all the
rights I have had, still find myself unable to grasp the great doctrine
of Election." For David had been bred in Calvinism, and many a night,
when younger and more hopeful of arriving at finalities, had he wrestled
with its problems. He was not so sure, now, of arriving at finalities
either in belief or in daily life; but he thought the fault lay with
himself, and deplored it.

The Yankee schoolmaster was, of course, debarred from intercourse with
those of his own color in the neighborhood. There were no "poor whites"
there; he was spared the sight of their long, clay-colored faces, lank
yellow hair, and half-open mouths; he was not brought into contact with
the ignorance and dense self-conceit of this singular class. The whites
of the neighborhood were planters, and they regarded the schoolmaster as
an interloper, a fanatic, a knave, or a fool, according to their various
degrees of bitterness. The phantom of a cotton-field still haunted the
master, and he often walked by the abandoned fields of these planters,
and noted them carefully. In addition to his fancy, there was now
another motive. Things were not going well at Jubilee, and he was
anxious to try whether the men would not work for good wages, paid
regularly, and for their Northern teacher and friend. Thus it happened
that Harnett Ammerton, retired planter, one afternoon perceived a
stranger walking up the avenue that led to his dilapidated mansion; and
as he was near-sighted, and as any visitor was, besides, a welcome
interruption in his dull day, he went out upon the piazza to meet him;
and not until he had offered a chair did he recognize his guest. He said
nothing; for he was in his own house; but a gentleman can freeze the
atmosphere around him even in his own house, and this he did. The
schoolmaster stated his errand simply: he wished to rent one of the
abandoned cotton-fields for a year. The planter could have answered with
satisfaction that his fields might lie for ever unfilled before Yankee
hands should touch them; but he was a poor man now, and money was money.
He endured his visitor, and he rented his field; and, with the perplexed
feelings of his class, he asked himself how it was, how it could be,
that a man like that--yes, like that--had money, while he himself had
none! David had but little money--a mere handful to throw away in a day,
the planter would have thought in the lavish old times; but David had
the New England thrift.

"I am h