Iola Leroy - Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (suggested reading txt) 📗

“is more than handsome, she is lovely; more than witty, she is wise; more than brilliant, she is excellent.”

“Well, Harry,” said Mrs. Leroy, smiling, “if you keep on that way I shall begin to fear that I shall soon be supplanted by a new daughter.”

“Oh, no, mamma,” replied Harry, looking slightly confused, “I did not mean that.”

“Well, Harry,” said Iola, amused, “go on with your description; I am becoming interested. Tax your powers of description to give me her likeness.”

“Well, in the first place,” continued Harry, “I suppose she is about twenty-five years old.”

“Oh, the idea,” interrupted Iola, “of a gentleman talking of a lady’s age. That is a tabooed subject.”

“Why, Iola, that adds to the interest of my picture. It is her combination of earnestness and youthfulness which enhances her in my estimation.”

“Pardon the interruption,” said Iola; “I am anxious to hear more about her.”

“Well, she is of medium height, somewhat slender, and well formed, with dark, expressive eyes, full of thought and feeling. Neither hair nor complexion show the least hint of blood admixture.”

“I am glad of it,” said Iola. “Every person of unmixed blood who succeeds in any department of literature, art, or science is a living argument for the capability which is in the race.”

“Yes,” responded Harry, “for it is not the white blood which is on trial before the world. Well, I will bring her around this evening.”

In the evening Harry brought Miss Delany to call on his sister and mother. They were much pleased with their visitor. Her manner was a combination of suavity and dignity. During the course of the evening they learned that she was a graduate of the University of A⁠⸺. One day she saw in the newspapers that colored women were becoming unfit to be servants for white people. She then thought that if they are not fit to be servants for white people, they are unfit to be mothers to their own children, and she conceived the idea of opening a school to train future wives and mothers. She began on a small scale, in a humble building, and her work was soon crowned with gratifying success. She had enlarged her quarters, increased her teaching force, and had erected a large and commodious schoolhouse through her own exertions and the help of others.

Marie cordially invited her to call again, saying, as she rose to go: “I am very glad to have met you. Young women like you always fill my heart with hope for the future of our race. In you I see reflected some of the blessed possibilities which lie within us.”

“Thank you,” said Miss Delany, “I want to be classed among those of whom it is said, ‘She has done what she could.’ ”

Very pleasant was the acquaintance which sprang up between Miss Delany and Iola. Although she was older than Iola, their tastes were so congenial, their views of life and duty in such unison, that their acquaintance soon ripened into strong and lasting friendship. There were no foolish rivalries and jealousies between them. Their lives were too full of zeal and earnestness for them to waste in selfishness their power to be moral and spiritual forces among a people who so much needed their helping hands. Miss Delany gave Iola a situation in her school; but before the term was quite over she was force to resign, her health having been so undermined by the fearful strain through which she had passed, that she was quite unequal to the task. She remained at home, and did what her strength would allow in assisting her mother in the work of canning and preserving fruits.

In the meantime, Iola had been corresponding with Robert. She had told him of her success in finding her mother and brother, and had received an answer congratulating her on the glad fruition of her hopes. He also said that his business was flourishing, that his mother was keeping house for him, and, to use her own expression, was as happy as the days are long. She was firmly persuaded that Marie was her daughter, and she wanted to see her before she died.

“There is one thing,” continued the letter, “that your mother may remember her by. It was a little handkerchief on which were a number of cats’ heads. She gave one to each of us.”

“I remember it well,” said Marie, “she must, indeed, be my mother. Now, all that is needed to complete my happiness is her presence, and my brother’s. And I intend, if I live long enough, to see them both.”

Iola wrote Robert that her mother remembered the incident of the handkerchief, and was anxious to see them.

In the early fall Robert started for the South in order to clear up all doubts with respect to their relationship. He found Iola, Harry, and their mother living cosily together. Harry was teaching and was a leader among the rising young men of the State. His Northern education and later experience had done much toward adapting him to the work of the new era which had dawned upon the South.

Marie was very glad to welcome Robert to her home, but it was almost impossible to recognize her brother in that tall, handsome man, with dark-brown eyes and wealth of chestnut-colored hair, which he readily lifted to show the crimson spot which lay beneath it.

But as they sat together, and recalled the long-forgotten scenes of their childhood, they concluded that they were brother and sister.

“Marie,” said Robert, “how would you like to leave the South?”

“I should like to go North, but I hate to leave Harry. He’s a splendid young fellow, although I say it myself. He is so fearless and outspoken that I am constantly anxious about him, especially at election time.”

Harry then entered the room, and, being introduced to Robert, gave him a cordial welcome. He had just returned from school.

“We were talking of you, my son,” said Marie.

“What were you saying? Nothing of the absent but good?” asked Harry.

“I was telling