their own ignorance. There was with them no
affectation. The mother would scold the father for being so "easy";
Josie would roundly berate the boys for carelessness; and all knew that
it was a hard thing to dig a living out of a rocky side-hill.

I secured the school. I remember the day I rode horseback out to the
commissioner's house with a pleasant young white fellow who wanted the
white school. The road ran down the bed of a stream; the sun laughed
and the water jingled, and we rode on. "Come in," said the
commissioner,--"come in. Have a seat. Yes, that certificate will do.
Stay to dinner. What do you want a month?" "Oh," thought I, "this is
lucky"; but even then fell the awful shadow of the Veil, for they ate
first, then I--alone.

The schoolhouse was a log hut, where Colonel Wheeler used to shelter
his corn. It sat in a lot behind a rail fence and thorn bushes, near
the sweetest of springs. There was an entrance where a door once was,
and within, a massive rickety fireplace; great chinks between the logs
served as windows. Furniture was scarce. A pale blackboard crouched
in the corner. My desk was made of three boards, reinforced at
critical points, and my chair, borrowed from the landlady, had to be
returned every night. Seats for the children--these puzzled me much.
I was haunted by a New England vision of neat little desks and chairs,
but, alas! the reality was rough plank benches without backs, and at
times without legs. They had the one virtue of making naps
dangerous,--possibly fatal, for the floor was not to be trusted.

It was a hot morning late in July when the school opened. I trembled
when I heard the patter of little feet down the dusty road, and saw the
growing row of dark solemn faces and bright eager eyes facing me.
First came Josie and her brothers and sisters. The longing to know, to
be a student in the great school at Nashville, hovered like a star
above this child-woman amid her work and worry, and she studied
doggedly. There were the Dowells from their farm over toward
Alexandria,--Fanny, with her smooth black face and wondering eyes;
Martha, brown and dull; the pretty girl-wife of a brother, and the
younger brood.

There were the Burkes,--two brown and yellow lads, and a tiny
haughty-eyed girl. Fat Reuben's little chubby girl came, with golden
face and old-gold hair, faithful and solemn. 'Thenie was on hand
early,--a jolly, ugly, good-hearted girl, who slyly dipped snuf