A looking-glass

Preface

Holding the truth to be self-evident that ‘‘all men are created equal and endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” I have written the following allegory. Understand, dear reader, the poor in my story are the Negroes in America, the rich are the Whites. If the argument I have made in defense of the poor is just it is equally and more so if accepted for the Negro, for thrift and industry can affect fortune but no man can affect his birth, and the lineage of us all is unalterable. God has no respect for persons, for man is not material but spiritual — the image of his Maker, who is a Spirit. It is the heart within and not the color without that makes the man. God is the Father of us all. Let us be brothers and shape into His plan “as water shapes into the vessel.” ^

G. S.

Chapter I

“My ! Farmer Hillman is strange indeed — ‘eccentric’ gives one only an obtuse idea of his temperament. I cannot see why he chooses this dull, monotonous existence instead of the exhilarating whirl of city life. Were I permanently so environed I should die of ennui.”

Imogene punctuated the temporary close of her monologue with a scornful curl of her pretty lips. She could conceive of nothing more unbearable than life on the farm. Yet, by her request she was on a farm; and she was a farmer’s niece, but the relationship was positively not her choice. Nevertheless, August Hillman, the farmer, and Otto Hillman, her father, were twin brothers and the only children of a poor couple who had wrung their support from a small garden and two milch cows. The two sons stood on the threshold of early manhood when death bereaved them of their parents. The young men realized their loss but both were brave. With the pluck of heroes they turned from the graves to continue the warfare of life, and each pitched his tent where he thought it was best.

Otto, who had for eight years been the protege of a wealthy gentleman of the city, chose town life. He argued that it put spirit in a man and made 1 him feel the pulse of life in every limb. August' had a great deal of sentiment. He felt that it would be sacrilege to forsake the old homestead. He chose the country. August was certain his sainted parents would favor his choice, for he would be far removed from the inimical influence of theaters, wine-rooms and countless other city evils so apt to start men down the tobogganslide to hell. Being unable to agree, the brothers kissed and parted disagreeing. Time had not altered the opinions of either but each felt that his former dislike for the other’s choice had been increased. It had been growing for the quarter of a century, for the brothers were now together for the first time in twenty-five years.

When Otto had announced his intention of visiting August, Imogene grew eager to see the man her father always spoke of as ‘‘eccentric.” She soon regretted having her curiosity satisfied. She complained that the farm was as dull as a tomb and begged her father not to stay there a fortnight as was originally planned.

“To leave is, I think, the only prudent course,” Otto said as he sat with August on the porch. “Imogene is weary of the place — tired out in three days.”

“Why did she come.?” August asked indifferently.

“To see a Hillman living as you live — knowing no more of the world than is transmitted through the gossip of a rustic populace that learns to-day of events which transpired a decade ago.” Otto spoke jocundly but August felt that the jest was harsh. “You are misusing your life,” Otto continued seriously. “In fact, you have not tasted life. What have you gained by the course you elected?”

“One hundred acres of rich farming land, hogs, cattle, sheep, horses and poultry. And, Otto, I have gained that good woman yonder. We have been married twenty years but we are lovers still.”

Otto looked at “that good woman” who wore a calico gown and a big gingham apron and stood churning in the shadow of the dairy. She made a pretty picture of rural simplicity, but Otto could not refrain from asking the question that her occupation suggested.

“Twenty years ago, dear August, did you marry a wife or hire a servant?”

August felt the censure and spoke up deprecatingly. “Well, to-morrow is market day and I must have butter as well as eggs and vegetables to take to town.”

“Our parents lived out their lives in the same way.”

“You mean to say I have not progressed?”

“No; I could not say so false a thing. Our parents never dreamed of possessions as great as yours ; yet, you have failed to live. Life is more than the acquisition of land and stock. Without knowledge, the soul of man is dwarfed and killed.”

^Xots of folks with more learning than I’ve got are not half so well off.”

