n'--'cotton manufacturers and cotton growers.' ...
Well, well! Of course, I suppose there's nothing in it. And yet, Harry,
my boy, this cotton-growing business is getting in a pretty tight pinch.
Unless relief comes somehow--well, we'll just have to quit. We simply
can't keep the cost of cotton down to a remunerative figure with niggers
getting scarcer and dearer. Every year I have to pinch 'em closer and
closer. I had to pay Maxwell two hundred and fifty to get that old darky
and his boys turned over to me, and one of the young ones has run away
already."

Harry lighted a cigarette.

"We must drive them more. You're too easy, father; they understand that.
By the way, what did that letter say about a 'sister'?"

"Says he's got a sister over at the nigger school whom perhaps we know.
I suppose he thinks we dine there occasionally." The old man chuckled.
"That reminds me, Elspeth is sending her girl there."

"What's that?" An angry gleam shot into the younger man's eye.

"Yes. She announced this morning, pert as you please, that she couldn't
tote clothes any more--she had to study."

"Damn it! This thing is going too far. We can't keep a maid or a
plough-boy on the place because of this devilish school. It's going to
ruin the whole labor system. We've been too mild and decent. I'm going
to put my foot down right here. I'll make Elspeth take that girl out of
school if I have to horse-whip her, and I'll warn the school against
further interference with our tenants. Here, in less than a week, go two
plough-hands--and now this girl."

The old man smiled.

"You'll hardly miss any work Zora does," he said.

"I'll make her work. She's giving herself too many damned airs. I know
who's back of this--it's that nigger we saw talking to the white woman
in the field the other day."

"Well, don't work yourself up. The wench don't amount to much anyhow. By
the way, though, if you do go to the school it won't hurt to see this
Taylor's sister and size the family up."

"Pshaw! I'm going to give the Smith woman such a scare that she'll keep
her hands off our niggers." And Harry Cresswell rode away.

Mary Taylor had charge of the office that morning, while Miss Smith,
shut up in her bedroom, went laboriously over her accounts. Miss Mary
suddenly sat up, threw a hasty glance into the glass and felt the back
of her belt. It was--it couldn't be--surely, it was Mr. Harry Cresswell
riding through the gateway on his beautiful white m