at being
what he was not:

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Conway"--

"Git my entitlements right, please sah. I'm the only old maid lady of
color you ever seed or ever will see again. Niggahs, these days, lak
birds, all git 'em a mate some way--but I'm Miss Conway of Zion."

"Ah, beg pardon, Miss Conway--Miss Conway of Zion. And where, pray,
is that city, Miss Conway? I may have to have an officer communicate
with you."

"With pleasure, sah--It's a pleasure for me to he'p people find a
place dey'd never find without help--no--not whilst they're a-workin'
the life out of innocent tots an' babes--"

Kingsley flushed hot, angered:

"What do you mean, old woman?"

"The ole woman means," she said, looking him steadily in the eye,
"that you are dealin' in chile slavery, law or no law; that you're
down heah preachin' one thing for niggahs an' practisin' another for
yo' own race; that yo' hair frizzles on yo' head at tho'rt of niggah
slavery, whilst all the time you are enslavin' the po' little whites
that's got yo' own blood in their veins. An' now you wanter know what
I come for? I come for my chile!"

Kingsley was too dumfounded to speak. In all his life never had his
hypocrisy been knocked to pieces so completely.

"What does all this mean?" asked Jud Carpenter rushing hastily into
the room.

"Come on baby," said the old woman as she started toward the door.
"I've got a home for us, an' whilst old mammy can take in washin'
you'll not wuck yo' life out with these people."

Jud broke in harshly: "Come, ole 'oman,--you put that child down.
You've got nothin' to support her with."

She turned on him quickly: "I've got mo' silver tied up in ole socks
that the Conways give me in slavery days when they had it by the
bushel, than sech as you ever seed. Got nothin'? Jus' you come over
and see the little home I've got fixed up for Marse Ned an' the
babies. Got nothin'? See these arms? Do you think they have forgot
how to cook an' wash? Come on, baby--we'll be gwine home--Miss
Helen'll come later."

"Put her down, old woman," said Carpenter sternly. "You can't take
her--she's bound to the mill."

"Oh, I can't?" said the old woman as she walked out with Lily--"Can't
take her. Well, jes' look at me an' see. This is what I calls Zion,
an' the Lam' an' the wolves had better stay right where they are,"
she remarked dryly, as she walked off carrying Lily in her arms.

Down through a pretty part of the town, away from Cottonto