“I own that you are well off, but life is more than food and raiment.”

‘‘Now, Otto, there’s no use talking, for I know all I want to know and you’re not going to stuff any new-fangled notions into my head.”

“That is not my object; but, since your knowledge satisfies you, pray tell me what you know.”

“I know that men must nourish the soil and till it if they would raise fine crops, but brambles flourish without such labor.”

Otto saw more in the sentence than did its author. Banishing whatever figurative application he may have made of it he simply asked, “Why.?”

“Because God lets it be so.”

“Yes,” Otto said softly as he recognized his mother’s philosophy in August’s reply.

“I know how to vote all right.”

“The ‘straight ticket’ always, like the one father used to vote.”

August found something biting in Otto’s words.

“I know you make fun of me now, and you did not do it when we were boys.”

“August, you wrong me. I do not ridicule you. I am only frank as you can surely allow a brother to be. I do not come to boast over you. I would not wound you for the world.’’ As he spoke he laid his arm affectionately over August’s shoulder. ‘‘My desire is but to lift you out of this rut, I wish you were — ”

“What you are.”

“Yes.”

The brothers looked at each other and silence lasted so long it seemed that the conversation was ended.

“You have done wonders in twenty-five years,” August finally said. “Everybody knows of you, crowds everywhere honor you, and you are satisfied with your life. Only some folks know me and those who would lift their hats to you just shout at me ‘Hello!’ But I love this life I live just as dearly as you love yours. If we both live as we ought, for the glory of God and the good of man, which of us is the greater

“Neither,” answered Otto as a vision of the truth rose before him. “I was a fool but you have taught me to be wise. While I strive to be such a legislator as Jesus would be if He were in my place and you endeavor to be such a farmer as Jesus would be if He were in your place we are both equal in God’s sight, for God judges by the heart. Heaven pity a land that has no legislators and pity a land that has no farmers. It is no discredit to our beloved family tree that its branches spread over both country and town. Hillman blood is honored by us both. God has made* us complements. I will never again let that mischievous spirit, Ambition, make it appear that we are antagonists. We are unlike — ^very unlike, but we are brothers still. As brothers we must love each other, honor each other, defend each other, and thereby receive the commendation of God who made us brothers.”

While August was unconsciously leading Otto up to that great conclusion, Imogene was continuing her soliloquy.

‘‘I have been here nearly three whole days and have not seen a girl half so interesting as the woodpecker yonder, nor a man clever enough to elicit a smile.”

She was so absorbed in the “interesting woodpecker” that a man was passing by before she was aware of his approach. She looked up suddenly. The man started at the loveliness of the face before him. Its marvelous beauty had the inning. Something unfelt, unknown before stirred within his heart’s center. He bared his head, bowed and went his way. Imogene simply smiled.

“Well, a smile at last,” she mused, as his grotesque figure receded. “How grandly awkward he was! I was tempted to laugh. Surely he is Nature’s caricature of man.”

Chapter II

It seemed to Imogene that a century had passed since the unlucky Thursday that landed her on Farmer Hillman’s farm, but she knew the apparent century was only three days. Now, the fourth day had come. She felt that it would be one of supreme trial, for she must go to church. On the previous Sunday her father had invited her to hear Rev. James, a celebrated minister of her home city, and she had refused on the plea that she could not endure his cant. Yet she would rather listen to Rev. James’ oratorical cant, than be bored by a country preacher’s rant; she must submit to the greater persecution.

Usually August Hillman did not have a big head, but when he conducted a legislator and a legislator’s daughter up the narrow aisle of the quaint old country church that appendage swelled beyond its usual dimensions. He saw that the people stared in wonder at the strangers with him. A little spark of vanity kindled in his heart and burned there even while a deacon prayed a long prayer and while the preacher preached a long sermon.

Imogene heard all of the pastor’s sermon, although it was unreasonably long and wearisome.

