Mrs. Stevens found not the slightest difficulty in persuading Mrs. Roth to allow her name to be used, in connection with Mrs. Kinney’s, in the threat to withdraw their children if the little Garies were not immediately expelled.  Mrs. Roth swore by Mrs. Kinney, and the mere mention of that lady’s name was sufficient to enlist her aid.

Thus armed, Mrs. Stevens lost no time in paying a visit to Miss Jordan’s school.  As she entered, the busy hum of childish voices was somewhat stilled; and Lizzy Stevens touched little Em, who sat next her, and whispered, “There is my mother.”

Mrs. Stevens was welcomed very cordially by Miss Jordan, who offered her the seat of honour beside her.

“Your school seems quite flourishing,” she remarked, after looking around the room, “and I really regret being obliged to make a gap in your interesting circle.”

“I hope you don’t intend to deprive me of your little girl,” inquired Miss Jordan; “I should regret to part with her—­not only because I am very fond of her, but in consideration of her own interest—­she is coming on so rapidly.”

“Oh, I haven’t the slightest fault to find with her progress. That,” said she, “is not the reason.  I have another, of much more weight.  Of course, every one is at liberty to do as they choose; and we have no right to dictate to you what description of scholars you should receive; but, if they are not such, as we think proper companions for our children, you can’t complain if we withdraw them.”

“I really do not understand you, Mrs. Stevens,” said the teacher, with an astonished look:  “I have none here but the children of the most respectable persons—­they are all as well behaved as school children generally are.”

“I did not allude to behaviour; that, for all that I know to the contrary, is irreproachable; it is not character that is in question, but colour.  I don’t like my daughter to associate with coloured children.”

“Coloured children!” repeated the now thoroughly bewildered teacher—­“coloured children!  My dear madam,” continued she, smiling, “some one has been hoaxing you—­I have no coloured pupils—­I could not be induced to receive one on any account.”

“I am very glad to hear you say so,” rejoined Mrs. Stevens, “for that convinces me that my fears were groundless.  I was under the impression you had imbibed some of those pestilent abolition sentiments coming into vogue.  I see you are not aware of it, but you certainly have two coloured scholars; and there,” said she, pointing to Clarence, “is one of them.”

Clarence, who, with his head bent over his book, was sitting so near as to overhear a part of this conversation, now looked up, and found the cold, malignant, grey eyes of Mrs. Stevens fastened on him.  He looked at her for a moment—­then apparently resumed his studies.

The poor boy had, when she entered the room, an instinctive knowledge that her visit boded no good to them.  He was beginning to learn the anomalous situation he was to fill in society.  He had detested Mrs. Stevens ever since the night she had ejected him so rudely from her house, and since then had learned to some extent what was meant by the term nigger woman.