"
Far up the road came a low, long, musical shouting; then with creaking
and straining of wagons, four great black mules dashed into sight with
twelve bursting bales of yellowish cotton looming and swaying behind.
The drivers and helpers were lolling and laughing and singing, but Miss
Taylor did not hear nor see. She had sat suddenly upright; her face had
flamed crimson, and then went dead white.
"Miss--Miss Smith!" she gasped, overwhelmed with dismay, a picture of
wounded pride and consternation.
Miss Smith turned around very methodically and took her hand; but while
she spoke the girl merely stared at her in stony silence.
"Now, dear, don't mean more than I do. I'm an old woman, and I've seen
many things. This is but a little corner of the world, and yet many
people pass here in thirty years. The trouble with new teachers who come
is, that like you, they cannot see black folk as human. All to them are
either impossible Zoras, or else lovable Blessings. They forget that
Zora is not to be annihilated, but studied and understood, and that Bles
is a young man of eighteen and not a clod."
"But that he should dare--" Mary began breathlessly.
"He hasn't dared," Miss Smith went gently on. "No thought of you but as
a teacher has yet entered his dear, simple head. But, my point is simply
this: he's a man, and a human one, and if you keep on making much over
him, and talking to him and petting him, he'll have the right to
interpret your manner in his own way--the same that any young man
would.
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