The joy of the two so madly craved expression that they
burst into singing; not the wild light song of dancing feet, but a low,
sweet melody of her fathers' fathers, whereunto Alwyn's own deep voice
fell fitly in minor cadence.
Miss Smith and Miss Taylor, who were sorting the mail, heard them
singing as they came up out of the swamp. Miss Taylor looked at them,
then at Miss Smith.
But Miss Smith sat white and rigid with the first opened letter in her
hand.
_Twelve_
THE PROMISE
Miss Smith sat with her face buried in her hands while the tears
trickled silently through her thin fingers. Before her lay the letter,
read a dozen times:
"Old Mrs. Grey has been to see me, and she has announced her intention
of endowing five colored schools, yours being one. She asked if $500,000
would do it. She has plenty of money, so I told her $750,000 would be
better--$150,000 apiece. She's arranging for a Board of Trust, etc.
You'll probably hear from her soon. You've been so worried about
expenses that I thought I'd send this word on; I knew you'd be glad."
Glad? Dear God, how flat the word fell! For thirty years she had sown
the seed, planting her life-blood in this work, that had become the
marrow of her soul.
Successful? No, it had not been successful; but it had been human.
Through yonder doorway had trooped an army of hundreds upon hundreds of
bright and dull, light and dark, eager and sullen faces.
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