinctively put up her hand and fastened her dress
at the throat. The Colonel scowled, for it was all clear
to him now.

" Look here," he angrily opened upon them, " if you
niggers want to meet around keep out of this house ; here
after I '11 send the clothes down. By God, if you want
to make love go to the swamp ! " He stamped down the
stairs while an ashy paleness stole beneath the dark-red
bronze of Zora's face.

They walked silently down the road together — the
old familiar road. Alwyn was staring moodily ahead.

" We must get married — before Christmas, Zora," he
presently avowed, not looking at her. He felt the basket
pause and he glanced up. Her dark eyes were full upon
him and he saw something in their depths that brought
him to himself and made him realize his blunder.

" Zora ! " he stammered, " forgive me ! Will you marry
me?"

She looked at him calmly with infinite compassion. But
her reply was uttered unhesitatingly; distinct, direct,

" No, Bles."

CHAPTER XXXV

THE COTTON MILL

THE people of Toomsville started in their beds
and listened. A new song was rising on the air:
a harsh, low, murmuring croon that shook the
village ranged around its old square of dilapidated
stores. It was not a song of joy; it was not a song of
sorrow; it was not a song at all, perhaps, but a con
fused whizzing and murmuring, as of a thousand ill-
tuned, busy voices. Some of the listeners wondered; but
most of the town cried joyfully, " It 's the new cotton-
mill!"

John Taylor's head teemed with new schemes. The
mill trust of the North was at last a fact. The small
mills had not been able to buy cotton when it was low
because Cresswell was cornering it in the name of the
Farmers' League; now that it was high they could not
afford to, and many surrendered to the trust.

" Next thing," wrote Taylor to Easterly, " is to re
duce cost of production. Too much goes in wages.
Gradually transfer mills South."

Easterly argued that the labor was too unskilled in
the South and that to send Northern spinners down would
spread labor troubles. Taylor replied briefly : " Never
fear ; we '11 scare them with a vision of niggers in the
mills!"

[389]

390 LTHE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Colonel Cressvvell was not so easily won over to the
new scheme. In the first place he was angry because the
school, which he had come to regard as on its last legs,
somehow still continued to flourish. The ten-thousand-
dollar mortgage had but three more years, and that would
end all ; but he had hoped for a crash even earlier. Instead
of this, Miss Smith was cheerfully expanding the work,
hiring new teachers, and especially she had brought to help
her two young Negroes whom he suspected. Colonel
Cresswell had prevented the Tolliver land sale, only to be
inveigled himself into Zora's scheme which now began to
worry him. He must evict Zora's tenants as soon as the
crops were planted and harvested. There was nothing
unjust about such a course, he argued, for Negroes any
way were too lazy and shiftless to buy the land. They
would not, they could not, work without driving. All
this he imparted to John Taylor, to which that gentle
man listened carefully.

" H'm, I see," he owned. " And I know the way out."

"How?"

" A cotton mill in Toomsville."

" What 's that got to do with it? "

" Bring in whites."

" But I don't want poor white trash ; I 'd sooner have
niggers."

" Now, see here," argued Taylor, " you can't have
everything you want — day 's gone by for aristocracy
of old kind. You must have neighbors: choose, then,
white or black. I say white."

" But they '11 rule us — out-vote us — marry our
daughters," warmly objected the Colonel.

" Some of them may — most of them won't. A few
of them with brains will help us rule the rest with money.

THE COTTON MILL Ml

We '11 plant cotton mills beside the cotton fields, use
whites to keep niggers in their place, and the fear of
niggers to keep the poorer whites in theirs.

The Colonel looked thoughtful.

" There 's something in that," he confessed after a
while ; " but it Js a mighty big experiment, and it may go
awry."

" Not with brains and money to guide it. And at any
rate, we 've got to try it ; it 's the next logical step, and
we must take it."

" But in the meantime, I 'm not going to give up
good old methods ; I 'm going to set the sheriff behind
these lazy niggers," said the Colonel ; " and I 'm going
to stop that school putting notions into their heads."

In three short months the mill at Toomsville was
open and its wheels whizzing to the boundless pride of
the citizens.

" Our enterprise, sir ! " they said to the strangers on
the strength of the five thousand dollars locally invested,

Once it had vigor to sing, the song of the mill knew
no resting ; morning and evening, day and night it crooned
its rhythmic tune; only during the daylight Sundays did
its murmur die to a sibilant hiss. All the week its doors
were filled with the coming and going of men and
women and children : many men, more women, and greater
and greater throngs of children. It seemed to devour
children, sitting with its myriad eyes gleaming and its
black maw open, drawing in the pale white mites, suck
ing their blood and spewing them out paler and ever paler.
The face of the town began to change, showing a ragged
tuberculous looking side with dingy homes in short and
homely rows.

There came gradually a new consciousness to the town.

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Hitherto town and country had been ruled by a few great
landlords but at the very first election, Coiton, an un
known outsider, had beaten the regular candidate for
sheriff by such a majority that the big property owners
dared not count him out. They had, however, an earnest
consultation with John Taylor.

"It's just as I said," growled Colonel Cresswell, "if
you don't watch out our whole plantation system will be
ruined and we '11 be governed by this white trash from
the hills."

" There 's only one way," sighed Caldwell, the mer
chant ; " we 've got to vote the niggers."

John Taylor laughed. " Nonsense ! " he spurned the
suggestion. " You 're old-fashioned. Let the mill-hands
have the offices. What good will it do ? "

" What good ! Why, they '11 do as they please with
us."

" Bosh ! Don't we own the mill ? Can't we keep wages
where we like by threatening to bring in nigger labor? "

" No, you can't, permanently," Maxwell disputed, " for
they sometime will call your bluff."

" Let 'em call," said Taylor, " and we '11 put niggers
in the mills."

"What!" ejaculated the landlords in chorus. Only
Maxwell was silent. " And kill the plantation system ? "

" Oh, maybe some time, of course. But not for years ;
not until you Ve made your pile. You don't really ex
pect to keep the darkies down forever, do you ? "

"No, I don't," Maxwell slowly admitted. "This
system can't last always — sometimes I think it can't last
long. It 's wrong, through and through. It 's built on
ignorance, theft, and force, and I wish to God we had
courage enough to overthrow it and take the conse-

THE COTTON MILL

... »\ i.

quences. I wish it was possible to be a Southerner and a
Christian and an honest man, to treat niggers and dagoes
and white trash like men, and be big enough to say, ' To
Hell with consequences ! '

Colonel Cresswell stared at his neighbor, speechless
with bewilderment and outraged traditions. Such un
believable heresy from a Northerner or a Negro would
have been natural; but from a Southerner whose father
had owned five hundred slaves — it was incredible ! The
other landlords scarcely listened; they were dogged and
impatient and they could suggest no remedy. They could
only blame the mill for their troubles.

John Taylor left the conference blithely. " No," he
said to the committee from the new mill-workers' union.
" Can't raise wages, gentlemen, and can't lessen hours.
Mill is just started and not yet paying expenses. You 're
getting better wages than you ever got. If you don't
want to work, quit. There are plenty of others, white and
black, who want your jobs."

The mention of black people as competitors for wages
was like a red rag to a bull. The laborers got together
and at the next election they made a clean sweep, judge,
sheriff, two members of the legislature, and the registrars
of votes. Undoubtedly the following year they would
capture Harry Cresswell's seat in Congress.

The result was curious. From two sides, from land
lord and white laborer, came renewed oppression of black *
men. The laborers found that their political power gave
them little economic advantage as long as the threaten
ing cloud of Negro competition loomed ahead. There was
some talk of a strike, but Colton, the new sheriff, dis
couraged it.

