"As you so aptly put it last night at your church, the bottom rail is now on top, and it will stay there if the coloured people know their own interests. Every dollar that has been made in the South during the parst two hundred years was made by the n.i.g.g.e.roes and belongs to them."

"Dat is so, suh; dat is de Lord's trufe. I realise dat, suh; an' I'll try fer ter make my people reelize it," responded the Rev. Jeremiah.

"What you lack in experience," continued the first speaker, "you make up in numbers. It is important to remember that. Organise your race, get them together, impress upon them the necessity of acting as one man.

Once organised, you will find leaders. All the arrangements have been made for that."

"I hears you, suh; an' b'lieves you," replied the Rev. Jeremiah with great ceremony.

"You have seen white men from a distance coming and going. Where did they go?"

"Dey went ter Clopton's, suh; right dar an' nowhars else. I seed um, suh, wid my own eyes."

"You don't know what they came for. Well, I will tell you: they came here to devise some plan by which they can deprive the n.i.g.g.e.roes of the right to vote. Now, what do you suppose would be the simplest way to do this?" The Rev. Jeremiah made no reply. He was evidently waiting in awe to hear what the plan was. "You don't know," the first speaker went on to say; "well, I will tell you. They propose to re-enslave the coloured people. They propose to take the ballots out of their hands and put in their place, the hoe and the plough-handles. They propose to deprive you of the freedom bestowed upon you by the martyr President."

"You don't tell me, suh! Well, well!"

"Yes, that is their object, and they will undoubtedly succeed if your people do not organise, and stand together, and give their support to the Republican Party."

"I has b'longed ter de Erpublican Party, suh, sense fust I heard de name."

"We meet to-night in the school-house. Bring only a few--men whom you can trust, and the older they are the better."

"I ain't so right down suttin and sho' 'bout dat, suh. Some er de ol'

ones is mighty sot in der ways; dey ain't got de l'arnin', suh, an' dey dunner what's good fer 'm. But I'll pick out some, suh; I'll try fer ter fetch de ones what'll do us de mos' good."

"Very well, Mr. Tommerlin; the old school-house is the place, and there'll be no lights that can be seen from the outside. Rap three times slowly, and twice quickly--so. The pa.s.sword is----"

He must have whispered it, for no sound came to the ears of Nan and Gabriel. The latter motioned his head to Nan, and the two walked around the corner. As they turned Nan was saying, "You must go with me some day, and call on Eugenia Claiborne; she'll be delighted to see you--and she's just lovely."

What answer Gabriel made he never knew, so intently was he engaged in trying to digest what he had heard. The Rev. Jeremiah took off his hat and smiled broadly, as he gave Nan and Gabriel a ceremonious bow. They responded to his salute and pa.s.sed on. The white man who had been talking to the negro was a stranger to both of them, though both came to know him very well--too well, in fact--a few months later. He had about him the air of a preacher, his coat being of the cut and colour of the garments worn by clergymen. His countenance was pale, but all his features, except his eyes, stood for energy and determination. The eyes were restless and shifty, giving him an appearance of uneasiness.

"What does he mean?" inquired Nan, when they were out of hearing.

"He means a good deal," replied Gabriel, who as an interested listener at the conferences of the white leaders, had heard several prominent men express fears that just such statements would be made to the negroes by the carpet-bag element; and now here was a man pouring the most alarming and exciting tidings into the ears of a negro on the public streets.

True, he had no idea that any one but the Rev. Jeremiah was in hearing, but the tone of his voice was not moderated. What he said, he said right out.

"But what do you mean by a good deal?" Nan asked.

"You heard what he said," Gabriel answered, "and you must see what he is trying to do. Suppose he should convince the negroes that the whites are trying to put them back in slavery, and they should rise and kill the whites and burn all the houses?"

"Now, Gabriel, you know that is all nonsense," replied Nan, trying to laugh. In spite of her effort to smile at Gabriel's explanation, her face was very serious indeed.

"Yonder comes Miss Claiborne," said Gabriel. "Good-bye, Nan; I'm still sorry you are not as you used to be. I must go and see Mr. Sanders."

With that, he turned out of the main street, and went running across the square.

"That child worries me," said Nan, uttering her thought aloud, and unconsciously using an expression she had often heard on Mrs. Absalom's tongue. "Did you see that great gawk of a boy?" she went on, as Eugenia Claiborne came up. "He hasn't the least dignity."

"Well, you should be glad of that, Nan," Eugenia suggested.

"I? Well, please excuse me. If there is anything I admire in other people, it is dignity." She straightened herself up and a.s.sumed such a serious att.i.tude that Eugenia became convulsed with laughter.

"What did you do to Gabriel, Nan, that he should be running away from you at such a rate? Or did he run because he saw me coming?" Before Nan could make any reply, Eugenia seized her by both elbows--"And, oh, Nan!

you know the Yankee captain who is in command of the Yankee soldiers here? Well, his name is Falconer, and mother says he is our cousin. And would you believe it, she wanted to ask him to tea. I cried when she told me; I never was so angry in my life. Why, I wouldn't stay in the same house nor eat at the same table with one who is an enemy of my country."

"Nor I either," said Nan with emphasis. "But he's very handsome."

