"Yas'm, he—he likes ter git yere early; doan't yer, Trusty?"
"Yes, I'm sure he does," put in Miss North tactfully. "And now, perhaps he would like to help by getting some of the dust out of these erasers; they aren't very clean this morning."
His eyes brightened. "Yas'm!"
The two came back looking as if they had been temporarily detained in a flour-barrel.
"Why, yes, those are very clean; but you seem to be just a little dusty yourselves, aren't you?"
"Yas'm," agreed Trusty, while Ezekiel brushed him with doubtful success. "Kin ole Sam'el Smiff dus' 'em?"
"Samuel Smith? I don't think Samuel ever did dust them——"
"'Cuz me 'n' 'Zekiel kin dus' 'em good's dat 'mos' any time; cyan't we, 'Zekiel?"
By the time that school was ready to begin that morning, there stood a stately line of "visitors from the North" across Miss North's room, ready for enlightenment on the Negro Problem. And as Miss North began: "We are having a new month to-day, children; who can tell me what the name of the month is?" the line drew itself up, preparatory to getting right down to the heart of the matter.