The Quest of the Silver Fleece: A Novel Page 3

  _Two_

  THE SCHOOL

  Day was breaking above the white buildings of the Negro school andthrowing long, low lines of gold in at Miss Sarah Smith's front window.She lay in the stupor of her last morning nap, after a night ofharrowing worry. Then, even as she partially awoke, she lay still withclosed eyes, feeling the shadow of some great burden, yet daring not torouse herself and recall its exact form; slowly again she drifted towardunconsciousness.

  "_Bang! bang! bang!_" hard knuckles were beating upon the door below.

  She heard drowsily, and dreamed that it was the nailing up of all herdoors; but she did not care much, and but feebly warded the blows away,for she was very tired.

  "_Bang! bang! bang!_" persisted the hard knuckles.

  She started up, and her eye fell upon a letter lying on her bureau. Backshe sank with a sigh, and lay staring at the ceiling--a gaunt, flat,sad-eyed creature, with wisps of gray hair half-covering her baldness,and a face furrowed with care and gathering years.

  It was thirty years ago this day, she recalled, since she first came tothis broad land of shade and shine in Alabama to teach black folks.

  It had been a hard beginning with suspicion and squalor around; withpoverty within and without the first white walls of the new school home.Yet somehow the struggle then with all its helplessness anddisappointment had not seemed so bitter as today: then failure meant butlittle, now it seemed to mean everything; then it meant disappointmentto a score of ragged urchins, now it meant two hundred boys and girls,the spirits of a thousand gone before and the hopes of thousands tocome. In her imagination the significance of these half dozen gleamingbuildings perched aloft seemed portentous--big with the destiny notsimply of a county and a State, but of a race--a nation--a world. It wasGod's own cause, and yet--

  "_Bang! bang! bang!_" again went the hard knuckles down there at thefront.

  Miss Smith slowly arose, shivering a bit and wondering who couldpossibly be rapping at that time in the morning. She sniffed thechilling air and was sure she caught some lingering perfume from Mrs.Vanderpool's gown. She had brought this rich and rare-apparelled lady uphere yesterday, because it was more private, and here she had pouredforth her needs. She had talked long and in deadly earnest. She had notspoken of the endowment for which she had hoped so desperately during aquarter of a century--no, only for the five thousand dollars to buy thelong needed new land. It was so little--so little beside what this womansquandered--

  The insistent knocking was repeated louder than before.

  "Sakes alive," cried Miss Smith, throwing a shawl about her and leaningout the window. "Who is it, and what do you want?"

  "Please, ma'am. I've come to school," answered a tall black boy with abundle.

  "Well, why don't you go to the office?" Then she saw his face andhesitated. She felt again the old motherly instinct to be the first towelcome the new pupil; a luxury which, in later years, the endless pushof details had denied her.

  "Wait!" she cried shortly, and began to dress.

  A new boy, she mused. Yes, every day they straggled in; every day camethe call for more, more--this great, growing thirst to know--to do--tobe. And yet that woman had sat right here, aloof, imperturbable,listening only courteously. When Miss Smith finished, she had pausedand, flicking her glove,--

  "My dear Miss Smith," she said softly, with a tone that just escaped adrawl--"My dear Miss Smith, your work is interesting and yourfaith--marvellous; but, frankly, I cannot make myself believe in it. Youare trying to treat these funny little monkeys just as you would yourown children--or even mine. It's quite heroic, of course, but it's sheermadness, and I do not feel I ought to encourage it. I would not mind athousand or so to train a good cook for the Cresswells, or a clean andfaithful maid for myself--for Helene has faults--or indeed deft andtractable laboring-folk for any one; but I'm quite through trying toturn natural servants into masters of me and mine. I--hope I'm not tooblunt; I hope I make myself clear. You know, statistics show--"

  "Drat statistics!" Miss Smith had flashed impatiently. "These arefolks."

  Mrs. Vanderpool smiled indulgently. "To be sure," she murmured, "butwhat sort of folks?"

  "God's sort."

  "Oh, well--"

  But Miss Smith had the bit in her teeth and could not have stopped. Shewas paying high for the privilege of talking, but it had to be said.

  "God's sort, Mrs. Vanderpool--not the sort that think of the world asarranged for their exclusive benefit and comfort."

  "Well, I do want to count--"

  Miss Smith bent forward--not a beautiful pose, but earnest.

  "I want you to count, and I want to count, too; but I don't want us tobe the only ones that count. I want to live in a world where every soulcounts--white, black, and yellow--all. _That's_ what I'm teaching thesechildren here--to count, and not to be like dumb, driven cattle. If youdon't believe in this, of course you cannot help us."

  "Your spirit is admirable, Miss Smith," she had said very softly; "Ionly wish I could feel as you do. Good-afternoon," and she had rustledgently down the narrow stairs, leaving an all but imperceptiblesuggestion of perfume. Miss Smith could smell it yet as she went downthis morning.

  The breakfast bell jangled. "Five thousand dollars," she kept repeatingto herself, greeting the teachers absently--"five thousand dollars." Andthen on the porch she was suddenly aware of the awaiting boy. She eyedhim critically: black, fifteen, country-bred, strong, clear-eyed.

  "Well?" she asked in that brusque manner wherewith her natural timiditywas wont to mask her kindness. "Well, sir?"

  "I've come to school."

  "Humph--we can't teach boys for nothing."

  The boy straightened. "I can pay my way," he returned.

  "You mean you can pay what we ask?"

  "Why, yes. Ain't that all?"

  "No. The rest is gathered from the crumbs of Dives' table."

  Then he saw the twinkle in her eyes. She laid her hand gently upon hisshoulder.

  "If you don't hurry you'll be late to breakfast," she said with an airof confidence. "See those boys over there? Follow them, and at noon cometo the office--wait! What's your name?"

  "Blessed Alwyn," he answered, and the passing teachers smiled.