"Remember that the slavery of your people was not necessarily a crime.
It was a school of work and love. It gave you noble friends, like Mr.
Cresswell here." A restless stirring, and the battery of eyes was turned
upon that imperturbable gentleman, as if he were some strange animal.
"Love and serve them. Remember that we get, after all, little education
from books; rather in the fields, at the plough and in the kitchen. Let
your ambition be to serve rather than rule, to be humble followers of
the lowly Jesus."

With an upward glance the Rev. Dr. Boldish sat down amid a silence a
shade more intense than that which had greeted him. Then slowly from the
far corner rose a thin voice, tremulously. It wavered on the air and
almost broke, then swelled in sweet, low music. Other and stronger
voices gathered themselves to it, until two hundred were singing a soft
minor wail that gripped the hearts and tingled in the ears of the
hearers. Mr. Bocombe groped with a puzzled expression to find the pocket
for his note-book; Harry Cresswell dropped his eyes, and on Mrs.
Vanderpool's lips the smile died. Mary Taylor flushed, and Mrs. Grey
cried frankly:

"Poor things!" she whispered.

"Now," said Mrs. Grey, turning about, "we haven't but just a moment and
we want to take a little look at your work." She smiled graciously upon
Miss Smith.

Mrs. Grey thought the cooking-school very nice.

"I suppose," she said, "that you furnish cooks for the county."