You are two hundred years old, at
least. Now don't go to studying that, but come home. You have
sat here long enough."
It was my last hour of freedom. Perhaps for that reason I
remember every minute so distinctly. On our way home we met a
negro funeral. I stopped to look at it. Something, I do not
know what, in the long line of dark figures, orderly and even
stately in their demeanour, the white dresses of the women,
the peculiar faces of men and women both, fascinated my eyes.
Preston exclaimed at me again. It was the commonest sight in
the world, he said. It was their pride to have a grand
funeral. I asked if this was a grand funeral. Preston said
"Pretty well; there must be several hundred of them and they
were well dressed." And then he grew impatient and hurried me
on. But I was thinking; and before we got to the hotel where
we lodged, I asked Preston if there were many coloured people
at Magnolia.
"Lots of them," he said. "There isn't anything else."
"Preston," I said presently, "I want to buy some candy
somewhere.
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