The Souls of Black Folk - Dr. Earl Wright II

W. E. B. Du Boisand she studied doggedly. There were the Dowells from their farmover toward Alexandria,—Fanny, with her smooth black face andwondering eyes; Martha, brown and dull; the pretty girl-wife of abrother, and the younger brood.There were the Burkes,—two brown and yellow lads, and a tinyhaughty-eyed girl. Fat Reuben’s little chubby girl came, with goldenface and old-gold hair, faithful and solemn. ‘Thenie was on handearly,—a jolly, ugly, good-hearted girl, who slyly dipped snuff andlooked after her little bow-legged brother. When her mother couldspare her, ‘Tildy came,—a midnight beauty, with starry eyes andtapering limbs; and her brother, correspondingly homely. And thenthe big boys,—the hulking Lawrences; the lazy Neills, unfatheredsons of mother and daughter; Hickman, with a stoop in his shoulders;and the rest.There they sat, nearly thirty of them, on the rough benches, theirfaces shading from a pale cream to a deep brown, the little feet bareand swinging, the eyes full of expectation, with here and there atwinkle of mischief, and the hands grasping Webster’s blue-blackspelling-book. I loved my school, and the fine faith the childrenhad in the wisdom of their teacher was truly marvellous. We readand spelled together, wrote a little, picked flowers, sang, and listenedto stories of the world beyond the hill. At times the schoolwould dwindle away, and I would start out. I would visit MunEddings, who lived in two very dirty rooms, and ask why littleLugene, whose flaming face seemed ever ablaze with the dark-redhair uncombed, was absent all last week, or why I missed so oftenthe inimitable rags of Mack and Ed. Then the father, who workedColonel Wheeler’s farm on shares, would tell me how the cropsneeded the boys; and the thin, slovenly mother, whose face waspretty when washed, assured me that Lugene must mind the baby.“But we’ll start them again next week.” When the Lawrences stopped,I knew that the doubts of the old folks about book-learning hadconquered again, and so, toiling up the hill, and getting as far intothe cabin as possible, I put Cicero “pro Archia Poeta” into the simplestEnglish with local applications, and usually convinced them—for a week or so.On Friday nights I often went home with some of the children,—51