This stubborn depravity was so distressing that Sarah Smith was at an utter loss what to say or do.
‚ÄúI can do nothing‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù she began.
‚ÄúFor me,‚Äù the woman quickly replied; ‚ÄúI don‚Äôt ask anything; but for the child‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe isn‚Äôt to blame.‚Äù
The older woman wavered.
“Won’t you try?” pleaded the younger.
‚ÄúYes‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI‚Äôll try, I‚Äôll try; I am trying all the time, but there are more things than my weak strength can do. Goodbye.‚Äù
Miss Smith stood a long time in the doorway, watching the fading figure and vaguely trying to remember what it was that she had started to do, when the sharp staccato step of a mule drew her attention to a rider who stopped at the gate. It was her neighbor, Tolliver‚ÅÝ‚Äîa gaunt, yellow-faced white man, ragged, rough, and unkempt; one of the poor whites who had struggled up and failed. He spent no courtesy on the ‚Äúnigger‚Äù teacher, but sat in his saddle and called her to the gate, and she went.