Billy loves Nell and doesn't know it. He loved her before she was

married. The children make him rage superficially and burn inwardly. He

gambles and drinks, but is honest and adorable. What is going to make a

real man of him?

Jessie Litton's mother died in a private sanitarium for the mentally

unbalanced and she knows all about it. She loves Hampton Dibrell and

never looks in his direction or is a moment alone with him. He is in the

unattached state of ease where any woman can get him if she cares to

try, and Jessie has to keep her hands behind her.

Letitia is serenely happy with not a dark corner that I know of. She

loves Cliff Gray and always will. Cliff is faithful and as good as gold,

but he will hang around Jessie, who encourages him, because she is

lonely and considers him safely tied up with Letitia. Mr. Cockrell is

the best lawyer in town and Mrs. Cockrell the most devoted wife and

mother. I can only feel that Letitia Cockrell needs a jolt and I don't

see where it is coming from.

And I? I am lonely. And I feel that the constant anxiety about father is

more than I can bear, worse now when I realize what he has been and

could be--and that I love him. He is the hardest drinker in Goodloets

and yet never is drunk. He is soaked from the beginning of one day to

another. He began to drink like that the day my mother died and I have

always known that I was helpless to help him. The weakness was in him,

only supported by her strength so long as she was there. He was the most

brilliant mind in the state, and was one of the supreme judges when

mother died. Now Mr. Cockrell manages his business for him and I have

lately come to know that I must sit by and watch him disintegrate. I

cannot endure it now, as I have been doing. What is going to help me in

this--shame for him? I have gone away to my mother's people to forget

and left him to Dabney, and I've come home--to begin the suffering all

over. I'll never leave him again. What's going to help me?

And there is something deeper--a race something that fairly eats the

heart out of my pride. On almost every page of the history of the

Harpeth Valley the name of Powers occurs. One Powers man has been

governor of the state, and there have been two United States congressmen

and a senator of our house. Father is the last of the line. Because race

instinct is the strongest in women, I am the one who suffers as I see my

family die out. What is going to help me? A few gospel hymns in a tenor

voice the like of which I should have to pay at least three dollars to

hear in the Metropolitan? The scene on the porch rose in my mind, but I

felt that I both doubted and feared such succor.




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