The priest smiled. "Your resentment is just," said he. "But the truth is, it was not formulated as an opinion until late last night. I called at your house this morning and was told that you had set out for the county-seat. And I have overtaken you."
The Major reined up his horse. Both horses stopped. "Mr. Brennon, you are a gentleman, sir. My hand."
They shook hands and rode on. The Major was deep in thought. "It has all been brought about by that scoundrel Mayo," he said at last. "He has instilled a most deadly poison into the minds of those people. I will telegraph the governor and request him to send the state militia into this community. The presence of the soldiers will dissolve this threatened outbreak; and by the blood, sir, Mayo shall be convicted of treason against the state and hanged on the public square in Brantly. And that will be an end of it."
The priest said nothing, and after a time the Major asked: "How are you getting on with your work?"
"I am greatly encouraged, and I wish I had more time."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I have told you that the church can save the negro. Do you know a negro named Bob Hackett?"
"Yes; he was a worthless politician, but they tell me that he has withdrawn from active politics and gone to work. What about him?"
"He is now a communicant of the church," the priest answered. "He acknowledges a moral authority; and I make bold to say that should trouble come, he will take no part in it. And I make still bolder to say that the church, the foster mother of the soul of man, can in time smooth all differences and establish peace and brotherly regard between the white man and the negro. The Ethiopian cannot change his skin, but true religion whitens his soul and makes him our brother."
"Your sentiment is good," replied the Major, "but religion must recognize an impossibility. The white man and the negro can never hold each other in brotherly regard. Never."