not to return. But the gods of lower Broadway thought otherwise. Not
that Mary Taylor did not believe in Miss Smith's work, she was too
honest not to believe in education; but she was sure that this was not
her work, and she had not as yet perfected in her own mind any theory of
the world into which black folk fitted. She was rather taken back,
therefore, to be regarded as an expert on the problem. First her brother
attacked her, not simply on cotton, but, to her great surprise, on Negro
education; and after listening to her halting uncertain remarks, he
suggested to her certain matters which it would be better for her to
believe when Mrs. Grey talked to her.

"Interested in darkies, you see," he concluded, "and looks to you to
tell things. Better go easy and suggest a waiting-game before she goes
in heavy."

"But Miss Smith needs money--" the New England conscience prompted. John
Taylor cut in sharply:

"We all need money, and I know people who need Mrs. Grey's more than
Miss Smith does at present."

Miss Taylor found the Lake George colony charming. It was not
ultra-fashionable, but it had wealth and leisure and some breeding.
Especially was this true of a circumscribed, rather exclusive, set which
centred around the Vanderpools of New York and Boston. They, or rather
Mr. Vanderpool's connections, were of Old Dutch New York stock; his
father it was who had built the Lake George cottage.

Mrs. Vanderpool was a Wells of Boston, and endured Lake George now and
then during the summer for her husband's sake, although she regarded it