" I tell you, boys, where the trouble lies : it 's the nig-

394 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

gers. They live on nothing and take any kind of treat
ment, and they keep wages down. If you strike, they '11
get your jobs, sure. We'll just have to grin and
bear it a while, but get back at the darkies whenever
you can. I '11 stick 'em into the chain-gang every chance
I get."

On the other hand, inspired by fright, the grip of the
landlords on the black serfs closed with steadily increas
ing firmness. They saw one class rising from beneath
them to power, and they tightened the chains on the
other. Matters simmered on in this way, and the only
party wholly satisfied with conditions was John Taylor
and the few young Southerners who saw through his eyes.
He was making money. The landlords, on the contrary,
were losing power and prestige, and their farm labor, de
spite strenuous efforts, was drifting to town attracted by
new and incidental work and higher wages. The mill-
hands were more and more overworked and underpaid,
and hated the Negroes for it in accordance with their
leaders' directions.

At the same time the oppressed blacks and scowling
mill hands could not help recurring again and again to
the same inarticulate thought which no one was brave
enough to voice. Once, however, it came out flatly. It
was when Zora, crowding into the village court-house to
see if she could not help Aunt Rachel's accused boy, found
herself beside a gaunt, overworked white woman. The
woman was struggling with a crippled child and Zora,
turning, lifted him carefully for the weak mother, who
thanked her half timidly. "That mill's about killed
him," she said.

At this juncture the manacled boy was led into court,
and the woman suddenly turned again to Zora.

THE COTTON MILL Jiitf

" Durned if I don't think these white slaves and black
slaves had ought ter git together," she declared.

" I think so, too," Zora agreed.

Colonel Cresswell himself caught the conversation and
it struck him with a certain disma}r. Suppose such a con
junction should come to pass? He edged over to John
Taylor and spoke to him; but Taylor, who had just suc
cessfully stopped a suit for damages to the injured boy,
merely shrugged his shoulders.

" What 's this nigger charged with ? " demanded the
Judge when the first black boy was brought up before
him.

" Breaking his labor contract."

" Any witnesses ? "

" I have the contract here," announced the sheriff.
" He refuses to work."

" A year, or one hundred dollars."

Colonel Cresswell paid his fine, and took him in charge.

"What's the charge here?" said the Judge, pointing
to Aunt Rachel's boy.

" Attempt to kill a white man."

" Any witnesses ? "

" None except the victim."

" And I," said Zora, coming forward.

Both the sheriff and Colonel Cresswell stared at her.
Of course, she was simply a black girl but she was an
educated woman, who knew things about the Cresswell
plantations that it was unnecessary to air in court. The
newly elected Judge had not yet taken his seat, and
Cresswell's word was still law in the court. He whispered
to the Judge.

" Case postponed," said the Court.

The sheriff scowled.

396 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Wait till Jim gets on the bench," he growled.

The white bystanders, however, did not seem enthu
siastic and one man — he was a Northern spinner- —
spoke out plainly.

" It 's none o' my business, of course. I 've been fired
and I 'm damned glad of it. But see here : if you mutts
think you 're going to beat these big blokes at their own
game of cheating niggers you 're daffy. You take this
from me: get together with the niggers and hold up this
whole capitalist gang. If you do n't get the niggers first,
they '11 use 'em as a club to throw you down. You hear
me" and he departed for the train.

Colton was suspicious. The sentiment of joining with
the Negroes did not seem to arouse the bitter resentment
he expected. There even came whispers to his ears that
he had sold out to the landlords, and there was enough
truth in the report to scare him. Thus to both parties
came the uncomfortable spectre of the black men, and
both sides went to work to lay the ghost.

Particularly was Colonel Cresswell stirred to action.
He realized that in Bles and Zora he was dealing with a
younger class of educated black folk, who were learning
to fight with new weapons. They were, he was sure, as
dissolute and weak as their parents, but they were
shrewder and more aspiring. They must be crushed, and
crushed quickly. To this end he had recourse to two
sources of help — Johnson and the whites in town.

Johnson was what Colonel Cresswell repeatedly called
" a faithful nigger." He was one of those constitution
ally timid creatures into whom the servility of his fathers
had sunk so deep that it had become second-nature. To
him a white man was an archangel, while the Cresswells,
his father's masters, stood for God. He served them with

THE COTTON MILL 397

dog-like faith, asking no reward, and for what he gave in
reverence to them, he took back in contempt for his fel
lows — " niggers ! " He applied the epithet with more
contempt than the Colonel himself could express. To the
Negroes he was a " white folk's nigger," to be despised
and feared.

To him Colonel Cresswell gave a few pregnant direc
tions. Then he rode to town, and told Taylor again of
his fears of a labor movement which would include whites
and blacks. Taylor could not see any great danger.

" Of course," he conceded, " they '11 eventually get to
gether ; their interests are identical. I '11 admit it 's our
game to delay this as long possible."

" It must be delayed forever, sir."

" Can't be," was the terse response. " But even if they
do ally themselves, our way is easy: separate the leaders,
the talented, the pushers, of both races from their masses,
and through them rule the rest by money."

But Colonel Cresswell shook his head. " It 's precisely
these leaders of the Negroes that we must crush," he in
sisted. Taylor looked puzzled.

" I thought it was the lazy, shiftless, and criminal
Negroes, you feared? "

" Hang it, no ! We can deal with them ; we 've got
whips, chain-gangs, and — mobs, if need be — no, it *s
the Negro who wants to climb up that we 've got to beat
to his knees."

Taylor could not follow this reasoning. He believed in V
an aristocracy of talent alone, and secretly despised
Colonel Cresswell's pretensions of birth. If a man had
ability and push Taylor was willing and anxious to open
the way for him, even though he were black. The caste
way of thinking in the South, both as applied to poor

398 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

whites and to Negroes, he simply could not understand.
The weak and the ignorant of all races he despised and
had no patience with them. " But others — a man 's a
man, isn't he?" he persisted. But Colonel Cresswell
replied :

" No, never, if he 's black, and not always when he Js
white," and he stalked away.

Zora sensed fully the situation. She did not anticipate
any immediate understanding with the laboring whites,
but she knew that eventually it would be inevitable.
Meantime the Negro must strengthen himself and bring
to the alliance as much independent economic strength as
possible. For the development of her plans she needed
Bles Alwyn's constant cooperation. He was business
manager of the school and was doing well, but she wanted
to point out to him the larger field. So long as she was
uncertain of his attitude toward her, it was difficult to
act; but now, since the flash of the imminent tragedy at
Cresswell Oaks had cleared the air, with all its hurt a
frank understanding had been made possible. The very
next day Zora chose to show Bles over her new home and
grounds, and to speak frankly to him. They looked at
the land, examined the proposed farm sites, and viewed
the living-room and dormitory in the house.

" You have n't seen my den," said Zora.

" No."

" Miss Smith is in there now ; she often hides there.
Come."

He went into the large central house and into the living-
room, then out on the porch, beyond which lay the
kitchen. But to the left, and at the end of the porch,
was a small building. It was ceiled in dark yellow pine,

THE COTTON MILL

with figured denim on the walls. A straight desk of
rough hewn wood stood in the corner by the white-
curtained window, and a couch and two large easy-chairs
faced a tall narrow fireplace of uneven stone. A thick
green rag-carpet covered the floor; a few pictures were
on the walls — a Madonna, a scene of mad careering
horses, and some sad baby faces. The room was a unity ;
things fitted together as if they belonged together. It
was restful and beautiful, from the cheerful pine blaze
before which Miss Smith was sitting, to the square-paned
window that let in the crimson rays of gathering night.
All round the room, stopping only at the fireplace, ran
low shelves of the same yellow pine, filled with books and
magazines. He scanned curiously Plato's Republic, Gorky's
" Comrades," a Cyclopaedia of Agriculture, Balzac's
novels, Spencer's "First Principles," Tennyson's Poems.

