he school may take the morning recess now," announced the teacher.
The pupils filed out in an orderly manner, most of them stationing
themselves about the grounds in such places as would keep the teacher
and the white lady in view. Very few white persons approved of the
colored schools; no other white person had ever visited this one.

"Are you really colored?" asked the lady, when the children had
withdrawn.

A year and a half earlier, Rena would have met the question by some
display of self-consciousness. Now, she replied simply and directly.

"Yes, ma'am, I am colored."

The lady, who had been studying her as closely as good manners would
permit, sighed regretfully.

"Well, it's a shame. No one would ever think it. If you chose to
conceal it, no one would ever be the wiser. What is your name, child,
and where were you brought up? You must have a romantic history."

Rena gave her name and a few facts in regard to her past. The lady was
so much interested, and put so many and such searching questions, that
Rena really found it more difficult to suppress the fact that she had
been white, than she had formerly had in hiding her African origin.
There was about the girl an air of real refinement that pleased the
lady,--the refinement not merely of a fine nature, but of contact with
cultured people; a certain reserve of speech and manner quite
inconsistent with Mrs. Tryon's experience of colored women. The lady
was interested and slightly mystified. A generous, impulsive
spirit,--her son's own mother,--she made minute inquiries about the
school and the pupils, several of whom she knew by name. Rena stated
that the two months' term was nearing its end, and that she was
training the children in various declamations and dialogues for the
exhibition at the close.

"I shall attend it," declared the lady positively. "I'm sure you are
doing a good work, and it's very noble of you to undertake it when you
might have a very different future. If I can serve you at any time,
don't hesitate to call upon me. I live in the big white house just
before you turn out of the Clinton road to come this way. I'm only a
widow, but my son George lives with me and has some influence in the
neighborhood. He drove by here yesterday with the lady he is going to
marry. It was she who told me about you."

Was it the name, or some subtle resemblance in speech or feature, that
recalled Tryon's image to Rena's mind? It was not so fa