The prospects seemed most alluring. Later, Mr. Easterly talked a while on routine business, saying, as he turned away:
“I am more and more impressed, Mrs. Grey, with your wisdom in placing large investments in the South. With peaceful social conditions the returns will be large.”
Mrs. Grey heard this delicate flattery complacently. She had her streak of thrift, and wanted her business capacity recognized. She listened attentively.
“For this reason, I trust you will handle your Negro philanthropies judicially, as I know you will. There’s dynamite in this race problem for amateur reformers, but fortunately you have at hand wise and sympathetic advisers in the Cresswells.”
Mrs. Grey agreed entirely.
Mary Taylor, alone of the committee, took her commission so seriously as to be anxious to begin work.
“We are to visit the school this morning, you know,” she reminded the others, looking at her watch; “I’m afraid we’re late already.”
The remark created mild consternation. It seemed that Mr. Vanderpool had gone hunting and his wife had not yet arisen. Dr. Boldish was very hoarse, Mr. Easterly was going to look over some plantations with Colonel Cresswell, and Mr. Bocombe was engrossed in a novel.
“Clever, but not true to life,” he said.
Finally the clergyman and Mr. Bocombe, Mrs. Grey and Mrs. Vanderpool and Miss Taylor started for the school, with Harry Cresswell, about an hour after lunch. The delay and suppressed excitement among the little folks had upset things considerably there, but at the sight of the visitors at the gate Miss Smith rang the bell.
The party came in, laughing and chatting. They greeted Miss Smith cordially. Dr. Boldish was beginning to tell a good story when a silence fell.
The children had gathered, quietly, almost timidly, and before the distinguished company realized it, they turned to meet that battery of four hundred eyes. A human eye is a wonderful thing when it simply waits and watches. Not one of these little things alone would have been worth more than a glance, but together, they became mighty, portentous. Mr. Bocombe got out his notebook and wrote furiously therein. Dr. Boldish, naturally the appointed spokesman, looked helplessly about and whispered to Mrs. Vanderpool:
“What on earth shall I talk about?”
“The brotherhood of man?” suggested the lady.
“Hardly advisable,” returned Dr. Boldish, seriously, “in our friend’s presence,”—with a glance toward Cresswell. Then he arose.
“My friends,” he said, touching his fingertips and using blank verse in A minor. “This is an auspicious day. You should be thankful for the gifts of the Lord. His bounty surrounds you—the trees, the fields, the glorious sun. He gives cotton to clothe you, corn to eat, devoted friends to teach you. Be joyful. Be good. Above all, be thrifty and save your money, and do not complain and whine at your apparent disadvantages. Remember that God did not create men equal but unequal, and set metes and bounds. It is not for us to question the wisdom of the Almighty, but to bow humbly to His will.
“Remember that the slavery of your people was not necessarily a crime. It was a school of work and love. It gave you noble friends, like Mr. Cresswell here.” A restless stirring, and the battery of eyes was turned upon that imperturbable gentleman, as if he were some strange animal. “Love and serve them. Remember that we get, after all, little education from books; rather in the fields, at the plough and in the kitchen. Let your ambition be to serve rather than rule, to be humble followers of the lowly Jesus.”
With an upward glance the Rev. Dr. Boldish sat down amid a silence a shade more intense than that which had greeted him. Then slowly from the far corner rose a thin voice, tremulously. It wavered on the air and almost broke, then swelled in sweet, low music. Other and stronger voices gathered themselves to it, until two hundred were singing a soft minor wail that gripped the hearts and tingled in the ears of the hearers. Mr. Bocombe groped with a puzzled expression to find the pocket for his notebook; Harry Cresswell dropped his eyes, and on Mrs. Vanderpool’s lips the smile died. Mary Taylor flushed, and Mrs. Grey cried frankly:
“Poor things!” she whispered.
“Now,” said Mrs. Grey, turning about, “we haven’t but just a moment and we want to take a little look at your work.” She smiled graciously upon Miss Smith.
Mrs. Grey thought the cooking-school very nice.
“I suppose,” she said, “that you furnish cooks for the county.”
“Largely,” said Miss Smith. Mrs. Vanderpool looked surprised, but Miss Smith added: “This county, you know, is mostly black.” Mrs. Grey did not catch the point.
The dormitories were neat and the ladies expressed great pleasure in them.
“It is certainly nice for them to know what a clean place is,” commented Mrs. Grey. Mr. Cresswell, however, looked at a bathroom and smiled.
“How practical!” he said.
“Can you not stop and see some of the classes?” Sarah Smith knew in her heart that the visit was a failure, still she would do her part to the end.
“I doubt if we shall have time,” Mrs. Grey returned, as they walked on. “Mr. Cresswell expects friends to dinner.”
“What a magnificent intelligence office,” remarked Mr. Bocombe, “for furnishing servants to the nation. I saw splendid material for cooks and maids.”
“And ploughboys,” added Cresswell.
“And singers,” said Mary Taylor.
“Well, now that’s just my idea,” said Mrs. Grey, “that these schools should furnish trained servants and laborers for the South. Isn’t that your idea, Miss Smith?”
“Not exactly,” the lady replied, “or at least I shouldn’t put it just that way. My idea is that this school should furnish men and women who can work and earn an honest living, train up families aright, and perform their duties as fathers, mothers, and citizens.”
“Yes—yes, precisely,” said Mrs. Grey, “that’s what I meant.”
“I think the whites can attend to the duties of citizenship without help,” observed Mr. Cresswell.
“Don’t let the blacks meddle in politics,” said Dr. Boldish.
“I
