he eastward rose the first
straggling cabins of the town. Creeping toward them down the road rolled
a dark squat figure. It grew and spread slowly on the horizon until it
became a fat old black woman, hooded and aproned, with great round hips
and massive bosom. Her face was heavy and homely until she looked up and
lifted the drooping cheeks, and then kindly old eyes beamed on the young
teacher, as she curtsied and cried:

"Good-evening, honey! Good-evening! You sure is pretty dis evening."

"Why, Aunt Rachel, how are you?" There was genuine pleasure in the
girl's tone.

"Just tolerable, honey, bless de Lord! Rumatiz is kind o' bad and Aunt
Rachel ain't so young as she use ter be."

"And what brings you to town afoot this time of day?"

The face fell again to dull care and the old eyes crept away. She
fumbled with her cane.

"It's de boys again, honey," she returned solemnly; "dey'se good boys,
dey is good to de're old mammy, but dey'se high strung and dey gits
fighting and drinking and--and--last Saturday night dey got took up
again. I'se been to Jedge Grey--I use to tote him on my knee,
honey--I'se been to him to plead him not to let 'em go on de gang,
'cause you see, honey," and she stroked the girl's sleeve as if pleading
with her, too, "you see it done ruins boys to put 'em on de gang."

Miss Taylor tried hard to think of something comforting to say, but
words seemed inadequate to cheer the old soul; but after a few moments
they rode on, leaving the kind face again beaming and dimpling.

And now the country town of Toomsville lifted itself above the cotton
and corn, fringed with dirty straggling cabins of black folk. The road
swung past the iron watering trough, turned sharply and, after passing
two or three pert cottages and a stately house, old and faded, opened
into the wide square. Here pulsed the very life and being of the land.
Yonder great bales of cotton, yellow-white in its soiled sacking, piled
in lofty, dusty mountains, lay listening for the train that, twice a
day, ran out to the greater world. Round about, tied to the well-gnawed
hitching rails, were rows of mules--mules with back cloths; mules with
saddles; mules hitched to long wagons, buggies, and rickety gigs; mules
munching golden ears of corn, and mules drooping their heads in
sorrowful memory of better days.

Beyond the cotton warehouse smoked the chimneys of the seed-mill and the
cotton-gin; a red livery-stable faced them and all about