THE ORDEAL AT MT. HOPE
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yeah othah young people’s been tryin’ to dosomep’n’.”” “¢ All dey wanted was a staht.”’ “ Well, now will you b’lieve me, dat no-’countTom Johnson done opened a fish sto’, an’ hehas de boys an’ men bring him dey fish all detime. He give ’em a little somep’n’ fu’ deyketch, den he go sell ’em to de white folks.” “ Lawd, how long!” “ An’ what you think he say ?” “ T do’ know, sis’.” “He say ez soon ’z he git money enough, hegwine to dat school whah ’Lias an’ Jim gonean’ lu’n te fahm scientific.” “Bless de Lawd! Well, ’um, I don’ putnothin’ pas’ de young folks now.” Mt. Hope had at last awakened. Somethinghad come to her to which she might aspire, —something that she could understand and reach.She was not soaring, but she was rising abovethe degradation in which Harold Dokesbury hadfound her. And for her and him the ordeal hadpassed. THE COLONEL’S AWAKENING Ir was the morning before Christmas. Thecold winter sunlight fell brightly through thewindow into a small room where an old manwas sitting. “The room, now bare and cheer-less, still retained evidences of having once beenthe abode of refinement and luxury. It wasthe one open chamber of many in a greatrambling old Virginia house, which in its timehad been one of the proudest in the county.But it had been in the path of the hurricane ofwar, and had been shorn of its glory as a tree isstripped of its foliage. Now, like the bare tree,dismantled, it remained, and this one old man,with the aristocratic face, clung to it like thelast leaf. He did not turn his head when an ancientserving-man came in and began laying the thingsfor breakfast. After a while the servant spoke:“T got a monst’ous fine breakfus’ fu’ you dismo’nin’, Mas’ Estridge. I got fresh aigs, an’ 69
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