these last there were instances amounting in the aggregate to a small
host.

I seem to remember, for example, that once a pink girl-mite came into
the world by way of a bedroom in a large white house on Tilghman Avenue
and was at the baptismal font sentenced for life to bear the Christian
name of Rowena Hildegarde.

Or is Rowena Hildegarde a Christian name?

At any rate, within twelve months' time, there were to be found in more
crowded and less affluent quarters of our thriving little city four more
Rowena Hildegardes, of tender years, or rather, tender months--two black
ones, one chrome-yellow one, and one sepia-brown one.

But so far as the available records show there was but one white child
in our town who bore for its name, bestowed upon it with due knowledge
of the fact and with deliberate intent, the name of a person of
undoubted African descent. However, at this stage to reveal the
circumstances governing this phenomenon would be to run ahead of our
tale and to precipitate its climax before the groundwork were laid for
its premise. Most stories should start at the beginning. This one must.

* * * * *

From round the left-hand corner of the house came with a sudden blare
the sound of melody--words and music--growing steadily louder as the
unseen singer drew nearer. The music was a lusty, deep-volumed
camp-meeting air, with long-drawn quavers and cadences in it. The words
were as follows:

_Had a lovin' mother,_
_Been climbin' up de hill so long;_
_She been hopin' git to heaben in due time_
_Befo' dem heaben do's close!_

And then the chorus, voicing first a passionate entreaty, then rising in
the final bars to a great exultant shout:

_Den chain dat lion down, Good Lawd!_
_Den chain dat lion down!_
_Oh, please!_
_Good Lawd, done chained dat lion down!_
_Done chained dat deadly lion down!_
_Glor-e-e-e!_

The singer, still singing, issued into view, limping slightly--a wizen
woman, coal-black and old, with a white cloth bound about her head,
turban fashion, and a man's battered straw hat resting jauntily upon the
knotted kerchief. Her calico frock was voluminous, unshapely and
starch-clean. Her under lip was shoved forward as though permanently
twisted into a spout-shape by the task of holding something against the
gums of her lower front teeth, and from one side of her mouth protr