hen
he spoke of the rise of charity and popular education, and particularly
of the spread of wealth and work. The question was, then, he added
reflectively, looking at the low discolored ceiling, what part the
Negroes of this land would take in the striving of the new century. He
sketched in vague outline the new Industrial School that might rise
among these pines, he spoke in detail of the charitable and
philanthropic work that might be organized, of money that might be
saved for banks and business. Finally he urged unity, and deprecated
especially religious and denominational bickering. "To-day," he said,
with a smile, "the world cares little whether a man be Baptist or
Methodist, or indeed a churchman at all, so long as he is good and
true. What difference does it make whether a man be baptized in river
or washbowl, or not at all? Let's leave all that littleness, and look
higher." Then, thinking of nothing else, he slowly sat down. A
painful hush seized that crowded mass. Little had they understood of
what he said, for he spoke an unknown tongue, save the last word about
baptism; that they knew, and they sat very still while the clock
ticked. Then at last a low suppressed snarl came from the Amen corner,
and an old bent man arose, walked over the seats, and climbed straight
up into the pulpit. He was wrinkled and black, with scant gray and
tufted hair; his voice and hands shook as with palsy; but on his face
lay the intense rapt look of the religious fanatic. He seized the
Bible with his rough, huge hands; twice he raised it inarticulate, and
then fairly burst into words, with rude and awful eloquence. He
quivered, swayed, and bent; then rose aloft in perfect majesty, till
the people moaned and wept, wailed and shouted, and a wild shrieking
arose from the corners where all the pent-up feeling of the hour
gathered itself and rushed into the air. John never knew clearly what
the old man said; he only felt himself held up to scorn and scathing
denunciation for trampling on the true Religion, and he realized with
amazement that all unknowingly he had put rough, rude hands on
something this little world held sacred. He arose silently, and passed
out into the night. Down toward the sea he went, in the fitful
starlight, half conscious of the girl who followed timidly after him.
When at last he stood upon the bluff, he turned to his little sister
and looked upon her sorrowfully, remembering with sudden pain ho