From the age of five until I was sixteen I went to a school on the same grounds,—­down a lane, into a widened yard, with a big choke-cherry tree and two buildings, wood and brick.  Here I got acquainted with my world, and soon had my criterions of judgment.

Wealth had no particular lure.  On the other hand, the shadow of wealth was about us.  That river of my birth was golden because of the woolen and paper waste that soiled it.  The gold was theirs, not ours; but the gleam and glint was for all.  To me it was all in order and I took it philosophically.  I cordially despised the poor Irish and South Germans, who slaved in the mills, and annexed the rich and well-to-do as my natural companions.  Of such is the kingdom of snobs!

Most of our townfolk were, naturally, the well-to-do, shading downward, but seldom reaching poverty.  As playmate of the children I saw the homes of nearly every one, except a few immigrant New Yorkers, of whom none of us approved.  The homes I saw impressed me, but did not overwhelm me.  Many were bigger than mine, with newer and shinier things, but they did not seem to differ in kind.  I think I probably surprised my hosts more than they me, for I was easily at home and perfectly happy and they looked to me just like ordinary people, while my brown face and frizzled hair must have seemed strange to them.

Yet I was very much one of them.  I was a center and sometimes the leader of the town gang of boys.  We were noisy, but never very bad,—­and, indeed, my mother’s quiet influence came in here, as I realize now.  She did not try to make me perfect.  To her I was already perfect.  She simply warned me of a few things, especially saloons.  In my town the saloon was the open door to hell.  The best families had their drunkards and the worst had little else.

Very gradually,—­I cannot now distinguish the steps, though here and there I remember a jump or a jolt—­but very gradually I found myself assuming quite placidly that I was different from other children.  At first I think I connected the difference with a manifest ability to get my lessons rather better than most and to recite with a certain happy, almost taunting, glibness, which brought frowns here and there.  Then, slowly, I realized that some folks, a few, even several, actually considered my brown skin a misfortune; once or twice I became painfully aware that some human beings even thought it a crime.  I was not for a moment daunted,—­although, of course, there were some days of secret tears—­rather I was spurred to tireless effort.  If they beat me at anything, I was grimly determined to make them sweat for it!  Once I remember challenging a great, hard farmer-boy to battle, when I knew he could whip me; and he did.  But ever after, he was polite.

As time flew I felt not so much disowned and rejected as rather drawn up into higher spaces and made part of a mightier mission.  At times I almost pitied my pale companions, who were not of the Lord’s anointed and who saw in their dreams no splendid quests of golden fleeces.