e thought
we was goin' to be richer than the white folks, 'cause we was stronger
and knowed how to work, and the whites didn't and they didn't have us to
work for them anymore. But it didn't turn out that way. We soon found
out that freedom could make folks proud but it didn't make 'em rich.

"Did you ever stop to think that thinking don't do any good when you do
it too late? Well, that's how it was with us. If every mother's son of a
black had thrown 'way his hoe and took up a gun to fight for his own
freedom along with the Yankees, the war'd been over before it began. But
we didn't do it. We couldn't help stick to our masters. We couldn't no
more shoot 'em than we could fly. My father and me used to talk 'bout
it. We decided we was too soft and freedom wasn't goin' to be much to
our good even if we had a education."

The old Negro was growing very tired, but, at a request, he instantly
got up and tapped his way out into the scorching sunshine to have his
photograph taken. Even as he did so, he seemed to smile with those
blurred, dead eyes of his. Then he chuckled to himself and said:

"'Warmth of the wind
And heat of the South,
And ripe red cherries
For a ripe, red mouth.'"

"Land sakes, Felix!" came through the window from sister Ella. "How you
carries on! Don't you be a-mindin' him, mister."

420096

[Illustration: Phoebe Henderson]

PHOEBE HENDERSON, a 105 year old Negro of Harrison Co., was born a
slave of the Bradley family at Macon, Georgia. After the death of
her mistress, Phoebe belonged to one of the daughters, Mrs. Wiley
Hill, who moved to Panola County, Texas in 1859, where Phoebe lived
until after the Civil War. For the past 22 years she has lived with
Mary Ann Butler, a daughter, about five miles east of Marshall, in
Enterprise Friendship Community. She draws a pension of $16.00 a
month.

"I was bo'n a slave of the Bradley family in Macon, Georgia. My father's
name was Anthony Hubbard and he belonged to the Hubbard's in Georgia. He
was a young man when I lef' Georgia and I never heard from him since. I
'member my mother; she had a gang of boys. Marster Hill brought her to
Texas with us.

"My ole missus name was Bradley and she died in Tennessee. My lil'
missus was her daughter. After dey brought us to Texas in 1859 I worked
in the field many a day, plowin' and hoein', but the children didn't do
much work 'cept carry water. When dey g