"Sweet Genevieve"

"Wilson, dear," said Constance Jacobs to her brother, the pastor, on his return from Attalia, Effingham, and other places where he was required to go in the interest of his work. Coming up to him in her usual manner, she kissed him fondly, for she was not only fond of this, her only brother, but she was proud of him. Well she could be, for Wilson Jacobs was a hard, conscientious worker in the moral uplift of his people. "I have a surprise in store for you," she said, "and if you are comfortable I will tell you."

"Little sister," he said, as he kissed her fondly in return, and gave her his undivided attention.

"I hardly know how to tell you, but I have with me, someone who came during your absence; the most unusual to be a usual girl I have ever known." She then related the instance of Mildred Latham's coming, and the circumstance, including the book. "I have read the book that she is selling, and with which she seems to be very successful, in fact, she is so successful that I am almost persuaded to take up the work myself. The story is interesting; but it is not that which has caused me much thought, it is the girl herself.

"She is a beautiful girl, intelligent, kind and winning, although she does not, as I can see, practice or exercise any arts to be winning. She is single, and does not appear to have any interest in the opposite sex, nor does she appear to care for any society. In fact, besides being nice and kind to all whom she chances to meet, she does not have any interest beyond the book. She is simply foolish about it, just as much so as though the author were her lover, and depended upon her for its success.

"There is something peculiar, that is, oh, Wilson, there is something, just something that I cannot understand about her, that's all." She gave up trying to express herself for a time, and then he spoke:

"In love, no doubt, and has had trouble."

"Yes," she said, then shook her head. "It might be that; but if it is, it is an extraordinary love affair; but I am confident it is deeper than that. I catch her at times looking into space as though her mind were far away. And at these times, I have taken notice that she is sad, very sad. My heart goes out to her when I see her like this, because, for some peculiar reason, I have fallen in love with her. She found a place to stay, and was going to move, but I could not think of it. She is the sweetest companion I ever had.

"I wish you would become interested in her, dear. I want you to. Perhaps you can get at the bottom of the mystery that surrounds her. I cannot, and it worries me, because I want to help her, and it hurts me when I feel that I cannot. She has become very much interested in your work, and has been helping me in the correspondence relative to the same."

"When can I meet this strange person you speak of, Constance? I am curious, from what you have said. I gather already that she may be able to help us in some way in our work."

"She went down the street for a walk, but will return shortly, since she never goes far." At that moment, steps sounded on the porch, and a moment later, Mildred entered quietly, and was on the way to her room, when Constance met her with: "Oh, Miss Latham. Please meet my brother who came since you went out. Miss Latham, my brother, Wilson Jacobs."

"My sister has just been speaking of you, Miss Latham," said he, after the exchange had been made.

"Indeed!" cried Mildred, smiling pleasantly upon Constance. "Your sister does me too much honor."

"Not a bit. I am glad to know you, and shall be pleased to become better acquainted as time goes on. I am told that you are selling a good book. I have observed advertisements of the same some time ago, and will be delighted to read it."

Mildred smiled pleasantly, hesitated, and then said: "Every one I sell to report that they love the book. I do myself. I think it is such a frank and unbiased story, and told so simply, that anyone can understand it; yet with a touching human interest that is, in a measure, vital to us all. Even persons more highly gifted can learn something from it, and be entertained as well."

"She has sold over a hundred copies in three weeks, which I think is extraordinary, don't you?" said Constance at this point, whereupon Mildred looked slightly embarrassed. She always did when anyone spoke in praise of her.

"Extraordinary, excellent, I should say," her brother smiled. "Where does she find such good customers?"

"I work among the women in domestic service," Mildred explained. Wilson looked surprised.

"Indeed! And do you find many readers among them? You have not been to many of the teachers?"

"I have, yes; but they do not seem to take much interest in work by Negroes, so far as I have been able to gather. I could not say for sure, of course not; but I do find the women in service, in great numbers, to be fond of reading and full of race pride. Of course, there are multitudes of ignorant ones who are not capable of appreciating literature and its value as moral uplift, but, as a whole, I am highly successful."

Wilson Jacobs was greatly moved by his first conversation with Mildred, and found himself thinking about her more than once in the days that followed. His sister became so deeply interested in her, that after a week had passed, she had taken up the work also.

"Do you ever play, Miss Latham?" inquired Constance a few days afterward, and late one afternoon, when they had returned from their work.

"A little," Mildred admitted. "But it has been so long since I have touched a key, that I am sure I should be very awkward if I attempted it. I think you play nicely."

The other laughed. "I only play when I am quite sure no one is likely to hear me. There is one piece I can play, and of which I am very fond. I heard you humming it the other day. As soon as the parlor is 'comfy,' I shall ask you to condescend to listen to me play it."

"What piece is that? Please tell me," Mildred inquired.

"Sweet Genevieve."

"Oh, yes...."

"Why, what is the matter, dearest?" cried Constance, hurrying toward her.

"Nothing, nothing!" said the other, hastily mopping her nose and eyes.

"Well, I'm relieved, but I thought I heard you sob, but of course you didn't. Of course not. Really, I begin to feel that if I don't get married soon, I'll become a nervous, cranky old maid."

"Please don't say such things about yourself," entreated Mildred. "You were not mistaken. I did—ah—I sobbed—I mean I coughed. I had something in my throat," she concluded nervously.

"I'm relieved," smiled the other, and, going to the piano, she struck the keys, and sang in a high contralto voice:

It was in the small hours of the morning when Mildred Latham's eyes closed in sleep. All the night through, the strains of Sweet Genevieve and what it recalled, tortured her memory, until it was from sheer fatigue that she did at last fall asleep.

She hoped Constance would play Sweet Genevieve no more.