s tall black girl, quietly
returning her look. Mrs. Vanderpool had a most uncomfortable sense of
being judged, of being weighed,--and there arose within her an impulse
to self-justification.

She smiled and said sweetly, "Won't you sit?" But despite all this, her
mind seemed leaping backward a thousand years; back to a simpler,
primal day when she herself, white, frail, and fettered, stood before
the dusky magnificence of some bejewelled barbarian queen and sought to
justify herself. She shook off the phantasy,--and yet how well the girl
stood. It was not every one that could stand still and well.

"Please sit down," she repeated with her softest charm, not dreaming
that outside the school white persons did not ask this girl to sit in
their presence. But even this did not move Zora. She sat down. There was
in her, walking, standing, sitting, a simple directness which Mrs.
Vanderpool sensed and met.

"Zora, I need some one to help me--to do my hair and serve my coffee,
and dress and take care of me. The work will not be hard, and you can
travel and see the world and live well. Would you like it?"

"But I do not know how to do all these things," returned Zora, slowly.
She was thinking rapidly--Was this the Way? It sounded wonderful. The
World, the great mysterious World, that stretched beyond the swamp and
into which Bles and the Silver Fleece had gone--did it lead to the Way?
But if she went there what would she see and do, and would it be
possible to become such a woman as Miss Smith pictured?

"What is the world like?" asked Zora.

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled. "Oh, I meant great active cities and buildings,
myriads of people and wonderful sights."

"Yes--but back of it all, what is it really? What does it look like?"

"Heavens, child! Don't ask. Really, it isn't worth while peering back of
things. One is sure to be disappointed."

"Then what's the use of seeing the world?"

"Why, one must live; and why not be happy?" answered Mrs. Vanderpool,
amused, baffled, spurred for the time being from her chronic _ennui_.

"Are you happy?" retorted Zora, looking her over carefully, from silken
stockings to garden hat. Mrs. Vanderpool laid aside her little mockery
and met the situation bravely.

"No," she replied simply. Her eyes grew old and tired.

Involuntarily Zora's hand crept out protectingly and lay a moment over
the white jewelled fingers. Then quickly recovering herself, she started
hastily to withdraw it, but t