was no time, in
short; but--he eyed her again.

"Does you want--a collection?" he questioned suspiciously, for he could
imagine few other reasons for talking. Then, too, he did not want to be
too inflexible, for all of his people knew Zora and liked her.

"Oh, no, I want no collection at all. I only want a little voluntary
work on their part." He looked relieved, frowned through the door at the
audience, and looked at his bright gold watch. The whole crowd was not
there yet--perhaps--

"You kin say just a word before the sermont," he finally yielded; "but
not long--not long. They'se just a-dying to hear me."

So Zora spoke simply but clearly: of neglect and suffering, of the sins
of others that bowed young shoulders, of the great hope of the
children's future. Then she told something of what she had seen and read
of the world's newer ways of helping men and women. She talked of
cooperation and refuges and other efforts; she praised their way of
adopting children into their own homes; and then finally she told them
of the land she was buying for new tenants and the helping hands she
needed. The preacher fidgeted and coughed but dared not actually
interrupt, for the people were listening breathless to a kind of
straightforward talk which they seldom heard and for which they were
hungering.

And Zora forgot time and occasion. The moments flew; the crowd increased
until the wonderful spell of those dark and upturned faces pulsed in her
blood. She felt the wild yearning to help them beating in her ears and
blinding her eyes.

"Oh, my people!" she almost sobbed. "My own people, I am not asking you
to help others; I am pleading with you to help yourselves. Rescue your
own flesh and blood--free yourselves--free yourselves!" And from the
swaying sobbing hundreds burst a great "Amen!" The minister's dusky face
grew more and more sombre, and the angry sweat started on his brow. He
felt himself hoaxed and cheated, and he meant to have his revenge. Two
hundred men and women rose and pledged themselves to help Zora; and when
she turned with overflowing heart to thank the preacher he had left the
platform, and she found him in the yard whispering darkly with two
deacons. She realized her mistake, and promised to retrieve it during
the week; but the week was full of planning and journeying and talking.

Saturday dawned cool and clear. She had dinner prepared for cooking in
the yard: sweet potatoes, hoe-cake, and buttermilk, an