The tops of young trees had been bent down and interlaced to form
a covering and benches twined to their trunks. Thus a low and wide
cathedral, all green and silver in the star-light, lay packed with a
living mass of black folk. Flaming pine torches burned above the
devotees; the rhythm of their stamping, the shout of their voices, and
the wild music of their singing shook the night. Four hundred people
fell upon their knees when the huge black preacher, uncoated, red-eyed,
frenzied, stretched his long arms to heaven. Zora saw the throng from
afar, and hesitated. After all, she knew little of this strange faith of
theirs--had little belief in its mummery. She herself had been brought
up almost without religion save some few mystic remnants of a
half-forgotten heathen cult. The little she had seen of religious
observance had not moved her greatly, save once yonder in Washington.
There she found God after a searching that had seared her soul; but He
had simply pointed the Way, and the way was human.
Humanity was near and real. She loved it. But if she talked again of
mere men would these devotees listen? Already the minister had spied her
tall form and feared her power. He set his powerful voice and the frenzy
of his hearers to crush her.
"Who is dis what talks of doing the Lord's work for Him? What does de
good Book say? Take no thought 'bout de morrow.
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