ome time, gazing with
heavy eyes into the darkness, where he saw the great city and his
future; then he went to sleep to dream of it.

From then on, great were the preparations for the boy's departure. So
little happened in that vicinity that the matter became a neighborhood
event, and the black folk for three miles up and down the road
manifested their interest in Silas's good fortune.

"I hyeah you gwine up to de Springs," said old Hiram Jones, when he
met the boy on the road a day or two before his departure.

"Yes, suh, I's gwine up thaih to wo'k in a hotel. Mistah Ma'ston, he
got me the job."

The old man reined in his horse slowly, and deposited the liquid
increase of a quid of tobacco before he said; "I hyeah tell it's
powahful wicked up in dem big cities."

"Oh, I reckon I ain't a-goin' to do nuffin wrong. I's goin' thaih to
wo'k."

"Well, you has been riz right," commented the old man doubtfully, "but
den, boys will be boys."

He drove on, and the prospect of a near view of wickedness did not
make the Springs less desirable in the boy's eyes. Raised as he had
been, almost away from civilization, he hardly knew the meaning of
what the world called wickedness. Not that he was strong or good.
There had been no occasion for either quality to develop; but that he
was simple and primitive, and had been close to what was natural and
elemental. His faults and sins were those of the gentle barbarian. He
had not yet learned the subtler vices of a higher civilization.

Silas, however, was not without the pride of his kind, and although
his father protested that it was a useless extravagance, he insisted
upon going to the nearest village and investing part of his small
savings in a new suit of clothes. It was quaint and peculiar apparel,
but it was the boy's first "store suit," and it filled him with
unspeakable joy. His brothers and sisters regarded his new
magnificence with envying admiration. It would be a long while before
they got away from bagging, homespun, and copperas-colored cotton,
whacked out into some semblance of garments by their "mammy." And so,
armed with a light bundle, in which were his few other belongings, and
fearfully and wonderfully arrayed, Silas Jackson set out for the
Springs. His father's parting injunctions were ringing in his ears,
and the memory of his mammy's wet eyes and sad face lingered in his
memory. She had wanted him to take the gaudy Bible away, but it was
too heavy to carr