bling at his side. He looked at the old man, hesitated a moment, then
told him what was in his mind.

Parson Ranson's face wrinkled into a grin.

"You's gwine to git ma'ied?"

"And I thought I'd have you perform the ceremony."

This suggestion threw the old negro into excitement.

"Me, Mr. Peter?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"Why, Mr. Peter, I kain't jine you an' Miss Cissie Dildine."

Peter looked at him, astonished.

"Why can't you?"

"Whyn't you git a white preacher?"

"Well," deliberated Peter, gravely, "it's a matter of principle with me,
Parson Ranson. I think we colored people ought to be more self-reliant,
more self-serving. We ought to lead our own lives instead of being mere
echoes of white thought." He made a swift gesture, moved by this passion
of his life. "I don't mean racial equality. To my mind racial equality
is an empty term. One might as well ask whether pink and violet are
equal. But what I do insist on is autonomous development."

The old preacher nodded, staring into the dust. "Sho! 'tonomous
'velopment."

Peter saw that his language, if not his thought, was far beyond his old
companion's grasp, and he lacked the patience to simplify himself.

"Why don't you want to marry us, Parson?"

Parson Ranson lifted his brows and filled his forehead with wrinkles.

"Well, I dunno. You an' Miss Cissie acts too much lak white folks fuh a
nigger lak me to jine you, Mr. Peter."

Peter made a sincere effort to be irritated, but he was not.

"That's no way to feel. It's exactly what I was talking about,--racial
self-reliance. You've married hundreds of colored couples."

"Ya-as, suh,"--the old fellow scratched his black jaw.--"I kin yoke up a
pair uv ordina'y niggers all right. Sometimes dey sticks, sometimes dey
don't." The old man shook his white, kinky head. "I'll bust in an' try
to hitch up you-all. I--I dunno whedder de cer'mony will hol' away up
North or not."

"It'll be all right anywhere, Parson," said Peter, seriously. "Your name
on the marriage-certificate will--can you write?"

"N-no, suh."

After a brief hesitation Peter repeated determinedly:

"It'll be all right. And, by the way, of course, this will be a very
quiet wedding."

"Yas-suh." The old man bobbed importantly.

"I wouldn't mention it to any one."

"No, suh; no, suh. I don' blame you a-tall, Mr. Peter, wid dat Tump Pack
gallivantin' roun' wid a forty-fo'. Hit would keep 'mos' anybody's
weddin' ve'y quiet onless he wuz