r what won't say 'sir' to a white man,
or--"

"Who is this John?" interrupted the son.

"Why, it's little black John, Peggy's son,--your old playfellow."

The young man's face flushed angrily, and then he laughed.

"Oh," said he, "it's the darky that tried to force himself into a seat
beside the lady I was escorting--"

But Judge Henderson waited to hear no more. He had been nettled all
day, and now at this he rose with a half-smothered oath, took his hat
and cane, and walked straight to the schoolhouse.

For John, it had been a long, hard pull to get things started in the
rickety old shanty that sheltered his school. The Negroes were rent
into factions for and against him, the parents were careless, the
children irregular and dirty, and books, pencils, and slates largely
missing. Nevertheless, he struggled hopefully on, and seemed to see at
last some glimmering of dawn. The attendance was larger and the
children were a shade cleaner this week. Even the booby class in
reading showed a little comforting progress. So John settled himself
with renewed patience this afternoon.

"Now, Mandy," he said cheerfully, "that's better; but you mustn't chop
your words up so: 'If--the-man--goes.' Why, your little brother even
wouldn't tell a story that way, now would he?"

"Naw, suh, he cain't talk."

"All right; now let's try again: 'If the man--'

"John!"

The whole school started in surprise, and the teacher half arose, as
the red, angry face of the Judge appeared in the open doorway.

"John, this school is closed. You children can go home and get to
work. The white people of Altamaha are not spending their money on
black folks to have their heads crammed with impudence and lies. Clear
out! I'll lock the door myself."

Up at the great pillared house the tall young son wandered aimlessly
about after his father's abrupt departure. In the house there was
little to interest him; the books were old and stale, the local
newspaper flat, and the women had retired with headaches and sewing.
He tried a nap, but it was too warm. So he sauntered out into the
fields, complaining disconsolately, "Good Lord! how long will this
imprisonment last!" He was not a bad fellow,--just a little spoiled
and self-indulgent, and as headstrong as his proud father. He seemed a
young man pleasant to look upon, as he sat on the great black stump at
the edge of the pines idly swinging his legs and smoking. "Why, there
isn't even a