Her motive for listening, however, made the at-* tention a reproach. If she should ever know more of his life she could, by remembering that sermon, know if he practiced what he preached. She had no thought of having her own heart purified by the lesson he taught.

Imogene had very definite though esoteric ideas of what constituted Christians. She was not yet willing to be one of the sect. She always critically examined those who were called by that name. In order that she might judge well she had carefully studied the Bible. The Bible taught much that destroyed all confidence in the claim of many who alleged that they were regenerated. Those stumbling blocks were often in her mind, but she seldom thought of the other class that the Bible justified. Christians were always on trial before her. Her testing tube was in part the epitome, ‘‘You cannot serve God and Mammon.” “What fellowship has righteousness with unrighteousness.” While listening to the country preacher she was wondering if she would ever have an opportunity to try the quality of his Christianity or that of the simple worshipers around her.

The long service was finally ended. Imogene hastened out into the open air, thinking that her father was closely following. The tardy man, however, was halted at the door and detained there by a group of rustics, old and young. He stood grandly In their midst like one of the few real aristocrats of the world. Though conscious of his superiority — ^he did not make comparison on any fictitious line — his true nobility would not allow him to make a show of such knowledge. There was no better-than-you expression on his handsome face. He gallantly accorded the humble creatures so heartily welcoming him all the courtesy he would have shown his equals. Many were strangers, some had played with him when he wore knee-trousers, a few had been his father’s comrades. He had a pleasant smile and amiable words for all and grasped their hard hands as if they were friends to whom he had returned after a long absence.

Imogene stood at the churchyard gate. She watched, in disgust, the scene in which her father was the central figure. At last she saw her father approaching her. Much to her annoyance, he was not alone. The rustics swarmed after him like jealous courtiers around their king.

‘^Just what I expected,” Imogene mused. ^‘His democracy has driven the rustics beside themselves. Smile on that class of people and they will think you mean to make them your bosom friends. If they are introduced to me I will gather their scattered wits together.” Her look instantly grew cold and high. She would have frozen the blood in the warmest-hearted.

The humble countryfolk reached the gate and stopped. Imogene anticipated what was next. The repellent haughtiness that had settled on her features deepened and chilled the lowly people before her, for they were human though of a poorer station than she. August Hillman was unnerved by her manner but Otto went on with the ceremony she dreaded just as if she wore the pleasantest countenance ever known to woman. She felt command in his look and in obedience to that command bowed to the rustics.

In the whole group Imogene beheld not one interesting face. All were dull and commonplace, but one face was plainer than the others and one form less symmetrical than the rest. The eyes of the ‘^extremist” were riveted on her. There was nothing impudent in the stare. It was a look of veneration; but Imogene resented it because it came from one of a class that she despised — a class of inferiors that she would never recognize except as servants.

The “extremist” was no other than the “caricature” Nature had sculptured in human flesh. Imogene considered him physically a burlesque of man; she cared not what he was spiritually, for he was financially poor. Other men of the group bared their heads momentarily when they were introduced to her, but that one held his hat in his hand all the while he was in her presence. She accepted such marked homage as her due.

“He honors my rank,” she said to herself. “That is as it should be.”

Chapter III

“Indeed, I shall call it ‘The Tombs.’ No other name suits half so well. And I am responsible for my being here. Think of it! Never again shall I be so indiscreet.”

As she nicknamed the estate, Imogene drew impatiently nearer the window and looked out over those “hundred acres” of which August boasted. A diversified landscape lay in picturesque beauty before her. Nature had blessed “The Tombs” with scenes worth preserving on canvas more tangible than memory. Therefore, Imogene, a sensuous creature who never traveled without artists’ materials, brought out her paraphernalia for painting.