" This is my university," Zora explained, smiling at his
interested survey. They went out again and wandered
down near the old lagoon.

" Now, Bles," she began, w since we understand each
other, can we not work together as good friends ? " She
spoke simply and frankly, without apparent effort, and
talked on at length of her work and vision.

Somehow he could not understand. His mental atti
tude toward Zora had always been one of guidance,
guardianship, and instruction. He had been judging and
weighing her from on high, looking down upon her with
thoughts of uplift and development. Always he hod been
holding her dark littie hands to lead her out of the swamp
of life, and always, when in senseless anger he had half
forgotten and deserted her, this vision of elder brother
hood had still remained. Now this attitude was being

400 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

revolutionized. She was proposing to him a plan of wide
scope — a bold regeneration of the land. It was a plan
carefully studied out, long thought of and read about.
He was asked to be co-worker — nay, in a sense to be a
follower, for he was ignorant of much.

He hesitated. Then all at once a sense of his utter
unworthiness overwhelmed him. Who was he to stand
and judge this unselfish woman? Who was he to falter
when she called? A sense of his smallness and narrow
ness, of his priggish blindness, rose like a mockery in his
soul. One thing alone held him back: he was not un
willing to be simply human, a learner and a follower; but
would he as such ever command the love and respect of
this new and inexplicable woman? Would not comrade
ship on the basis of the new friendship which she insisted
on, be the death of love and thoughts of love?

Thus he hesitated, knowing that his duty lay clear. In
her direst need he had deserted her. He had left her to
go to destruction and expected that she would. By a
superhuman miracle she had risen and seated herself above
him. She was working; here was work to be done. He
was asked to help ; he would help. If it killed his old and
new-born dream of love, well and good ; it was his
punishment.

Yet the sacrifice, the readjustment was hard; he grew
to it gradually, inwardly revolting, feeling always a
great longing to take this woman and make her nestle in
his arms as she used to ; catching himself again and again
on the point of speaking to her and urging, yet ever again
holding himself back and bowing in silent respect to the
dignity of her life. Only now and then, when their eyes
met suddenly or unthinkingly, a great kindling flash of

THE COTTON MILL 401

flame seemed struggling behind showers of tears, until in
a moment she smiled or spoke, and then the dropping veil
left only the frank open glance, unwavering, soft, kind,
but nothing more. Then Alwyn would go wearily away,
vexed or disappointed, or merely sad, and both would
turn to their work again.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE LAND

COLONEL CRESSWELL started all the more
grimly to overthrow the new work at the school
because somewhere down beneath his heart a pity
and a wonder were stirring; pity at the perfectly useless
struggle to raise the unraisable, a wonder at certain signs
of rising. But it was impossible — and unthinkable,
even if possible. So he squared his jaw and cheated Zora
deliberately in the matter of the cut timber. He placed
every obstacle in the way of getting tenants for the school
land. Here Johnson, the " faithful nigger," was of in
calculable assistance. He was among the first to hear the
call for prospective tenants.

The meeting was in the big room of Zora's house, and
Aunt Rachel came early with her cheery voice and smile
which faded so quickly to lines of sorrow and despair,
and then twinkled back again. After her hobbled old
Sykes. Fully a half-hour later Rob hurried in.

" Johnson," he informed the others, " has sneaked over
to Cresswell's to tell of this meeting. We ought to beat
that nigger up." But Zora asked him about the new
baby, and he was soon deep in child-lore. Higgins and
Sanders came together — dirty, apologetic, and furtive*
Then came Johnson.

[402]

THE LAND 403

" How do, Miss Zora — Mr. Alwyn, I sure is glad to
see you, sir. Well, if there ain't Aunt Rachel! looking
as young as ever. And Higgins, you scamp — Ah, Mr.
Sanders — well, gentlemen and ladies, this sure is gwine
to be a good cotton season. I remember — And he ran
on endlessly, now to this one, now to that, now to all, his lit
tle eyes all the while dancing insinuatingly here and there.
About nine o'clock a buggy drove up and Carter and
Simpson came in — Carter, a silent, strong-faced, brown
laborer, who listened and looked, and Simpson, a worried
nervous man, who sat still with difficulty and commenced
many sentences but did not finish them. Alwyn looked at
his watch and at Zora, but she gave no sign until they
heard a rollicking song outside and Tylor burst into the
room. He was nearly seven feet high and broad-shoul
dered, yellow, with curling hair and laughing brown eyes.
He was chewing an enormous quid of tobacco, the juice
of which he distributed generously, and had had just
liquor enough to make him jolly. His entrance was a
breeze and a roar.

Alwyn then undertook to explain the land scheme.

" It is the best land in the county — "

" When it 's cl'ared," interrupted Johnson, and Simp
son looked alarmed.

" It is partially cleared," continued Alwyn, " and our
plan is to sell off small twenty-acre farms — "

" You can't do nothing on twenty acres — " began
Johnson, but Tylor laid his huge hand right over his
mouth and said briefly:

"Shut up!"

Alwyn started again: "We shall sell a few twenty-
acre farms but keep one central plantation of one hun
dred acres for the school. Here Miss Zora will carry on

404 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

her work and the school will run a model farm with your
help. We want to centre here agencies to make life bet
ter. We want all sorts of industries ; we want a little
hospital with a resident physician and two or three
nurses ; we want a cooperative store for buying supplies ;
we want a cotton-gin and saw-mill, and in the future other
things. This land here, as I have said, is the richest
around. We want to keep this hundred acres for the
public good, and not sell it. We are going to deed it to
a board of trustees, and those trustees are to be chosen
from the ones who buy the small farms."

" Who 's going to get what 's made on this land ? "
asked Sanders.

" All of us. It is going first to pay for the land, then
to support the Home and the School, and then to furnish
capital for industries."

Johnson snickered. " You mean youse gwine to git
yo' livin' off it? "

" Yes," answered Alwyn ; " but I 'm going to work for
it."

" Who 's gwine — " began Simpson, but stopped
helplessly.

" Who 's going to tend this land? " asked the practical
Carter.

" All of us. Each man is going to promise us so many
days' work a year, and we 're going to ask others to help
— the women and girls and school children — they will
all help."

" Can you put trust in that sort of help? "

" We can when once the community learns that it pays."

"Does you own the land?" asked Johnson suddenly.

" No ; we 're buying it, and it 's part paid for already."

The discussion became general. Zora moved about

THE LAND 405

among the men whispering and explaining; while John
son moved, too, objecting and hinting. At last he arose.

" Brethren," he began, " the plan 's good enough for
talkin' but you can't work it ; who ever heer'd tell of such
a thing? First place, the land ain't yours; second place,
you can't get it worked; third place, white folks won't
'low it. Who ever heer'd of such working land on
shares? "

" You do it for white folks each day, why not for your
selves," Alwyn pointed out.

" 'Cause we ain't white, and we can't do nothin' like
that."

Tylor was asleep and snoring and the others looked
doubtfully at each other. It was a proposal a little too
daring for them, a bit too far beyond their experience.
One consideration alone kept them from shrinking away
and that was Zora's influence. Not a man was there whom
she had not helped and encouraged nor who had not per
fect faith in her; in her impetuous hope, her deep en
thusiasm, and her strong will. Even her defects — the
hard-held temper, the deeply rooted dislikes — - caught
their imagination.

