writings he states that
his father was a white man. His mother was a negress. He gets his brains
from his father and his color from his mother."

"Do you think that the negroes will ever marry enough with the white to
become all white?"

"Not now," the Southerner answered. "It is a crime in many States and
punishable with imprisonment."

"Then what's going to be done?"

"I'm unreconstructed yet," the old Colonel said grimly. "I think still
the negroes were better off as slaves. They're always going to be
slaves, anyway, whether in name or not. And as for their relation to
the cotton crop. You say they are succeeding in it. Perhaps. But did
they learn the uses of cotton, did they develop machinery to clean and
spin it, or devices for weaving? Was it negroes who worked out the best
means of cultivating the cotton or experimented on the nature of the
most fertile soils? Not a bit of it. They simply grow cotton the way the
white folks showed them."

"But they seem to be getting a big share of it!"

"I see you've been talking to Ephraim. What good would it do the negroes
if they owned every foot of the cotton land? They would still have to
depend on the man that buys the crop, and the cotton exchange wouldn't
be run for the benefit of the negro. In slavery days, too, there was
some one to take an interest in the negro and help him. Now he's got to
do it for himself, and he can't do anything but go on in the same old
groove."

"You think it was better in the old days?"

"In some ways for the negro, yes. But it was harder for the people of
the South. There was always trouble of some kind in the slave quarters.
Before the war you had to support all the old, the sick, the children,
and the poor workers. Under present conditions you hire just whom you
want. The cost is about even, and the responsibility is less. Now," he
added, lunch being over, "if you've finished we'll go and see what this
peonage business is. Ephraim," he called, "is that man here?"

"Yas, sah," answered the old negro. "He's hyar."

"Bring him in, then."

In a minute or two the old darky returned, bringing with him a gaunt,
emaciated negro, who cringed as he entered the room. He was followed by
a brisk, young mulatto.

"If yo' please, Massa," said the old preacher, dropping unconsciously
into the familiar form of address, "this is Peter, young Peter's
father."

"I've seen him before," the Colonel said abruptly "Peter, were you on
this plantat