“I have no other diversion,” she complained. “There is no instrument except an organ from which I dare not draw forth music less solemn than ‘Show pity. Lord, 0 Lord forgive’; — no books except the Bible, some prayer-books and a few antiquated volumes that an old woman of ninety would not read. I am bored to death by this monotony : lowing cattle, cackling geese, bleating sheep — heartily sick of it all. And papa hurls it in my teeth that I am solely blamable for being in the midst of a people I abhor. I wonder if they have any society. I 11 have never heard of a party, or ball, or —

Mr. Hillman’s entrance into the room interrupted her thought. A glance at her proud, restless face revealed to him the unhappy nature of her musings. He showed no pity, but thought the annoyance she suffered would teach her a salutary lesson.

‘‘Dear,” he said, tilting her pretty face and kissing it, “our presence at church yesterday was evidently an ‘alarm for the country folk to be up.’ They are up and doing. I have just received for us both an invitation to a reception to-night.”

“How impromptu!” she ejaculated. “It is now nearly afternoon,” she observed, turning toward her palette.

“Just be ready in time, dear. You must not keep us waiting.”

“Why, I shall not go.”

“Nonsense! Everybody else is going on as short a notice as yours. When you are in Rome you must do as the Romans do.”

“Had I an age for preparation I should still refuse to go, for I object to commingling with this backwood’s-rabble.”

“But for your choice these people could not disturb your peace. Now you must endure. I expect you to be duly dressed, child. The reception has been planned for you and me and all the country will be out to honor us.”

Imogene smiled scornfully.

“I should laugh, she said, “if I did not have for such presumption too keen a contempt. Is the idea of mixing on the same social plane with these people compatible with your sentiments, papa?”

“Yes. They are poor but clean in morals, though backward in intelligence. If we have superior culture do not make it a thing of supposition to them by keeping it far from their sight and touch. Place it under their scrutiny. Let them be in contact with it and its beauty will charm and inspire them. We can improve them more in a day by letting them see our better lives than we can in a year by telling them of better lives and saying to them, ‘Live such.’ ”

A laugh, musical though derisive, rippled over her lips.

“You forced me to it,” she said. “What a hubbub there would be if all the poor should clamor for wealth.”

“There is nothing to be compared with it but the ‘hubbub’ that an oppressed people make when they cry for liberty.”

His words were like a sword-stroke, but she rallied.

“The poor have health and strength, and can labor for physical sustenance. That ought to satisfy them.”

“Yes; in the same measure that breath should satisfy the serf and make him cease demanding freedom.”

He hit her hard but she would not give up.

‘‘Fancy them arrayed in silks and broadcloth, — a swine’s snout ornamented with a jewel. No amount of training could render them fit for a drawing-room, and I would rather have a donkey drink cocoa from my costly china cups than entertain any one of them as my guest.”

“You are not alone. Manifestly many Americans rather do absurdly insane things than reasonably sane ones.”

She understood him. That last shot, striking the wound already twice hit, vanquished her. Mr. Hillman sighed.

“Such talk,” thought he, “from her. Ah! If I only could make her see that the dollar is not the man. Pampered in luxury from her birth, she has been rendered alien to the less fortunate class and is hardened against them as some people who, long out of slavery, know not how to pity their trammeled fellowmen but are zealous despots. She puzzles me.”

With a heavy heart he put the complex riddle aside.

“Imogene,” he said, “remember that these people are my brother’s neighbors. They live happily together and neither party abuses the other. Therefore, let us not stir up enmity between them. Let us be amiable and win their hearts that they may have no occasion to think ill of any Hillman, but be knit to my brother in stronger bonds of friendship when we go than when we came/^

The altruism of his speech rang with a kingliness that moved Imogene. For his brother’s sake she would go; for his brother’s sake she would ignore her belief in the justice of caste barriers. Inasmuch as it was the least selfish thing she had ever resolved on, it would be the greatest she had ever done.

Imogene was ‘^duly dressed” and joined her father and uncle in the big sitting-room. There could be no competition in dress that night and she had sensibly chosen a gown that would place her as nearly as possible on par with the other girls. She wore no jewels excepting some ear ornaments. Her father complimented her taste; August and Mrs. Hillman looked in wonder at the beautiful face whose loveliness was not less brilliant than the diamonds that sparkled in her ears.