Finally, after several other meetings five men took
courage — three of the best and two of the weakest.
During the Spring long negotiations were entered into by
Miss Smith to " buy " the five men. Colonel Cresswell
and Mr. Tolliver had them all charged with large sums
of indebtedness and these sums had to be assumed by the
school. As Colonel Cresswell counted over two thousand
dollars of school notes and deposited them beside the mort
gage he smiled grimly for he saw the end. Yet, even then
his hand trembled and that curious doubt came creeping
back. He put it aside angrily and glanced up.

406 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Nigger wants to talk with you," announced his clerk.

The Colonel sauntered out and found Bles Alwyn
waiting.

" Colonel Cresswell," he said, " I have charge of the
buying for the school and our tenants this year and I
naturally want to do the best possible. I thought I 'd
come over and see about getting my supplies at your
store."

' That 's all right ; you can get anything you want,"
said Colonel Cresswell cheerily, for this to his mind was
evidence of sense on the part of the Negroes. Bles showed
his list of needed supplies — seeds, meat, corn-meal,
coffee, sugar, etc. The Colonel glanced over it carelessly,
then moved away.

" All right. Come and get what you want — any
time," he called back.

" But about the prices," said Alwyn, following him.

" Oh, they '11 be all right."

" Of course. But what I want is an estimate of your
lowest cash prices."

"Cash?"

" Yes, sir."

Cresswell thought a while ; such a business-like proposi
tion from Negroes surprised him.

" Well, I '11 let you know," he said.

It was nearly a week later before Alwyn approached
him again.

" Now, see here," said Colonel Cresswell, " there 's
practically no difference between cash and time prices.
We buy our stock on time and you can just as well take
advantage of this as not. I have figured out about what
these things will cost. The best thing for you to do is
to make a deposit here and get things when you want

THE LAND 407

them. If you make a good deposit I '11 throw off ten per
cent, which is all of my profit."

" Thank you," said Alwyn, but he looked over the ac
count and found the whole bill at least twice as large as
he expected. Without further parley, he made some ex
cuse and started to town while Mr. Cresswell went to the
telephone.

In town Alwyn went to all the chief merchants one
after another and received to his great surprise prac
tically the same estimate. He could not understand it.
He had estimated the current market prices according to
the Montgomery paper, yet the prices in Toombsville
were fifty to a hundred and fifty per cent higher. The
merchant to whom he went last, laughed.

" Don't you know we 're not going to interfere with
Colonel Cresswell's tenants? " He stated the dealers' at
titude, and Alwyn saw light. He went home and told
Zora, and she listened without surprise.

" Now to business," she said briskly. " Miss Smith,"
turning to the teacher, " as I told you, they 're combined
against us in town and we must buy in Montgomery. I
was sure it was coming, but I wanted to give Colonel
Cresswell every chance. Bles starts for Montgomery ^— "

Alwyn looked up. " Does he? " he asked, smiling.

" Yes," said Zora, smiling in turn. " We must lose
no further time."

" But there 's no train from Toombsville to-night."

" But there 's one from Barton in the morning and
Barton is only twenty miles away."

" It is a long walk." Alwyn thought a while, silently.
Then he rose. " I 'm going," he said. " Good-bye."

In less than a week the storehouse was full, and ten
ants were at work. The twenty acres of cleared swamp

408 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

land, attended to by the voluntary labor of all the tenants,
was soon bearing a magnificent crop. Colonel Cresswell
inspected all the crops daily with a proprietary air that
would have been natural had these folk been simply ten
ants, and as such he persisted in regarding them.

The cotton now growing was perhaps not so uniformly
fine as the first acre of Silver Fleece, but it was of un
usual height and thickness.

" At least a bale to the acre," Alwyn estimated, and
the Colonel mentally determined to take two-thirds of the
crop. After that he decided that he would evict Zora
immediately ; since sufficient land was cleared already for
his purposes and moreover, he had seen with consterna
tion a herd of cattle grazing in one field on some early
green stuff, and heard a drove of hogs in the swamp.
Such an example before the tenants of the Black Belt
would be fatal. He must wait a few weeks for them to pick
the cotton — then, the end. He was fighting the battle of
his color and caste.

The children sang merrily in the brown-white field. The
wide baskets, poised aloft, foamed on the erect and
swaying bodies of the dark carriers. The crop through
out the land was short that year, for prices had ruled low
last season in accordance with the policy of the Combine,
This year they started high again. Would they fall?
Many thought so and hastened to sell.

Zora and Alwyn gathered their tenants' crops, ginned
them at the Cresswells' gin, and carried their cotton to
town, where it was deposited in the warehouse of the
Farmers' League.

" Now," said Alwyn, " we would best sell while prices
are high."

Zora laughed at him frankly.

THE LAND 409

" We can't," she said. " Do n't you know that Colonel
Cresswell will attach our cotton for rent as soon as it
touches the warehouse? "

" But it 's ours."

" Nothing is ours. No black man ordinarily can sell
his crop without a white creditor's consent."

Alwyn fumed.

" The best way," he declared, " is to go to Montgomery
and get a first-class lawyer and just fight the thing
through. The land is legally ours, and he has no right
to our cotton."

" Yes, but you must remember that no man like Colonel
Cresswell regards a business bargain with a colored man
as binding. No white man under ordinary circumstances
will help enforce such a bargain against prevailing public
opinion."

" But if we cannot trust to the justice of the case,
and if you knew we could n't, why did you try ? "

" Because I had to try ; and moreover the circum
stances are not altogether ordinary: the men in power in
Toomsville now are not the landlords of this county;
they are poor whites. The Judge and sheriff were both
elected by mill-hands who hate Cresswell and Taylor.
Then there 's a new young lawyer who wants Harry
Cresswell's seat in Congress ; he don't know much law,
I 'm afraid ; but what he don't know of this case I think
I do. I '11 get his advice and then — I mean to conduct
the case myself," Zora calmly concluded.

" Without a lawyer ! " Bles Alwyn stared his amaze
ment.

" Without a lawyer in court."

" Zora ! That would be foolish ! "

" Is it ? Let 's think. For over a year now I 've been

410 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

studying the law of the case," and she pointed to her law
books ; " I know the law and most of the decisions. More
over, as a black woman fighting a hopeless battle with
landlords, I '11 gain the one thing lacking."

"What's that?"

" The sympathy of the court and the bystanders."

" Pshaw ! From these Southerners ? "

ty- I " Yes, from them. They are very human, these men,
especially the laborers. Their prejudices are cruel
enough, but there are joints in their armor. They are
used to seeing us either scared or blindly angry, and they
understand how to handle us then, but at other times it
is hard for them to do anything but meet us in a human
way."

" But, Zora, think of the contact of the court, the
humiliation, the coarse talk — "

Zora put up her hand and lightly touched his arm.
Looking at him, she said:

" Mud does n't hurt much. This is my duty. Let me
do it."

His eyes fell before the shadow of a deeper rebuke. He
arose heavily.

" Very well," he acquiesced as he passed slowly out.

The young lawyer started to refuse to touch the case
until he saw — or did Zora adroitly make him see ? — a
chance for eventual political capital. They went over the
matter carefully, and the lawyer acquired a respect for
the young woman's knowledge.

" First," he said, " get an injunction on the cotton —
then go to court." And to insure the matter he slipped
over and saw the Judge.

Colonel Cresswell next day stalked angrily into his
lawyers' office.

THE LAND 411

" See here," he thundered, handing the lawyer the no
tice of the injunction.

" See the Judge," began the lawyer, and then re
membered, as he was often forced to do these days, who
was Judge.

He inquired carefully into the case and examined the
papers. Then he said:

" Colonel Cresswell, who drew this contract of .-;ale ? "

" The black girl did."

