“For this reason, I trust you will handle your Negro philanthropies judicially, as I know you will. There’s dynamite in this race problem for amateur reformers, but fortunately you have at hand wise and sympathetic advisers in the Cresswells.”
Mrs. ¬ÝGrey agreed entirely.
Mary Taylor, alone of the committee, took her commission so seriously as to be anxious to begin work.
“We are to visit the school this morning, you know,” she reminded the others, looking at her watch; “I’m afraid we’re late already.”
The remark created mild consternation. It seemed that Mr. ¬ÝVanderpool had gone hunting and his wife had not yet arisen. Dr. ¬ÝBoldish was very hoarse, Mr. ¬ÝEasterly was going to look over some plantations with Colonel Cresswell, and Mr. ¬ÝBocombe was engrossed in a novel.
“Clever, but not true to life,” he said.
Finally the clergyman and Mr. ¬ÝBocombe, Mrs. ¬ÝGrey and Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool and Miss Taylor started for the school, with Harry Cresswell, about an hour after lunch.
The delay and suppressed excitement among the little folks had upset things considerably there, but at the sight of the visitors at the gate Miss Smith rang the bell.
The party came in, laughing and chatting. They greeted Miss Smith cordially. Dr. ¬ÝBoldish was beginning to tell a good story when a silence fell.
The children had gathered, quietly, almost timidly, and before the distinguished company realized it, they turned to meet that battery of