"Drat statistics!" Miss Smith had flashed impatiently. "These are
folks."

Mrs. Vanderpool smiled indulgently. "To be sure," she murmured, "but
what sort of folks?"

"God's sort."

"Oh, well--"

But Miss Smith had the bit in her teeth and could not have stopped. She
was paying high for the privilege of talking, but it had to be said.

"God's sort, Mrs. Vanderpool--not the sort that think of the world as
arranged for their exclusive benefit and comfort."

"Well, I do want to count--"

Miss Smith bent forward--not a beautiful pose, but earnest.

"I want you to count, and I want to count, too; but I don't want us to
be the only ones that count. I want to live in a world where every soul
counts--white, black, and yellow--all. _That's_ what I'm teaching these
children here--to count, and not to be like dumb, driven cattle. If you
don't believe in this, of course you cannot help us."

"Your spirit is admirable, Miss Smith," she had said very softly; "I
only wish I could feel as you do. Good-afternoon," and she had rustled
gently down the narrow stairs, leaving an all but imperceptible