"Yes."

"Then, Hertha, haven't you gone away already? You know the South. You can't be both white and black."

Hertha took down her hat from the shelf and put it on. It was a pretty white straw with a blue ribbon. She had trimmed it herself but the straw and the ribbon were a gift from Ellen.

"I suppose I may come back to pack up my things?" she asked angrily.

"Little sister, little sister!" Ellen cried.

Throwing off the hat Hertha flung her arms around her sister's neck.

"Let me stay just a little longer," she beseeched. "Tell him I will come after supper. Tell him that I am too ill to come now but that you will bring me later in the evening. Let me stay and have supper with you and Mammy and then you may take me to his house. I'll go with you but not with him."

"Oh, you darling!" Ellen said, hugging her. "You're the truest! And I'm glad for you, I am, I am! You'll never forget, oh, I know you'll never forget! You know that black and white mean nothing, just nothing, that it's hearts and souls, it's whether people are mean or generous, whether they're kind or cruel, that counts. You'll never talk about 'cute n.i.g.g.e.rs' the way the women do who come to my school. You won't think black people can't feel shame and mortification the same as white. You won't say the women are all immoral and the men are all----"

"Oh, Ellen," Hertha cried, "I've said good-by to Tom!" She sat down at the window and shook as though she were ill. "I can't help loving him most. I love him the way you love me; I took care of him when he was a baby."

"Yes, dear!"

"Go and tell that man that I'm coming by and by with you, and let me stay here a while alone."

It was dark among the pines, but the clouds broke and the silver moonlight greeted them as they turned under the live-oaks to Hertha's new home. For the first time since they had come to Merryvale and the great house they made their way to the front door. There, on the porch, they kissed each other good-by; and standing outside, Ellen saw Hertha Ogilvie, the baby that she had nursed, the child for whom she had made daily sacrifice, leave her in the darkness to enter the white man's world.

CHAPTER XI

"I never knew lawyers before to be so expeditious," Miss Witherspoon was saying, "I shall not talk again of the dilatoriness of the South."

"It has all happened very quickly," Hertha answered.

A week had pa.s.sed since the receipt of the letter, and Hertha and Miss Witherspoon were sitting together on the gallery while Miss Patty took her afternoon nap. The younger woman was sewing on some underwear but the older sat with empty hands, looking now at the girl, now at the landscape.

"You have been wise at once to bank your money, Hertha." Miss Witherspoon had started with Miss Ogilvie, but had slipped back into the familiar appellation. "You can draw it any time, but this way will make you careful."

Hertha smiled.

"I am glad that you have decided to accompany me and enter upon work in Boston. It seems a special providence that I should have come to Merryvale at just this time, when I can be of use."

"I'm sure it is fortunate for me."

"I have made all the arrangements that we spoke of, and I know that you will like the Inst.i.tute. The course there in dressmaking is admirable.

It's a little late to enter, but as a special favor to me you will be allowed to go at once into your cla.s.s. I said that you were clever with your needle and could easily make up the lessons you had missed."

"I hope I can."

"Of course you can, my dear. You have only to exert yourself, and everything will go as it should. And about your board. I have written to Clay House, and they will take you in with their first vacancy. It is always so crowded. You see, it is the best place for working-girls in Boston for the money. You might have to share your room with some one but I don't believe you would mind that. A single room is seven dollars a week, but with another girl it costs only five dollars. You wouldn't want to start in spending more than that, I presume. You agree with me?"

If Hertha was in disagreement she did not show it in her face, but neither did she express approval of Miss Witherspoon's plans; she simply allowed the lady to talk on.

And she did talk on. She told Hertha about Boston, its streets, its public gardens, its library, its admirable educational facilities. Her knowledge of the city was prodigious and she apparently was on the boards of half its inst.i.tutions. When she was through, for the time being, with Boston, she turned to Hertha's personal affairs. It had been arranged that the two should leave together in three days, going by train to New York and on to Boston. Miss Witherspoon had definite ideas of what Hertha would and would not need for the trip. She cautioned her at present against buying any clothes beyond absolute necessities. There would be time for that later. And from this she turned to the general question of expenditure. "Two thousand dollars, you know, Hertha, is a very small sum. You must not think of it in terms of princ.i.p.al but of interest. At five per cent it means only a hundred dollars a year, or a little less than nine dollars a month. Of course you cannot live on that."

"No, of course not."

"And while I approve an immediate expenditure for education you will need continually to remember that your little patrimony as far as possible should be kept intact. If you touch the princ.i.p.al try to make it up afterwards. It is a great comfort to have a bank account."