‘‘What will become of our home girls to-night?” August asked, still looking at her. “The heart of every fellow will fall at your feet.”

A fiery flash suddenly darted into Imogene’s eye. Did he suppose that she would tolerate the attentions of such an element?

“And I,” she said, “shall make a pavement of all that fall there.”

Otto drew her into his arms and softened the sharp words that had fallen on more ears than those within the room.

‘‘Imogene would persuade me that she will ever be mine alone,” he said as Mrs. Hillman responded to a knock at the half-open door and received from a brawny hand a parcel from a neighbor. The light flashed upon the carrier and exposed to Imogene’s view the plain features and bronzed face of him who seemed to be her evil genius.

Chapter IV

When it was learned that Imogene was not a Christian, the social function given in honor of herself and father quickly grew into a reception and dance.

“Will you dance to-night, papa?” she asked mischievously. “Let your staid Baptist feet be merry. You are in Rome and the Romans are dancing to-night.”

Imogene was with her father in the yard of the town hall. The ballroom was on the third and highest floor of the building. The town people and the residents of the country’s more wooded region were all proud of that tall hall. Its novelty made them think they doubly honored their distinguished guests by having the reception and dance there.

“Do not make a jest of my religious opinions,” said Mr. Hillman. “How many sets have you danced?”

“I have positively refused to dance at all. For excuse I said I was sick. I am homesick. A little prevarication to keep the good will of your brother’s neighbors is not a great sin, is it, good father?”

She looked at him with such a bewitching smile that, instead of chiding, he kissed her.

“I am going up to the ball again, papa, and leave you to your cigar. I wager the saintly folk who had hysteria yesterday are capering after another fashion to-night.’’

Imogene laughed and hastened away. She found the ballroom well filled but she failed to see there any who had posed as a Christian. The banjo and violin made a din of poor music; a pale giant called figures lustily; and Imogene watched the comical prancing of poor dancers as she would have watched the antics of a circusclown.

Not many feet from her she presently saw another spectator, — a man with a plain face, limpid eyes and tender countenance. The dissatisfaction written in the plain face made it interesting and the melancholy in the eyes made them eloquent. Imogene pitied him for a little while. Quickly remembering who he was, she hardened her heart. Had a gentleman of her rank looked so, her pity had been proper; but she could never be in sympathy with a poor person’s aspiration. The fellow was strong of body, and able to do hard work the year round. He ought to be happy. She put him out of mind and moved on to another quarter of the room.

Feet were flying merrily, banjo and violin were competing wildly; but, as one word, ^Tire!” was shouted in the room the music stopped and the dancers ran a race.

Mr. Hillman heard the cry and rushed instantly to the rescue of his child. It was vain. The throng of terrified fugitives from the burning building swept him back into the open air.

In that sparsely settled district for which the appellation ‘Hown’’ was a glaring misnomer, there was no salvage corps. The fire was absolute monarch. While the pride of the town was being reduced to ashes, men stood aghast and women wrung their hands and wept. Mr. Hillman was dumb with grief as he looked on what he thought must be his daughter’s funeral pyre.

Imogene stood alone in the deserted ballroom. She could not justly blame anyone but herself for her situation. But for her wicked curiosity she would not have been there. Now the crisis had come. What was left her but to die.^ Perhaps she could have escaped long ago if she had not shrunk from being jostled by those common people. But now when death seemed inevitable the despicable poor seemed less loathsome. If they would return to save her she would gladly go with them.

The suffocative smoke, a forerunner of the destructive fire, now enveloped Imogene. Her breathing was labored and she was scorched by the heat from the on-rolling flames. In the smoky gloom she beheld the dim outline of a man — the man whom she had disdained to pity. She knew him, but not by his sunburnt face; for it was pale and ghostly. Intuitively she knew him.