" Impossible ! "

" She certainly did — wrote it in my presence."

" Well, it >s mighty well done."

"You mean it will stand in law? "

" It certainly will. There 's but one way to break it,
and that 's to allege misunderstanding on your part."

Cresswell winced. It was not pleasant to go into open
court and acknowledge himself over-reached by a Negro;
but several thousand dollars in cotton and land were at
stake.

" Go ahead," he concurred.

"You can depend on Taylor, of course?" added the
lawyer.

" Of course," answered Cresswell. " But why prolong
the thing? "

" You see, she 's got your cotton tied by injunction."

" I don't see how she did it."

" Easy enough : this Judge is the poor white you op
posed in the last primary."

Within a week the case was called, and they filed into
the court-room. Cresswell's lawyer saw only this black
woman — no other lawyer or sign of one appeared to rep
resent her. The place soon filled with a lazy, tobacco-
chewing throng of white men. A few blacks whispered in

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

one corner. The dirty stove was glowing with pine-wood
and the Judge sat at a desk.

" Where 's your lawyer ? " he asked sharply of Zora.

" I have none," returned Zora, rising.

There came a silence in the court. Her voice was low,
and the men leaned forward to listen. The Judge felt
impelled to be over-gruff.

" Get a lawyer," he ordered.

" Your honor, my case is simple, and with your honor's
permission I wish to conduct it myself. I cannot afford
a lawyer, and I do not think I need one."

Cresswell's lawyer smiled and leaned back. It was go
ing to be easier than he supposed. Evidently the woman
believed she had no case, and was weakening.

The trial proceeded, and Zora stated her contention.
She told how long her mother and grandmother had
served the Cresswells and showed her receipt for rent
paid.

" A friend sent me some money. I went to Mr. Cress-
well and asked him to sell me two hundred acres of land.
He consented to do so and signed this contract in the
presence of his son-in-law."

Just then John Taylor came into the court, and Cress-
well beckoned to him.

" I want you to help me out, John."

" All right," whispered Taylor. " What can I do? "

" Swear that Cresswell did n't mean to sign this," said
the lawyer quickly, as he arose to address the court.

Taylor looked at the paper blankly and then at Cress-
well and some inkling of the irreconcilable difference in
the two natures leapt in both their hearts. Cresswell
might gamble and drink and lie " like a gentleman," but
he would never willingly cheat or take advantage of a

THE LAND 418

white man's financial necessities. Taylor, on the other
hand, had a horror of a lie, never drank nor played games
of chance, but his whole life was speculation and in tht
business game he was utterly ruthless and respected no
one. Such men could never thoroughly understand each
other. To Cresswell a man who had cheated the whole
South out of millions by a series of misrepresentations
ought to regard this little falsehood as nothing.

Meantime Colonel Cresswell's lawyer was on his feet,
and he adopted his most irritating and contemptuous
manner.

" This nigger wench wrote out some illegible stuff and
Colonel Cresswell signed it to get rid of her. We are not
going to question the legality of the form — that 's
neither here nor there. The point is, Mr. Cresswell never
intended — never dreamed of selling this wench land right
in front of his door. He meant to rent her the land and
sign a receipt for rent paid in advance. I will not worry
your honor by a long argument to prove this, but just
call one of the witnesses well known to you — Mr. John
Taylor of the Toomsville mills."

Taylor looked toward the door and then slowly took
the stand.

" Mr. Taylor," said the lawyer carelessly, " were you
present at this transaction? "

"Yes."

" Did you see Colonel Cresswell sign this paper ? "

« Yes."

" Well, did he intend so far as you know to sign such
a paper ? "

" I do not know his intentions."

" Did he say he meant to sign such a contract ? "

Taylor hesitated.

414 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Yes," he finally answered. Colonel Cresswell looked
up in amazement and the lawyer, dropped his glasses.

"I — I don't think you perhaps understood me, Mr.
Taylor," he gasped. "I — er — meant to ask if Colonel
Cresswell, in signing this paper, meant to sign a contract
to sell this wench two hundred acres of land ? "

"He said he did," reiterated Taylor. "Although I
ought to add that he did not think the girl would ever be
able to pay. If he had thought she would pay, I don't
think he would have signed the paper."

Colonel Cresswell went red, then pale, and leaning for
ward before the whole court, he hurled:

" You damned scoundrel ! "

The Judge rapped for order and fidgeted in his seat.
There was some confusion and snickering in the court
room. Finally the Judge plucked up courage:

" The defendant is ordered to deliver this cotton to
Zora Cresswell," he directed.

The raging of Colonel Cresswell's anger now turned
against John Taylor as well as the Negroes. Wind of the
estrangement flew over town quickly. The poor whites
saw a chance to win Taylor's influence and the sheriff
approached him cautiously. Taylor paid him slight
courtesy. He was irritated with this devilish Negro
problem ; he was making money ; his wife and babies were
enjoying life, and here was this fool trial to upset mat
ters. But the sheriff talked.

" The thing I 'm afraid of," he said, " is that Cresswell
and his gang will swing in the niggers on us."

" How do you mean ? "

" Let 'em vote."

" But they 'd have to read and write."

THE LAND 415

"Sure!"

" Well, then," said Taylor, " it might be a good thing."

Colton eyed him suspiciously.

" You 'd let a nigger vote ? "

" Why, yes, if he had sense enough."

" There ain't no nigger got sense."

" Oh, pshaw! " Taylor ejaculated, walking away.

The sheriff was angry and mistrustful. He believed he
had discovered a deep-laid scheme of the aristocrats to
cultivate friendliness between whites and blacks, and then
use black voters to crush the whites. Such a course was,
in Colton's mind, dangerous, monstrous, and unnatural;
it must be stopped at all hazards. He began to whisper
among his friends. One or two meetings were held, and
the flame of racial prejudice was studiously fanned.

The atmosphere of the town and country quickly be
gan to change. Whatever little beginnings of friendship
and understanding had arisen now quickly disappeared.
The town of a Saturday no longer belonged to a happy,
careless crowd of black peasants, but the black folk found
themselves elbowed to the gutter, while ugly quarrels
flashed here and there with a quick arrest of the Negroes.

Colonel Cresswell made a sudden resolve. He sent for
the sheriff and received him at the Oaks, in his most re
spectable style, filling him with good food, and warming
him with good liquor.

" Colton," he asked, " are you sending any of your
white children to the nigger school yet? "

"What!" yelled Colton.

The Colonel laughed, frankly telling Colton John
Taylor's philosophy on the race problem, — his willingness
to let Negroes vote; his threat to let blacks and whites

416 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

work together; his contempt for the officials elected by
the people.

" Candidly, Colton," he concluded, " I believe in aris
tocracy. I can't think it right or wise to replace the old
aristocracy by new and untried blood." And in a sudden
outburst — " But, by God, sir ! I 'm a white man, and I
place the lowest white man ever created above the highest
darkey ever thought of. This Yankee, Taylor, is a nig
ger-lover. He 's secretly encouraging and helping them.
You saw what he did to me, and 1 5m warning you in
time."

Colton's glass dropped.

" I thought it was you that was corralling the niggers
against us," he exclaimed.

The Colonel reddened. " I don't count all white men
my equals, I admit," he returned with dignity, " but I
know the difference between a white man and a nigger."

Colton stretched out his massive hand. " Put it there,
sir," said he; "I misjudged you, Colonel Cresswell. I 'm
a Southerner, and I honor the old aristocracy you rep
resent. I 'm going to join with you to crush this Yankee
and put the niggers in their places. They are getting
impudent around here; they need a lesson and, by gad!
they '11 get one they '11 remember."

