Miller breathed more freely when the lively crowd got off at the next station, after a short ride.  Moreover, he had a light heart, a conscience void of offense, and was only thirty years old.  His philosophy had become somewhat jaded on this journey, but he pulled it together for a final effort.  Was it not, after all, a wise provision of nature that had given to a race, destined to a long servitude and a slow emergence therefrom, a cheerfulness of spirit which enabled them to catch pleasure on the wing, and endure with equanimity the ills that seemed inevitable?  The ability to live and thrive under adverse circumstances is the surest guaranty of the future.  The race which at the last shall inherit the earth—­the residuary legatee of civilization—­will be the race which remains longest upon it.  The negro was here before the Anglo-Saxon was evolved, and his thick lips and heavy-lidded eyes looked out from the inscrutable face of the Sphinx across the sands of Egypt while yet the ancestors of those who now oppress him were living in caves, practicing human sacrifice, and painting themselves with woad—­and the negro is here yet.

“‘Blessed are the meek,’” quoted Miller at the end of these consoling reflections, “‘for they shall inherit the earth.’  If this be true, the negro may yet come into his estate, for meekness seems to be set apart as his portion.”

The journey came to an end just as the sun had sunk into the west.

Simultaneously with Miller’s exit from the train, a great black figure crawled off the trucks of the rear car, on the side opposite the station platform.  Stretching and shaking himself with a free gesture, the black man, seeing himself unobserved, moved somewhat stiffly round the end of the car to the station platform.

“‘Fo de Lawd!” he muttered, “ef I hadn’ had a cha’m’ life, I’d ‘a’ never got here on dat ticket, an’ dat’s a fac’—­it sho’ am!  I kind er ’lowed I wuz gone a dozen times, ez it wuz.  But I got my job ter do in dis worl’, an’ I knows I ain’ gwine ter die ’tel I’ve ’complished it.  I jes’ want one mo’ look at dat man, an’ den I’ll haf ter git somethin’ ter eat; fer two raw turnips in twelve hours is slim pickin’s fer a man er my size!”

VI

JANET

As the train drew up at the station platform, Dr. Price came forward from the white waiting-room, and stood expectantly by the door of the white coach.  Miller, having left his car, came down the platform in time to intercept Burns as he left the train, and to introduce him to Dr. Price.

“My carriage is in waiting,” said Dr. Price.  “I should have liked to have you at my own house, but my wife is out of town.  We have a good hotel, however, and you will doubtless find it more convenient.”

“You are very kind, Dr. Price.  Miller, won’t you come up and dine with me?”

“Thank you, no,” said Miller, “I am expected at home.  My wife and child are waiting for me in the buggy yonder by the platform.”