ite
world. She was so accustomed to the circumscription of the world of
black people that only when freedom was granted did she fully realize
her slavery. As the slave was bound to its master so she was bound to
the Negroes, unable, except through deceit or sin, to leave their world.
And suddenly the bond was gone and she was free. With her little fortune
she could go out into a marvelous new life without a thought of race. A
white-skinned girl among black people, she had often winced at the
coarse jokes or pitying remarks that had been made upon her appearance.
White men had leered at her, and she had never known when she would be
free from insult. But after to-day she would take the place that
belonged to her. She would no longer be a "white-faced nigger," but
Hertha Ogilvie--Miss Ogilvie, as Miss Witherspoon had said--the
granddaughter of a distinguished southern judge.

As the Williams cottage came into sight, Hertha's thoughts suddenly
changed and the white world slipped from her as she saw her black mother
standing in the doorway. Running forward, she threw her arms about the
old woman's neck and broke into passionate sobs, half of excitement,
half of dread, but that to her mother meant only sorrow.

"Honey, baby, why you cryin'? Who hurt my baby? You ain't rightly been
you'self, not since Tom lef'. Tell you' mammy, dear."

Her mother led her into her room, and there, as they sat together on the
bed, Hertha tried to tell her story. She made one or two excited
attempts, and then, pressing her hands together, said simply: "I'm
white!"

"Oh, my Gawd!" her mother cried.

The two women stood up, the black one looking into the beautiful white
face with its clear, dark eyes, its sweet mouth, its little trembling
chin. As Hertha thought of it afterwards it seemed to her that her
mother said good-by to her at that moment. Then the big, heavy mouth
broke and it was the mother who was sobbing in her child's arms.

Hertha was a long time telling her story. When she described the little
that she knew of her birth the colored woman cried angrily: "De dirty
hogs! Dat's de way dey treats de black chillen--I allays knows
dat--t'row 'em out fer us ter care fo'; neber a helpin' hand fer de
chile o' der sin. But ter treat der own like it was an outcast, oh,
Lawd." At the story of the will she grew much excited. "You's got some
money, honey, I's glad o' dat. Seems like I can see you gwine away ef
you's somet'ing dat's you' own.