" Now, see here, Colton, — nothing rash," the Colonel
charged him, warningly. " Do n't stir up needless
trouble ; but — well, things must change."

Colton rose and shook his head.

" The niggers need a lesson," he muttered as he un
steadily bade his host good-bye. Cresswell watched him
uncomfortably as he rode away, and again a feeling of
doubt stirred within him. What new force was he loosen-

THE LAND 417

ing against his black folk — his own black folk, who had
lived about him and his fathers nigh three hundred years ?
He saw the huge form of the sheriff loom like an evil spirit
a moment on the rise of the road and sink into the night.
He turned slowly to his cheerless house shuddering as he
entered the uninviting portals.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE MOB

WHEN Emma, Bertie's child, came home after a
two years' course of study, she had passed
from girlhood to young womanhood. She was
white, and sandy-haired. She was not beautiful, and she
appeared to be fragile; but she also looked sweet and
good, with that peculiar innocence which peers out upon
the world with calm, round eyes and sees no evil, but does
methodically its simple, everyday work. Zora mothered
her, Miss Smith found her plenty to do, and Bles thought
her a good girl. But Mrs. Cresswell found her perfect,
and began to scheme to marry her off. For Mary Cress-
well, with the restlessness and unhappiness of an unem
ployed woman, was trying to atone for her former
blunders.

Her humiliation after the episode at Cresswell Oaks
had been complete. It seemed to her that the original
cause of her whole life punishment lay in her persistent
misunderstanding of the black people and their problem.
Zora appeared to her in a new and glorified light — - a
vigorous, self-sacrificing woman. She knew that Zora
had refused to marry Bles, and this again seemed fitting.
Zora was not meant for marrying ; she was a born leader,
wedded to a great cause; she had long outgrown the boy

[4181

THE MOB 419

and girl affection. She was the sort of woman she herself
might have been if she had not married.

Alwyn, on the other hand, needed a wife; he was a
great, virile boy, requiring a simple, affectionate mate.
No sooner did she see Emma than she was sure that this
was the ideal wife. She compared herself with Helen Cress-
well. Helen was a contented wife and mother because she
was fitted for the position, and happy in it; while she
who had aimed so high had fallen piteously. From such
a fate she would save Zora and Bles.

Emma's course in nurse-training had been simple and
short and there was no resident physician ; but Emma,
in her unemotional way, was a born nurse and did much
good among the sick in the neighborhood. Zora had a
small log hospital erected with four white beds, a private
room, and an office which was also Emma's bedroom. The
new white physician in town, just fresh from school in
Atlanta, became interested and helped with advice and
suggestions.

Meantime John Taylor's troubles began to increase.
Under the old political regime it had been an easy matter
to avoid serious damage-suits for the accidents in the mill.
Much child labor and the lack of protective devices made
accidents painfully frequent. Taylor insisted that the
chief cause was carelessness, while the mill hands alleged
criminal neglect on his part. When the new labor of
ficials took charge of the court and the break occurred
between Colonel Cress well and his son-in-law, Taylor
found that several damage-suits were likely to cost him
a considerable sum.

He determined not to let the bad feeling go too far, and
when a particularly distressing accident to a little girl
took place, he showed more than his usual interest and

420 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

offered to care for her. The new young physician recom
mended Zora's infirmary as the only near place that of
fered a chance for the child's recovery.

" Take her out," Taylor promptly directed.

Zora was troubled when the child came. She knew the
suspicious temper of the town whites. The very next day
Taylor sent out a second case, a child who had been hurt
some time before and was not recovering as she should.
Under the care of the little hospital and the gentle nurse
the children improved rapidly, and in two weeks were out
doors, playing with the little black children and even
creeping into class-rooms and listening. The grateful
mothers came out twice a week at least; at first with
suspicious aloofness, but gradually melting under Zora's
tact until they sat and talked with her and told their
troubles and struggles. Zora realized how human they
were, and how like their problems were to hers. They
and their children grew to love this busy, thoughtful
woman, and Zora's fears were quieted.

The catastrophe came suddenly. The sheriff rode by,
scowling and hunting for some poor black runaway, when
he saw white children in the Negro school and white women,
whom he knew were mill-hands, looking on. He was black
with anger ; turning he galloped back to town. A few
hours later the young physician arrived hastily in a cab
to take the women and children to town. He said some
thing in a low tone to Zora and drove away, frowning.

Zora came quickly to the school and asked for Alwyn.
He was in the barn and she hurried there.

" Bles," she said quietly, " it is reported that a Tooms-
ville mob will burn the school to-night."

Bles stood motionless.

" I 've been fearing it. The sheriff has been stirring

THE MOB

up the worst elements in the town lately and the mills pay
off to-night."

" Well," she said quietly, " we must prepare."

He looked at her, his face aglow with admiration.

" You wonder-woman ! " he exclaimed softly.

A moment they regarded each other. She saw the love
in his eyes, and he saw rising in hers something that made
his heart bound. But she turned quickly away.

" You must hurry, Bles ; lives are at stake." And in
another moment he thundered out of the barn on the
black mare.

Along the pike he flew and up the plantation roads.
Across broad fields and back again, over to the Barton
pike and along the swamp. At every cabin he whispered
a word, and left behind him grey faces and whispering
children.

His horse was reeking with sweat as he staggered again
into the school-yard; but already the people were gather
ing, with frightened, anxious, desperate faces. Women
with bundles and children, men with guns, tottering old
folks, w^ide-eyed boys and girls. Up from the swamp
land came the children crying and moaning. The sun was
setting. The women and children hurried into the school
building, closing the doors and windows. A moment
Alwyn stood without and looked back. The world was
peaceful. He could hear the whistle of birds and the
sobbing of the breeze in the shadowing oaks. The sky
was flashing to dull and purplish blue, and over all lay
the twilight hush as though God did not care.

He threw back his head arid clenched his hands. His
soul groaned within him. "Heavenly Father, was man
ever before set to such a task?" Fight? God! if he
could but fight! If he could but let go the elemental

422 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

passions that were leaping and gathering and burning in
the eyes of yonder caged and desperate black men. But
his hands were tied — manacled. One desperate struggle,
a whirl of blood, and the whole world would rise to crush
him and his people. The white operator in yonder town
had but to flash the news, " Negroes killing whites," In
bring all the country, all the State, all the nation, to red
vengeance. It mattered not what the provocation, what
the desperate cause.

The door suddenly opened behind him and he wheeled
around.

"Zora ! " he whispered.

" Bles," she answered softly, and they went silently in
to their people.

All at once, from floor to roof, the whole school-house
was lighted up, save a dark window here and there. Then
some one slipped out into the darkness and soon watch-
fire after watch-fire flickered and flamed in the night, and
then burned vividly, sending up sparks and black smoke.
Thus ringed with flaming silence, the school lay at the
edge of the great, black swamp and waited. Owls hooted
in the forest. Afar the shriek of the Montgomery train
was heard across the night, mingling with the wail of a
wakeful 'babe; and then redoubled silence. The men be
came restless, and Johnson began to edge away toward
the lower ihrll. Alwyn was watching him when a faint
noise came to him on the eastern breeze — a low, rumbling
t murmur. It died away, and rose again; then a distant
gun-shot woke the echoes.

