The sewing girl looked up at her.
"My grandfather, in Virginia, owned slaves before the war, and I have
often thought that any curse which may have been attached to slavery
has at least partly been expiated by me, as foreshadowed in the Bible,
where it says that the sins of the fathers shall affect the third or
fourth generations. I was thinking of that when I spoke of the
shackles falling from my wrists, for sometimes, Miss Kempt, you have
made me doubt whether wages and slavery are as incompatible as you
appear to imagine. My father, who was a clergyman, often spoke to me
of his father's slaves, and while he never defended the institution, I
think the past in his mind was softened by a glamor that possibly
obscured the defects of life on the plantation. But often in
depression and loneliness I have thought I would rather have been one
of my grandfather's slaves than endure the life I have been called
upon to lead."
"Oh, Dorothy, don't talk like that, or you'll make me cry," pleaded
Kate. "Let us be cheerful whatever happens. Tell us about the money.
Begin 'Once upon a time,' and then everything will be all right. No
matter how harrowing such a story begins, it always ends with lashin's
and lashin's of money, or else with a prince in a gorgeous uniform and
gold lace, and you get the half of his kingdom. Do go on."
Dorothy looked up at her impatient friend, and a radiant cheerfulness
chased away the gathering shadows from her face.
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