Thus, homeless and heavy-hearted, I began anew my life among strangers.

As I hid myself in my little room in the college dormitory, away from
the scornful and yet curious eyes of the students, I pined for sympathy.
Often I wept in secret, wishing I had gone West, to be nourished by my
mother's love, instead of remaining among a cold race whose hearts were
frozen hard with prejudice.

During the fall and winter seasons I scarcely had a real friend, though
by that time several of my classmates were courteous to me at a safe
distance.

My mother had not yet forgiven my rudeness to her, and I had no moment
for letter-writing. By daylight and lamplight, I spun with reeds and
thistles, until my hands were tired from their weaving, the magic design
which promised me the white man's respect.

At length, in the spring term, I entered an oratorical contest among the
various classes. As the day of competition approached, it did not seem
possible that the event was so near at hand, but it came. In the chapel
the classes assembled together, with their invited guests. The high
platform was carpeted, and gaily festooned with college colors. A bright
white light illumined the room, and outlined clearly the great polished
beams that arched the domed ceiling. The assembled crowds filled the air
with pulsating murmurs. When the hour for speaking arrived all were
hushed. But on the wall the old clock which pointed out the trying
moment ticked calmly on.

One after another I saw and heard the orators. Still, I could not
realize that they longed for the favorable decision of the judges as