" They 're coming ! " he cried. Standing back in the
shadow of a front window, he waited. Slowly, intermit
tently, the murmuring swelled, till it grew distinguishable
as yelling, cursing, and singing, intermingled with the

THE MOB

crash of pistol-shots. Far away a flame, as of a burning
cabin, arose, and a wilder, louder yell greeted it. Now
the tramp of footsteps could be heard, and clearer and
thicker the grating and booming of voices, until suddenly,
far up the pike, a black moving mass, with glitter and
shout, swept into view. They came headlong, guided by
pine-torches, which threw their white and haggard faces
into wild distortion. Then as bonfire after bonfire met
their gaze, they moved slowly and more slowly, and at
last sent a volley of bullets at the fires. One bullet flew
high and sang through a lighted window. Without a
word, Uncle Isaac sank upon the floor and lay still. Si
lence and renewed murmuring ensued, and the sound of
high voices in dispute. Then the mass divided into two
wings and slowly encircled the fence of fire; starting
noisily and confidently, and then going more slowly,
quietly, warily, as the silence of the flame began to tell on
their heated nerves.

Strained whispers arose.

"Careful there!"

" Go on, damn ye ! "

" There 's some one by yon fire."

" No, there ain't."

" See the bushes move."

Bang! bang! bang!

"Who's that?"

" It 's me."

" Let 's rush through and fire the house."

" And leave a pa'cel of niggers behind to shoot your
lights out? Not me."

" What the hell are you going to do? "

" I don't know yet."

" I wish I could see a nigger."

424 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

" Hark! "

Stealthy steps were approaching, a glint of steel flashed
behind the fire lights. Each band mistook the other for
the armed Negroes, and the leaders yelled in vain ; human
power can not stay the dashing torrent of fear-inspired
human panic. Whirling, the mob fled till it struck the
road in two confused, surging masses. Then in quick
frenzy, shots flew; three men threw up their hands and
tumbled limply in the dust, while the main body rushed
pellmell toward town.

At early dawn, when the men relaxed from the strain
of the night's vigil, Alwyn briefly counselled them : " Hide
your guns."

" Why? " blustered Rob. " Have n't I a right to have
a gun ? "

" Yes, you have, Rob ; but do n't be foolish — hide it.
We 've not heard the last of this."

But Rob tossed his head belligerently.

In town, rumor spread like wildfire. A body of peace
ful whites passing through the black settlement had been
fired on from ambush, and six killed — no, three killed
— no, one killed and two severely wounded.

" The thing must n't stop here," shouted Sheriff Col-
ton ; " these niggers must have a lesson." And before
nine next morning fully half the grown members of the
same mob, now sworn in as deputies, rode with him to
search the settlement. They tramped insolently through
the school grounds, but there was no shred of evidence
until they came to Rob's cabin and found his gun. They
tied his hands behind him and marched him toward town.

But before the mob arrived the night before, Johnson
feeling that his safety lay in informing the white folks,
had crawled with his gun into the swamp. In the morn-

THE MOB 425

ing he peered out as the cavalcade approached, and not
knowing what had happened, he recognized Colton, the
sheriff, and signalled to him cautiously. In a moment a
dozen men were on him, and he appealed and explained in
vain — the gun was damning evidence. The voices of
Rob's wife and children could be heard behind the two
men as they were hurried along at a dog trot.

The town poured out to greet them — " The murder
ers ! the murderers ! Kill the niggers ! " and they came
on with a rush. The sheriff turned and disappeared in
the rear. There was a great cloud of dust, a cry and
a wild scramble, as the white and angry faces of men and
boys gleamed a moment and faded.

A hundred or more shots rang out; then slowly and
silently, the mass of women and men were sucked into
the streets of the town, leaving but black eddies on the
corners to throw backward glances toward the bare, tower
ing pine where swung two red and awful things. The
pale boy-face of one, with soft brown eyes glared up
sightless to the sun; the dead, leathered bronze of the
other was carved in piteous terror.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

ATONEMENT

THREE months had flown. It was Spring again,
and Zora sat in the transformed swamp — now
a swamp in name only — beneath the great oak,
dreaming. And what she dreamed there in the golden
day ^she dared not formulate even to her own soul. She
rose with a start, for there was work to do. Aunt Rachel
was ill, and Emma went daily to attend her; to-day, as
she came back, she brought news that Colonel Cresswell,
who had been unwell for several days, was worse. She
must send Emma up to help, and as she started toward
the school she glanced toward the Cresswell Oaks and saw
the arm-chair of its master on the pillared porch.

Colonel Cresswell sat in his chair on the porch, alone,
As far as he could see, there was no human soul. His
eyes were blood-shot, his cheeks sunken, and his breath
came in painful gasps. A sort of terror shook him until
he heard the distant songs of black folk in the fields. He
sighed, and lying back, closed his eyes and the breath
came easier. When he opened them again a white figure
was coming up the avenue of the Oaks. He watched it
greedily. It was Mary Cresswell, and she started when
she saw him.

"You are worse, father?" she asked.

[426]

ATONEMENT

" Worse and better," he replied, smiling cynically.
Then suddenly he announced: " I 've made my will."

" Why — why — " she stammered.

" Why? " sharply. " Because I 'm going to die."

She said nothing. He smiled and continued:

" I 've got it all fixed. Harry was in a tight place —
gambling as usual — and I gave him a lump sum in lieu
of all claims. Then I gave John Taylor — you need n't
look. I sent for him. He 's a damned scoundrel ; but
he won't lie, and I needed him. I willed his children all
the rest except two or three legacies. One was one hun
dred thousand dollars for you — '

" Oh, father ! " she cried. " I don't deserve it."

" I reckon two years with Harry was worth about
that much," he returned grimly. " Then there 's an
other gift of two hundred thousand dollars and this house
and plantation. Whom do you think that's for?"

"Helen?"

" Helen ! " he raised his hand in threatening anger.
" I might rot here for all she cares. No — no — but
then — I '11 not tell you — I — ah — " A spasm of
pain shot across his face, and he lay back white
and still. Abruptly he sat up again and peered down
the oaks. " Hush ! " he gasped. " Who 's that? "

" I don't know — it 's a girl — I — "

He gripped her till she winced.

"My God — it walks — like my wife — I tell you —
she held her head so — who is it ? " He half rose.

" Oh, father, it 's nobody but Emma — little Emma —
Bertie's child — the mulatto girl. She 's a nurse now,
and I asked to have her come and attend you."

" Oh," he said, " oh — " He looked at the girl cu-

428 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

riously. " Come here." He peered into her white young-
face. " Do you know me ? "

The girl shrank away from him.

" Yes, sir."

"What do you do?"

" I teach and nurse at the school."

" Good ! Well, I 'm going to give you some money —
do you know why? "

SA flash of self-consciousness passed over the girl's face ;
he looked at him with her wide blue eyes.

"Yes, Grandfather," she faltered.

Mrs. Cresswell rose to her feet ; but the old man slowly
dropped the girl's hand and lay back in his chair, with
lips half smiling. " Grandfather," he repeated softly,
He closed his eyes a space and then opened them. A
tremor shivered in his limbs as he stared darkly at the
swamp.

" Hark ! " he cried harshly. " Do you hear the bodies
creaking on the limbs ? It 's Rob and Johnson. I did
it — I — "

Suddenly he rose and stood erect and his wild eyes
stricken with death stared full upon Emma. Slowly and
thickly he spoke, working his trembling hands.

" Nell — Nell ! Is it you, little wife, come back to
accuse me ? Ah, Nell, don't shrink ! I know — I have
sinned against the light and the blood of your poor
black people is red on these old hands. No, don't put
your clean white hands upon me, Nell, till I wash mine.
I '11 do it, Nell; I '11 atone. I 'm a Cresswell yet, Nell, a
Cresswell and a gen — He swayed. Vainly he strug
gled for the word. The shudder of death shook his soul,
and he passed.

