ill be to say that I am a Negro woman and could
not have married a white man. I implore you to convict me! Send me to
prison! Let me wear a felon's garb! Let my son know that his mother is a
convict, but in the name of heaven I ask you, send not my child and me
into Negro life. Send us not to a race cursed with petty jealousies, the
burden bearers of the world. My God! the thought of being called a Negro
is awful, awful!"

Eunice's words were coming fast and she was now all but out of breath.
After an instant's pause, she began:

"One word more. For argument's sake, grant that I have some Negro blood
in me. You already make a mistake in making a gift of your blood to the
African. Remember what your blood has done. It hammered out on fields
of blood the Magna Charta; it took the head of Charles I.; it shattered
the sceptre of George III.; it now circles the globe in an iron grasp.
Think you not that this Anglo-Saxon blood loses its virility because of
mixture with Negro blood. Ah! remember Frederick Douglass, he who as
much as any other mortal brought armies to your doors that sacked your
home. I plead with you, even if you accept that girl's malicious
slanders as being true, not to send your blood back to join forces with
the Negro blood."

Eunice threw an arm around her boy, who had arisen and was clutching her
skirts. She parted her lips as if to speak farther, then settled back in
her seat and closed her pretty blue eyes. Her tangled locks fell over
her forehead and the audience looked in pity at the tired pretty girl.

Eunice's attorneys waived their rights to speak and the attorney for the
prosecution stated that he, too, would now submit the case without
argument.

"Without further formality the jury will take this case under
advisement. You need no charge from me. You are all Anglo-Saxons," said
the judge solemnly in a low tone of voice.

The jury filed into the jury room and began its deliberations. A tall,
white haired man, foreman of the jury, arose and spoke as follows:

"Gentlemen: We have a sad case before us to-day. That girl has the white
person's feelings and it seems cruel to crush her and drive her from
those for whom she has the most affinity to those whom she is least
like. Then, I pity the boy. He carries in his veins some of our proudest
blood, and it seems awful to cast away our own. But we must stand by our
rule. One drop of Negro blood makes its possessor a Negro.

"Our great race stand