; educated but
good for nothing. They're all that way."

Miss Taylor looked up a little puzzled, and became aware of a battery of
eyes and ears. Everybody seemed craning and listening, and she felt a
sudden embarrassment and a sense of half-veiled hostility in the air.
With one or two further perfunctory questions, and a hasty expression of
thanks, she escaped into the air.

The whole square seemed loafing and lolling--the white world perched on
stoops and chairs, in doorways and windows; the black world filtering
down from doorways to side-walk and curb. The hot, dusty quadrangle
stretched in dreary deadness toward the temple of the town, as if doing
obeisance to the court-house. Down the courthouse steps the sheriff,
with Winchester on shoulder, was bringing the last prisoner--a
curly-headed boy with golden face and big brown frightened eyes.

"It's one of Dunn's boys," said Bles. "He's drunk again, and they say
he's been stealing. I expect he was hungry." And they wheeled out of the
square.

Miss Taylor was tired, and the hastily scribbled letter which she
dropped into the post in passing was not as clearly expressed as she
could wish.

A great-voiced giant, brown and bearded, drove past them, roaring a
hymn. He greeted Bles with a comprehensive wave of the hand.

"I guess Tylor has been paid off," said Bles, but Miss Taylor was too
disgusted to answer. Further on they overtook a tall young yellow boy
walking awkwardly beside a handsome, bold-faced girl. Two white men came
riding by. One leered at the girl, and she laughed back, while the
yellow boy strode sullenly ahead. As the two white riders approached the
buggy one said to the other:

"Who's that nigger with?"

"One of them nigger teachers."

"Well, they'll stop this damn riding around or they'll hear something,"
and they rode slowly by.

Miss Taylor felt rather than heard their words, and she was
uncomfortable. The sun fell fast; the long shadows of the swamp swept
soft coolness on the red road. Then afar in front a curled cloud of
white dust arose and out of it came the sound of galloping horses.

"Who's this?" asked Miss Taylor.

"The Cresswells, I think; they usually ride to town about this time."
But already Miss Taylor had descried the brown and tawny sides of the
speeding horses.

"Good gracious!" she thought. "The Cresswells!" And with it came a
sudden desire not to meet them--just then. She glanced toward the swamp.
The sun was sifting