His hair stood. His eyes were wild, but his nerve was firm. He said nothing but acted his part. Clasping her in one strong arm, he rushed to a window, seized a rope he had securely fastened somewhere, somehow, and glided gently, swiftly down to the ground. It was glorious peril to jeopardize his life for her sake.

“Brave Harry!”

“Bold Tracy!”

The crowd yelled tumultuously as the hero laid the daughter in the father ^s arms and disappeared in the darkness.

Chapter V

To effect Imogene’s salvation more was necessary than to rescue her from the burning hall. Harry Tracy’s heroic effort was supplemented by a physician’s skill lest the severe attack on her nerves prove fatal. Finally the physician assured her anxious kin that he was the master and their fears were relieved. Once when a peaceful sleep settled on her, Mr. Hillman, who had been a constant watcher in her chamber, was persuaded to walk out.

It was a day full of sunshine, songs of birds, sweet breath of flowers, and every luxury of Nature that summer suggests.

Mr. Hillman passed by the little schoolhouse where he had been, much against his will, introduced to “reading, ’riting, ’rithmetic.” His parents praised, but he condemned the law that allowed him to be kept in a cabin and made to toil with figures, readers and copy books while he longed to be out of doors. It was better to build a citadel of snow than to do a horrid sum ; it was better to watch life come bubbling back into the brook than to read of it in print that could not tell the story as lucidly as Nature did; no beautiful specimen that he imitated meant as much to him as flailing nuts from the trees. He 21 was sure that every boy felt as he did — every boy excepting August. When he considered August who never incurred the teacher’s frown, always escaped the chastening rod, and never complained of anything, he was filled with wonder.

August was the scholar in those days, but Otto had his merits too. If ever a stranger lost his way and asked the elder Hillman’s for a guide, Otto was called to direct him; if ever the neighbors missed their stock Otto was asked if he had seen it straying. Otto knew the hillside where the prettiest flowers grew; the valley where the dew lingered longest; the pool where the water was coolest; the place In the brook that most abounded .with minnows; the place where the tallest cattails stood; where the river laid the pearliest mussel shells ; where lay the most curious arrow-heads, relics of the departed Indians who fought battles or hunted deer there before he and his inhabited the place. And whenever Otto opened the great chest he had made and showed his brother a large collection of arrow-heads, mussel shells and glittering odd-shaped rocks it was August’s turn to wonder.

Mr. Hillman smiled broadly as he passed under the boughs of an old oak tree. Those branches had sheltered him many years ago while he lay on his back and watched their trembling leaves. The two brothers had been playing together on the roadside, but when it was nearly time to go home August hastened to gather berries for their mother. When he returned Otto said abruptly: ‘^August, I ain’t goin’ to cut turnip-tops, and dig ’taters, and give them cows fodder all my life. Is you?”

August replied, ^‘I guess so, if I can do no better. I suppose you are a little lazy just now, aren’t you, and don’t want to do anything but rest in the shade.”

^^I s’pose I ain’t lazy, nothin’ of the kind,” Otto answered, ^‘but I just ain’t goin’ to do them things all my life.”

^^What are you going to do?”

Otto hesitated.

^‘I don’t know what I’m goin’ to be, but I’m goin’ to be what that man is who spoke at the courthouse t’other day.”

‘^Oh, a legislator,” little August coached.

“Yes,” said Otto as his treacherous memory supplied the term he had lacked, “I am goin’ to be a politicianer and have the people send me to the Leguslature.”

“You going to the Legislature and leave father and mother!” August looked surprised. “Oh, Otto, what would they do without you and me? You know they are looking for us to grow up and help them.”

“I can help them if I’m a legislator, can’t I?”

“Perhaps so ; but I would never leave them for all the legislatures in the world. I mean to stay right here and make this whole farm ours. Mother will be happy.”