Miss Patty came in at this point, fresh and pretty from her nap, and took the comfortable rocker near Hertha.

"What is Miss Witherspoon advising you now?" she asked, smiling.

"To be careful of my money," Hertha answered.

"A great mistake," the southern woman said, rocking lazily back and forth. "I would advise your spending at the outset at least five hundred dollars for clothes."

"What!" cried Hertha.

"Yes!" said Miss Patty, enjoying the annoyance on Miss Witherspoon's face. "I don't approve of your learning dressmaking, you know, my dear, it will lower your station. Get a lot of beautiful clothes in New York and then let me persuade Cousin Sally to take you about with her this winter. I'm sure she would enjoy toting a pretty southern girl around and if she didn't have you married in six months she should never have been born in Baltimore."

"It sounds very attractive," said Hertha, smiling. She knew Miss Patty was only half in earnest and that she liked above all things to shock her northern guest. "But think how terrible it would be for her if I didn't marry and Cousin Sally was left with me and the dresses!"

"If you wanted to support yourself at the start," Miss Witherspoon said, exactly as though no one but herself had spoken, "you could take up operating work."

"Operating work?" asked Hertha.

"Yes, operating power-machines. Good workwomen begin at ten dollars."

"I like the sound of that," Hertha said with more animation than she had yet shown. "I always enjoy using a machine."

Miss Patty was genuinely horrified. "Factory work!" she cried. "Factory work for this child! You're crazy. It would ruin her social position."

Hertha was startled. It was hard for her to remember that being an Ogilvie she had a social position.

"Take my advice," Miss Patty went on, "and if you must work, get a genteel job. Why not go as a companion? Now I had a pretty little relative, Dolly Simmons, not exactly a relative but we were kin, her father's brother and my nephew's wife were cousins. The Simmonses never had anything, or if they did they only kept it long enough to lose it in a jack-pot, and Dolly had to support herself. She was a nice little child, with eyes like yours, and she went into a family as companion. It was in Chicago and the woman, she had an immense fortune, took Dolly with her to Palm Beach. There Dolly was a raving success, so much so that she had three proposals in one winter. The Chicago woman was quite nasty about it, jealous of course, and sent Dolly off, but not before she had captured a widower with five children and three houses, one in the country, one at the beach and one in St. Louis. That was doing well for a Simmons. How I wish," Miss Merryvale looked affectionately at Hertha, "that I had the strength to take you away and give you a season.

I wouldn't be jealous, my dear, but proud of all your conquests. But I fear it's out of the question."

"Yes," Hertha made haste to say, "you couldn't possibly, though it is very kind of you to want to."

"It's hard your not having any near relations. I'd love to have you stay with me, but I can understand your leaving. You're white and you don't want to remain where you've been black. But when you get North, don't make the mistake of lowering your social position, Hertha."

Hertha made no response, and then Miss Witherspoon, who had kept silent as long as was humanly possible burst out: "It is natural that Miss Merryvale and I should not agree on this matter, Hertha, but as long as you are going to live in the North I want you to understand northern conditions. I really believe you will be more likely to marry and to marry happily if you think nothing about it. Take up work that interests you and that you can do well. When you can take care of yourself then you may accept the man who wants to take care of you."

"Well, of all the extraordinary pieces of advice," Miss Patty murmured.

But at this point Hertha arose and announced that she was going to her room.

Once by herself she drew a sigh of relief. These two women, she feared, would drive her to do something desperate. She had at once accepted Miss Witherspoon's invitation to travel with her to the North and had been grateful for her suggestions as to her education; but she had not expected to have everything arranged before she set foot in Boston. She would have preferred to look about and to plan for herself. Of Miss Patty's scheming she gave no thought, she was not in a humor to consider getting married; but her future career did interest her and she could but wish that it did not have an equal interest for Miss Witherspoon.

Would she want to be closely in touch with this energetic woman? She reminded her of a teacher she had had at school, a Miss Smith--also from Boston. Miss Smith, who was a terror to the idler or the dreamer, had never missed a day from her work for twenty-two years. Was Miss Witherspoon like that? She was very particular about her room. Would all the people in Boston be so thorough and so emphatic?

She bestirred herself for a few minutes and then sat down idly by the window. She could see the broad stream and against the sky was a line of birds. They were too far away at first for her to name them, but suddenly the sunlight glistened on their snowy wings and she saw that they were ibises flying south. In a little while she would be flying North. What would her welcome there be like?