e public square in Brantly.
And that will be an end of it."

The priest said nothing, and after a time the Major asked: "How are you
getting on with your work?"

"I am greatly encouraged, and I wish I had more time."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I have told you that the church can save the negro. Do you know a negro
named Bob Hackett?"

"Yes; he was a worthless politician, but they tell me that he has
withdrawn from active politics and gone to work. What about him?"

"He is now a communicant of the church," the priest answered. "He
acknowledges a moral authority; and I make bold to say that should
trouble come, he will take no part in it. And I make still bolder to say
that the church, the foster mother of the soul of man, can in time
smooth all differences and establish peace and brotherly regard between
the white man and the negro. The Ethiopian cannot change his skin, but
true religion whitens his soul and makes him our brother."

"Your sentiment is good," replied the Major, "but religion must
recognize an impossibility. The white man and the negro can never hold
each other in brotherly regard. Never."

"Don't say never, Major. Men pass from fixed prejudices; the church is
eternal in its purpose. Don't say never."

"Well, then, sir," cried the Major, standing in his stirrups, "I will
not say never; I will fix a time, and it shall be when the pyramids,
moldered to dust, are blown up and down the valley of the Nile."

He let himself down with a jolt, and onward in silence they rode. And
now from a rise of ground the village of Brantly was in sight. The
priest halted. "I turn back here," he said.

"Mr. Brennon," the Major replied, "between you and me the question of
creed should not arise. You are a white man and a gentleman. My hand,
sir."

CHAPTER XXIII.

Brantly long ago was a completed town. For the most part it was built of
wood, and its appearance of decay was so general and so even as to
invite the suspicion that nearly all its building had been erected on
the same day. In the center of the town was the public square, and about
it were ranged the business houses, and in the midst of it stood the
court house with its paint blistered and its boards warping. It was
square, with a hall and offices below. Above was the court room, and
herein was still heard the dying echo of true oratory. On the top of
this building, once the pride of the county, was a frail tower, and in
it was a clock, alw