"Who's going to tend this land?" asked the practical Carter.
"All of us. Each man is going to promise us so many days' work a year,
and we're going to ask others to help--the women and girls and school
children--they will all help."
"Can you put trust in that sort of help?"
"We can when once the community learns that it pays."
"Does you own the land?" asked Johnson suddenly.
"No; we're buying it, and it's part paid for already."
The discussion became general. Zora moved about among the men whispering
and explaining; while Johnson moved, too, objecting and hinting. At last
he arose.
"Brethren," he began, "the plan's good enough for talkin' but you can't
work it; who ever heer'd tell of such a thing? First place, the land
ain't yours; second place, you can't get it worked; third place, white
folks won't 'low it. Who ever heer'd of such working land on shares?"
"You do it for white folks each day, why not for yourselves," Alwyn
pointed out.
"'Cause we ain't white, and we can't do nothin' like that."
Tylor was asleep and snoring and the others looked doubtfully at each
other. It was a proposal a little too daring for them, a bit too far
beyond their experience. One consideration alone kept them from
shrinking away and that was Zora's influence. Not a man was there whom
she had not helped and encouraged nor who had not perfect faith in her;
in her impetuous hope, her deep enthusiasm, and her strong will.
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