A week after the funeral of Colonel Cresswell, John

ATONEMENT 429

Taylor drove out to the school and was closeted with
Miss Smith. His sister, installed once again for a few
days in her old room at the school, understood that he
was conferring about Emma's legacy, and she was glad.
She was more and more convinced that the marriage of
Emma and Bles was the best possible solution of many
difficulties. She had asked Emma once if she liked Bles,
and Emma had replied in her innocent way,

"Oh, so much."

As for Bles, he was often saying what a dear child
Emma was. Neither perhaps realized yet that this was
love, but it needed, Mrs. Cresswell was sure, only the
lightning-flash, and they would know. And who could
furnish that illumination better than Zora, the calm,
methodical Zora, who knew them so well?

As for herself, once she had accomplished the mar
riage and paid the mortgage on the school out of her
legacy, she would go abroad and in travel seek forget-
fulness and healing. There had been no formal divorce,
and so far as she was concerned there never would be;
but the separation from her husband and America would
be forever.

Her brother came out of the office, nodded casually, for
they had little intercourse these days, and rode away.
She rushed in to Miss Smith and found her sitting there
— straight, upright, composed in all save that the tears
were streaming down her face and she was making no
effort to stop them.

"Why-— Miss Smith!" she faltered.

Mias Smith pointed to a paper. Mrs. Cresswell picked
it up curiously. It was an official notification to the
trustees of the Smith School of a legacy of two hundred
thousand dollars together with the Cresswell house and

430 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

plantation. Mrs. Cresswell sat down in open-mouthed as
tonishment. Twice she tried to speak, but there were so
many things to say that she could not choose.

" Tell Zora," Miss Smith at last managed to say.

Zora was dreaming again. Somehow, the old dream-
life, with its glorious phantasies, had come silently back,
richer and sweeter than ever. There was no tangible
reason why, and yet to-day she had shut herself in her
den. Searching down in the depths of her trunk, she
drew forth that filmy cloud of white — silk-bordered and
half finished to a gown. Why were her eyes wet to-day
and her mind on the Silver Fleece? It was an anni
versary, and perhaps she still remembered that moment,
that supreme moment before the mob. She half slipped
on, half wound about her, the white cloud of cloth, stand
ing with parted lips, looking into the long mirror and
gleaming in the fading day like midnight gowned in mists
and stars. Abruptly there came a peremptory knocking
at the door.

" Zora ! Zora ! " sounded Mrs. Cresswell's voice. For
getting her informal attire, she opened the door, fearing
some mishap. Mrs. Cresswell poured out the news. Zora
received it in such motionless silence that Mary wondered
at her want of feeling. At last, however, she said happily
to Zora:

" Well, the battle 's over, is n't it? "

" No, it 's just begun."

"Just begun?" echoed Mary in amazement.

" Think of the servile black folk, the half awakened
restless whites, the fat land waiting for the harvest, the
masses panting to know — why, the battle is scarcely even
begun."

" Yes, I guess that 's so," Mary began to comprehend.
" We '11 thank God it has begun, though."

' I AM NOT WORTHY OF HER," HE ANSWERED, SINKING

BEFORE HER

ATONEMENT

" Thank God ! " Zora reverently repeated.

" Come, let 's go back to poor, dear Miss Smith," sug
gested Mary.

"I can't come just now — but pretty soon."

" Why ? Oh, I see ; you 're trying on something —
how pretty and becoming! Well, hurry."

As they stood together, the white woman deemed the
moment opportune; she slipped her arm about the black
woman's waist and began:

" Zora, I 've had something on my mind for a long
time, and I should n't wonder if you had thought of the
same thing."

"What is it?"

" Bles and Emma."

"What of them?"

" Their liking for each other."

Zora bent a moment and caught up the folds of the
Fleece.

" I had n't noticed it," she said in a low voice.

" Well, you 're busy, you see. They 've been very
much together — his taking her to her charges, bringing
her back, and all that. I know they love each other;
yet something holds them apart, afraid to show their
love. Do you know — I 've wondered if — quite uncon
sciously, it is you? You know Bles used to imagine him
self in love with you, just as he did afterward with Miss
Wynn."

"Miss — Wynn?"

" Yes, the Washington girl. But he got over that and
you straightened him out finally. Still, Emma probably
thinks yours is the prior claim, knowing, of course, noth
ing of facts. And Bles knows she thinks of him and you,
and I 'm convinced if you say the word, they 'd love and
marry."

432 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

Zora walked silently with her to the door, where, look
ing out, she saw Bles and Emma coming from Aunt
Rachel's. He was helping her from the carriage with
smiling eyes, and her innocent blue eyes were fastened
on him.

Zora looked long and searchingly.

" Please run and tell them of the legacy," she begged.
" I — I will come — in a moment." And Mrs. Cresswell
hurried out.

Zora turned back steadily to her room, and locked
herself in. After all, why shouldn't it be? Why had
it not occurred to her before in her blindness? If she
had wanted him — and ah, God ! was not all her life
simply the want of him ? — why had she not bound him
to her when he had offered himself? Why had she not
bound him to her? She knew as she asked — because
she had wanted all, not a part — everything, love, respect
and perfect faith — not one thing could she spare then —
not one thing. And now, oh, God ! she had dreamed that
it was all hers, since that night of death and circling flame
when they looked at each other soul to soul. But he had
not meant anything. It was pity she had seen there,
not love; and she rose and walked the room slowly, fast
and faster.

With trembling hands she drew the Silver Fleece round
her. Her head swam again and the blood flashed in her
eyes. She heard a calling in the swamp, and the shadow
of Elspeth seemed to hover over her, claiming her for
hex own, dragging her down, down . . . She rushed
through the swamp. The lagoon lay there before her
presently, gleaming in the darkness — cold and still, and
in it swam an awful shape.

She held her burning head — was not everything plain ?

ATONEMENT 433

Was not everything clear? This was Sacrifice! This
was the Atonement for the unforgiven sin. Emma's was
the pure soul which she must offer up to God; for it was
God, a cold and mighty God, who had given it to Bles —
her Bles. It was well; God willed it. But could she
live? Must she live? Did God ask that, too?

All at once she stood straight; her whole body grew
tense, alert. She heard no sound behind her, but knew
he was there, and braced herself. She must be true. She
must be just. She must pay the uttermost farthing.

" Bles," she called faintly, but did not turn her head.

" Zora ! "

" Bles," she choked, but her voice came stronger, " I
know — all. Emma is a good girl. I helped bring her
up myself and did all I could for her and she — she is
pure; marry her."

His voice came slow and firm:

" Emma ? But I don't love Emma. I love — some
one else."

Her heart bounded and again was still. It was that
Washington girl then. She answered dully, groping for
words, for she was tired:

"Who is it?"

" The best woman in all the world, Zora."

" And is " — she struggled at the word madly — " is
she pure?"

** She is more than pure."

" Then you must marry her, Bles."

" I am not worthy of her," he answered, sinking be
fore her.

Then at last illumination dawned upon her blindness.
She stood very still and lifted up her eyes. The swamp
was living, vibrant, tremulous. There where the first long

484 THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

note of night lay shot with burning crimson, burst in
sudden radiance the wide beauty of the moon. There
pulsed a glory in the air. Her little hands groped and
wandered over his close-curled hair, and she sobbed, deep
voiced :

" Will you — marry me, Bles ? "

U ENVOI

Lend me thine ears, 0 God the Reader, whose Fathers
aforetime sent mine down into the land of Egypt, Into
this House of Bondage. Lay not these words aside for
a moment's phantasy, but lift up thine eyes upon the
Horror in this land; - — the maiming and mocking and
murdering of my people, and the prisonment of their
souls. Let my people go, 0 Infinite One, lest the world
shudder at

THE END

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