WHEN the Preacher took the train in Boston for the South, his friendly merchant, a deacon, was by his side.

“Now, you put my name and address down in your note book, William Crane. And don’t forget about us.”

“I’ll never forget you, deacon.”

“Say, I just as well tell you,” whispered the deacon bending close, “we are not going to allow you to stay down South. We’ll be down after you before long—just as well be packing up!”

The Preacher smiled, looked out of the car window, and made no reply.

“Well, good-bye, Doctor, good-bye. God bless you and your work and your people! You’ve brought me a message warm from God’s heart. I’ll never forget it.”

“Good-bye, deacon.”

As the train whirled southward through the rich populous towns and cities of the North, again the sharp contrast with the desolation of his own land cut him like a knife. He thought of Legree and Haley, Perkins and Tim Shelby robbing widows and orphans and sweeping the poverty-stricken Southland with riot, pillage, murder and brigandage, and posing as the representatives of the conscience of the North. And his heart was heavy with sorrow.

On reaching Hambright he was thunderstruck at the news of the sale of Mrs. Gaston’s place and her tragic death.

“Why, my dear, I sent the money to her on the first Monday I spent in Boston!” he declared to his wife.

“It never reached her.”

“Then Dave Haley, the dirty slave driver, has held that letter. I’ll see to this.” He hurried to the postoffice.

“Mr. Haley,” he exclaimed, “I sent a money order letter to Mrs. Gaston from Boston on Monday a week ago.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Haley in his blandest manner, “it got here the day after the sale.”

“You’re an infamous liar!” shouted the Preacher.

“Of course! Of course! All union men are liars to hear rebel traitors talk.”

“I’ll report you to Washington for this rascality.”

“So do, so do. Mor’n likely the President and the Post-Office Department’ll be glad to have this information from so great a man.”

As the Preacher was leaving the post-office he encountered the Hon. Tim Shelby dressed in the height of fashion, his silk hat shining in the sun, and his eyes rolling with the joy of living. The Preacher stepped squarely in front of Tim.

“Tim Shelby, I hear you have moved into Mrs. Gaston’s home and are using her furniture. By whose authority do you dare such insolence?”

“By authority of the law, sir. Mrs. Gaston died intestate. Her effects are in the hands of our County Administrator, Mr. Ezra Perkins. I’ll be pleased to receive you, sir, any time you would like to call!” said Tim with a bow.

“I’ll call in due time,” replied the Preacher, looking Tim straight in the eye.

Haley had been peeping through the window, watching and listening to this encounter.

“These charmin’ preachers think they own this county, brother Shelby,” laughed Haley as he grasped Tim’s outstretched hand.

“Yes, they are the curse of the state. I wish to God they had succeeded in burning him alive that night the boys tried it. They’ll get him later on. Brother Haley, he’s a dangerous man. He must be put out of the way, or we’ll never have smooth sailing in this county.”

“I believe you’re right, he’s just been in here cussin’ me about that letter of the widder’s that didn’t get to her in time. He thinks he can run the post-office.”

“Well, we’ll show him this county’s in the hands of the loyal!” added Tim.

“Heard the news from Charleston?”

“Heard it? I guess I have. I talked with the commanding General in Charleston two weeks ago. He told me then he was going to set aside that decision of the Supreme Court in a ringing order permitting the marriage of negroes to white women, and commanding its enforcement on every military post. I see he’s done it in no uncertain words.”

“It’s a great day, brother, for the world. There’ll be no more colour line.”

“Yes, times have changed,” said Tim with a triumphant smile. “I guess our white hot-bloods will sweat and bluster and swear a little when they read that order. But we’ve got the bayonets to enforce it. They’d just as well cool down.”

“That’s the stuff,” said Haley, taking a fresh chew of tobacco.

“Let ’em squirm. They’re flat on their backs. We are on top, and we are going to stay on top. I expect to lead a fair white bride into my house before another year and have poor white aristocrats to tend my lawn.” Tim worked his ears and looked up at the ceiling in a dreamy sort of way.

“That’ll be a sight won’t it!” exclaimed Haley with delight. “Where’s that scoundrel Nelse that lived with Mrs. Gaston?”

“Oh, we fixed him,” said Tim. “The black rascal wouldn’t join the League, and wouldn’t vote with his people, and still showed fight after we beat him half to death, so we put a levy of fifty dollars on his cabin, sold him out, and every piece of furniture, and every rag of clothes we could get hold of. He’ll leave the country now, or we’ll kill him next time.”

“You ought to a killed him the first time, and then the job would ha’ been over.”

“Oh, we’ll have the country in good shape in a little while, and don’t you forget it.”

The news of the order of the military commandant of “District No. 2,” comprising the Carolinas, abrogating the decisions of the North Carolina Supreme Court, forbidding the intermarriage of negroes and whites, fell like a bombshell on Campbell county. The people had not believed that the military authorities would dare go to the length of attempting to force social equality.

This order from Charleston was not only explicit, its language was peculiarly emphatic. It apparently commanded intermarriage, and ordered the military to enforce the command at the point of the bayonet.

The feelings of the people were wrought to the pitch of fury. It needed but a word from a daring leader, and a massacre, of every negro, scalawag and carpet-bagger in the county might have followed. The Rev. John Durham was busy day and night seeking to allay excitement and prevent an uprising of the white population.

Along with the announcement of this military order, came the startling news that Simon Legree, whose infamy was known from end to end of the state, was to be the next Governor, and that the Hon. Tim Shelby was a candidate for Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

Legree was in Washington at the time on a mission to secure a stand of twenty thousand rifles from the Secretary of War, with which to arm the negro troops he was drilling for the approaching election. The grant was made and Legree came back in triumph with his rifles.

Relief for the ruined people was now a hopeless dream. Black despair was clutching at every white man’s heart. The taxpayers had held a convention and sent their representatives to Washington exposing the monstrous thefts that were being committed under the authority of the government by the organised band of thieves who were looting the state. But the thieves were the pets of politicians high in power. The committee of taxpayers were insulted and sent home to pay their taxes.

And then a thing happened in Hambright that brought matters to a sudden crisis.

The Hon. Tim Shelby as school commissioner, had printed the notices for an examination of school teachers for Campbell county. An enormous tax had been levied and collected by the county for this purpose, but no school had been opened. Tim announced, however, that the school would be surely opened the first Monday in October.

Miss Mollie Graham, the pretty niece of the old doctor, was struggling to support a blind mother and four younger children. Her father and brother had been killed in the war. Their house had been sold for taxes, and they were required now to pay Tim Shelby ten dollars a month for rent. When she saw that school notice her heart gave a leap. If she could only get the place, it would save them from beggary.

She fairly ran to the Preacher to get his advice.

“Certainly, ............