to a little clearing, in the midst of which stood a small log
schoolhouse. Out of the schoolhouse a swarm of colored children were
emerging, the suppressed energy of the school hour finding vent in
vocal exercise of various sorts. A group had already formed a ring,
and were singing with great volume and vigor:--

"Miss Jane, she loves sugar an' tea,
Miss Jane, she loves candy.
Miss Jane, she can whirl all around
An' kiss her love quite handy.

"De oak grows tall,
De pine grows slim,
So rise you up, my true love,
An' let me come in."

"What a funny little darkey!" exclaimed Miss Leary, pointing to a
diminutive lad who was walking on his hands, with his feet balanced in
the air. At sight of the buggy and its occupants this sable acrobat,
still retaining his inverted position, moved toward the newcomers, and,
reversing himself with a sudden spring, brought up standing beside the
buggy.

"Hoddy, Mars Geo'ge!" he exclaimed, bobbing his head and kicking his
heel out behind in approved plantation style.

"Hello, Plato," replied the young man, "what are you doing here?"

"Gwine ter school, Mars Geo'ge," replied the lad; "larnin' ter read an'
write, suh, lack de w'ite folks."

"Wat you callin' dat w'ite man marster fur?" whispered a tall yellow
boy to the acrobat addressed as Plato. "You don' b'long ter him no
mo'; you're free, an' ain' got sense ernuff ter know it."

Tryon threw a small coin to Plato, and holding another in his hand
suggestively, smiled toward the tall yellow boy, who looked regretfully
at the coin, but stood his ground; he would call no man master, not
even for a piece of money.

During this little colloquy, Miss Leary had kept her face turned toward
the schoolhouse.

"What a pretty girl!" she exclaimed. "There," she added, as Tryon
turned his head toward her, "you are too late. She has retired into
her castle. Oh, Plato!"

"Yas, missis," replied Plato, who was prancing round the buggy in great
glee, on the strength of his acquaintance with the white folks.

"Is your teacher white?"

"No, ma'm, she ain't w'ite; she's black. She looks lack she's w'ite,
but she's black."

Tryon had not seen the teacher's face, but the incident had jarred the
old wound; Miss Leary's description of the teacher, together with
Plato's characterization, had stirred lightly sleeping memories. He
was more or less abstracted