"Let us all rise," continued Rickey, unmoved, "and sing _Kingdom Coming_." And she struck up lustily, beating time on the stump with a stick:
"From all the dark places of earth's heathen races, O, see how the thick shadows flee!"
and the rows of children joined in with unction, the colored contingent coming out strong on the chorus:
"De yerf shall be full ob de wunduhful story As watahs dat covah de sea!"
The clear voices in the quiet air startled the fluttering birds and sent a squirrel to the tip-top of an oak, from which he looked down, flirting his brush. They roused a man, too, who had lain in a sodden sleep under a bush at a little distance. He was ragged and soiled and his heavy brutal face, covered with a dark stubble of some days' growth, had an ugly scar slanting from cheek to hair. Without getting up, he rolled over to command a better view, and set his eyes, blinking from their slumber, on the children.
"We will now take up the collection," said Rickey. ("You can do it, June. Use a flat piece of bark). Remember that what we give to-day is for the poor heathen in--in Alabama."
"That's no heathen place," objected Cozy with spirit. "My cousin lives in Alabama."
"Well, then," acquiesced Rickey, "anywhere you like. But I reckon your cousin wouldn't be above taking the money. For the poor heathen who have never heard of God, or Virginia, or anything. Think of them and give cheerfully."
The bark-slab made its rounds, receiving leaves, acorns, and an occasional pin. Midway, however, there arose a shrill shriek from the bearer and the collection was scattered broadcast. "Rosebud Meredith," said Rickey witheringly, "it would serve you right for putting that toad in the plate if your hand would get all over warts! I'm sure I hope it will." She rescued the fallen piece of bark and announced: "The collection this afternoon has amounted to a hundred dollars and seven cents. And now, children, we will skip the catechism and I will tell you a story."
Her auditors hunched themselves nearer, a double row of attentive white and black faces, as Rickey with a preliminary bass cough, began in a drawling tone whose mimicry called forth giggles of ecstasy.
"There were once two little sisters, who went to Sunday-school and loved their teacher ve-e-ery much. They were always good and attentive--_not_ like that little nigger over _there_! The one with his thumb in his mouth! One was little Mary and the other was little Susy. They had a mighty rich uncle who lived in Richmond, and once he came to see them and gave them each a dollar. And they were ve-e-ery glad. It wasn't a mean old paper dollar, all dirt and creases; nor a battered whitey silver dollar; but it was a bright round _gold_ dollar, right out of the mint. Little Mary and little Susy could hardly sleep that night for thinking of what they could buy with those gold dollars.