ed in their beds and listened. A new song
was rising on the air: a harsh, low, murmuring croon that shook the
village ranged around its old square of dilapadated stores. It was not a
song of joy; it was not a song of sorrow; it was not a song at all,
perhaps, but a confused whizzing and murmuring, as of a thousand
ill-tuned, busy voices. Some of the listeners wondered; but most of the
town cried joyfully, "It's the new cotton-mill!"

John Taylor's head teemed with new schemes. The mill trust of the North
was at last a fact. The small mills had not been able to buy cotton when
it was low because Cresswell was cornering it in the name of the
Farmers' League; now that it was high they could not afford to, and many
surrendered to the trust.

"Next thing," wrote Taylor to Easterly, "is to reduce cost of
production. Too much goes in wages. Gradually transfer mills South."

Easterly argued that the labor was too unskilled in the South and that
to send Northern spinners down would spread labor troubles. Taylor
replied briefly: "Never fear; we'll scare them with a vision of niggers
in the mills!"

Colonel Cresswell was not so easily won over to the new scheme. In the
first place he was angry because the school, which he had come to regard
as on its last legs, somehow still continued to flourish. The
ten-thousand-dollar mortgage had but three more years, and that would
end all; but he had hoped for a crash even earlier. Instead of this,
Miss Smith was cheerfully expanding the work, hiring new teachers, and
especially she had brought to help her two young Negroes whom he
suspected. Colonel Cresswell had prevented the Tolliver land sale, only
to be inveigled himself into Zora's scheme which now began to worry him.
He must evict Zora's tenants as soon as the crops were planted and
harvested. There was nothing unjust about such a course, he argued, for
Negroes anyway were too lazy and shiftless to buy the land. They would
not, they could not, work without driving. All this he imparted to John
Taylor, to which that gentleman listened carefully.

"H'm, I see," he owned. "And I know the way out."

"How?"

"A cotton mill in Toomsville."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Bring in whites."

"But I don't want poor white trash; I'd sooner have niggers."

"Now, see here," argued Taylor, "you can't have everything you
want--day's gone by for aristocracy of old kind. You must have
neighbors: choose, then, white or black. I say w