"I don't care if he is," cried the other impulsively. "He has been killing our gallant young men, and depriving us of our liberties, and he's here now to help the negroes lord it over us."

"Oh, now I know what Gabriel intends to do!" exclaimed Nan, but she refused to satisfy Eugenia's curiosity, much to that young lady's discomfort. "I must go," said Nan, kissing her friend good-bye. Eugenia stood watching her until she was out of sight, and wondered why she was in such a hurry.

Nan had changed greatly in the course of two years, and, in some directions, not for the better, as some of the older ones thought and said. They remembered how charming she was in the days when she threw all conventions to the winds, and was simply a wild, sweet little rascal, engaged in performing the most unheard-of pranks, and cutting up the most impossible capers. Until Margaret Gaither and Eugenia Claiborne came to Shady Dale, Nan had no girl-friends. All the others were either ages too old or ages too young, or disagreeable, and Nan had to find her amus.e.m.e.nts the best way she could.

Margaret Gaither and Eugenia Claiborne had a very subduing effect upon Nan. They had been brought up with the greatest respect for all the small formalities and conventions, and the attention they paid to these really awed Nan. The young ladies were free and unconventional enough when there was no other eye to mark their movements, but at table, or in company, they held their heads in a certain way, and they had rules by which to seat themselves in a chair, or to rise therefrom; they had been taught how to enter a room, how to bow, and how to walk gracefully, as was supposed, from one side of a room to the other. Nan tried hard to learn a few of these conventions, but she never succeeded; she never could conform to the rules; she always failed to remember them at the proper time; and it was very fortunate that this was so. The native grace with which she moved about could never have been imparted by rule; but there were long moments when her failure to conform weighed upon her mind, and subdued her.

This was a part of the change that Gabriel found in her. She could no longer, in justice to the rules of etiquette, seize Gabriel by the lapels of his coat and give him a good shaking when he happened to displease her, and she could no longer switch him across the face with her braided hair--that wonderful tawny hair, so fine, so abundant, so soft, and so warm-looking. No, indeed! the day for that was over, and very sorry she was for herself and for Gabriel, too.

And while she was going home, following in the footsteps of that young man (for Dorringtons' was on the way to Cloptons'), a thought struck her, and it seemed to be so important that she stopped still and clapped the palms of her hands together with an energy unusual to young ladies.

Then she gathered her skirt firmly, drew it up a little, and went running along the road as rapidly as Gabriel had run. Fortunately, a knowledge of the rules of etiquette had not had the effect of paralysing Nan's legs. She ran so fast that she was wellnigh breathless when she reached home. She rushed into the house, and fell in a chair, crying:

"Oh, Nonny!"

CHAPTER TEN

_The Troubles of Nan_

"Why, what on earth ails the child?" exclaimed Mrs. Absalom. Nan was leaning back in the chair, her face very red, making an effort to fan herself with one little hand, and panting wildly. "Malindy!" Mrs.

Absalom yelled to the cook, "run here an' fetch the camphire as you come! Ain't you comin'? The laws a ma.s.sy on us! the child'll be cold and stiff before you start! Honey, what on earth ails you? Tell your Nonny.

Has anybody pestered you? Ef they have, jest tell me the'r name, an'

I'll foller 'em to the jumpin'-off place but what I'll frail 'em out.

You Malindy! whyn't you come on? You'll go faster'n that to your own funeral."

But when Malindy came with the camphor, and a dose of salts in a tumbler, Nan waved her away. "I don't want any physic, Nonny," she said, still panting, for her run had been a long one; "I'm just tired from running. And, oh, Nonny! I have something to tell you."

"Well, my life!" exclaimed Mrs. Absalom indignantly, withdrawing her arms from around Nan, and rising to her feet. "A little more, an' you'd 'a' had me ready for my coolin'-board. I ain't had such a turn--not sence the day a n.i.g.g.e.r boy run in the gate an' tol' me the Yankees was a-hangin' Ab. An' all bekaze you've hatched out some rigamarole that n.o.body on the green earth would 'a' thought of but you."

She fussed around a little, and was for going about the various unnecessary duties she imposed on herself; but Nan protested. "Please, Nonny, wait until I tell you." Thereupon Nan told as well as she could of the conversation she and Gabriel had overheard in town, and the recital gave Mrs. Absalom a more serious feeling than she had had in many a day. Her muscular arms, bare to the elbow, were folded across her ample bosom, and she seemed to be glaring at Nan with a frown on her face, but she was thinking.

"Well," she said with a sigh, "I knowed there was gwine to be trouble of some kind--old Billy Sanders went by here this mornin' as drunk as a lord."

"Drunk!" cried Nan with blanched face.

"Well, sorter tollerbul how-come-you-so. The last time old Billy was drunk, was when sesaytion was fetched on. Ev'ry time he runs a straw in a jimmy-john, he fishes up trouble. An' my dream's out. I dremp last night that a wooden-leg man come to the door, an' ast me for a pair of shoes. I ast him what on earth he wanted wi' a pair, bein's he had but one foot. He said that the foot he didn't have was constant a-feelin'

like it was cold, an' he allowed maybe it'd feel better ef it know'd that he had a shoe ready for it ag'in colder weather."

"Oh, I hate him! I just naturally despise him!" cried Nan. When she was angry her face was pale, and it was very pale now.