There were about fifteen hundred people in the town of Lockburg. Some five hundred of these were negroes. Nearly every white man owned his home; nearly every negro owed his rent. Nearly every white man had a bank account; nearly every negro, a grocery account. Renfroth, the banker, was an ordinary man of the white race. Jiles Brennen, the smartest negro in a circle of twenty miles, did not know the meaning of interest. White children listened to their parents, read the daily papers, and discussed the signs of the times. Negro children paraded the street, delighted in being out of sight and hearing of their parents, and but few could tell the time of day on the face of a clock. The white teachers were competent and faithful. The one negro teacher had neither legs nor training. The white people returned from church saying: "These points in the sermon fit right into our business ventures. These show our need of moral fiber and the remedy. May they do us good, as the truth always does the meek and far-seeing." The negroes returned from church shouting and praising some "preaching man."

Jiles Brennen and several others were an exception to this rule. Jiles knew most of the white people better than they knew themselves. When he conversed with them he always "talked up." He knew the negroes better than they wanted to know themselves. There was not one who could not repeat a score of "wayside sermons" preached by Jiles. "A rat to its hole, and a negro to his folly," Jiles used to say. "When the last trumpet sounds some negro will be dividing his time between saying 'amen' to a sermon and 'cluck, cluck' to his neighbor's chickens." This remark brought Jiles more than fame. It brought blood.

"If the teacher and preacher of this district were killed and put into a bag, their ghosts would be too lazy to say 'Howdy.'" When the preacher heard this he offered a prayer for Jiles that was intended to remind him of a warm region. When the teacher heard of this remark, he said: "As I have no legs to go after the blackguard, I will let him come to his sense at leisure."

One dark night, as the preacher and others were crawling across a creek on a log someone held up a lantern in front of them.

"Go on," said the rest to the preacher.

"I can't," replied he. "This light blinds me."

"Come on," shouted Jiles, "my light has blinded you before."

The white people took up the remark, and with it fought all Jiles' future battles.

Sickness and death determined negro society in Lockburg. All visited the sick. All attended the funeral. Why should not all attend all other functions? All answered the question for themselves, and attended regularly.

A score of men and women were chatting in Sister Renfro's bedroom when the preacher peeped in at the door and paused long enough to say: "Come out to 'sifting meeting' to-night. Spread the news."

"Will Jiles be there with his lantern?" asked Neal Grafton, a friend of Jiles.

"Never mind about that," answered Sister Renfro. "Say what you please about him, but he's a preaching man."

Sister Renfro's guests soon began to spread the news. Neal Grafton was the most active of all. He stood where he could command four corners.

"Sister Polly," he called to a rather corpulent woman who was passing with a heavy bundle of clothes on her head, "stop a minute—'sifting meeting' to-night!"

"What you say, Brother Grafton? Come here! You knows I can't hear like I used to. I caught cold from shouting at the big meeting five years ago. Who could have kept sober feet? That was a preaching man."

"I say, Sister Polly——"

"Now, stop, son. Let me get in hearing order." After wiping her face with her apron, she said: "Now go on, son."

"Sister Polly, there will be a 'sifting meeting'——"

"Hold, son! The bundle comes down over my ears. Raise it a little. A 'sifting meeting'? Where? Oh! at the church? Raise up the bundle again, son. Now hold it there. Now tell me about it."

"That's all, Sister Polly."

"No! No! It's been five years since we had one. You heard your mother tell about it, didn't you?"

"Yes, but——"

"I know you did; she was there. Sister Renfro was there. I was there. It was a glorious time."

"Yes, Sister Polly, but——"

"My head's just beginning to rest, son. Well, the negroes lied and lied, but one told the truth."

"May I put the bundle on the ground?"

"The clothes are clean, son. I'll head them again soon. That sister told the truth and her head fell. Hold a little longer."

"Oh, my arms, Sister Polly!"

"Hold till I raise up that woman's head. I'll listen afterward."

"After I take the bundle?" "No, son. Hand it here. 'Sifting meeting' at the church? I'll be there."

Sister Polly went on humming, and left Grafton rubbing his arms. He notified a number of others, at a distance.

Polly delivered the clothes and mentioned the "sifting meeting."

"What is such a meeting, Polly?" asked her employer.

"It's a meeting where you tell what you don't know and where people know what you don't tell. If you want more light, come to the meeting. Good-by, I'm in a hurry," answered Polly. Her employer was content to hear from the meeting.

An hour before meeting time Sisters Polly and Renfro were ready. They had spent considerable time arranging their hair. Polly's hair was rolled around a saucer that belonged to her employer. Sister Renfro's was put into the same shape by means of the flounce of an old black dress.

Just then one might have seen forty or fifty people, moving in single file, led by one with a lantern. There were no lights in the town. It was customary for someone with a lantern to come along and gather up the church-goers. The leader to-night was Grafton. Sisters Polly and Renfro joined the procession in the rear. It moved silently on to the end of the little bridge, when Sister Renfro stumped her foot and fell. Sister Polly, in trying to assist her, fell also. Both had to return home, and were late in reaching the meeting. Grafton led the procession into the church.

The church was cold, and fairly well filled with smoke. The sexton was rubbing his eyes. The preacher with closed eyes was tapping his foot and humming a hymn. Grafton suggested that the windows and doors be opened a few minutes, but the preacher demurred, saying that it was too cold. In consequence, the cloud-laden condition of the room was not altered. It is difficult to understand how the congregation remained in that smoky room two hours; but they did so.

The next day Neal Grafton reported the proceedings of the church to Jiles Brennen, and it took Jiles just six months to laugh "sifting meetings" out of the town and the community.

Sisters Polly and Renfro declared the preacher stopped the meeting to keep them from showing their new style of head-dress, and it took him a year to live down the accusation.

"Is your head well?"

"Not quite. Is yours?"

"Well it's doing better than it did after the other 'sifting meeting.'" These remarks and others of like tone showed the nature of the meeting, and also served to divide the congregation.

And the teacher? He did not count, and never had a wish to.