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Du Bois, W. E. B. (William Edward Burghardt), 1868-1963

"The Souls of Black Folk"


He said not a word, but, seizing a fallen limb, struck him
with all the pent-up hatred of his great black arm, and the
body lay white and still beneath the pines, all bathed in
sunshine and in blood. John looked at it dreamily, then walked
back to the house briskly, and said in a soft voice, "Mammy,
I'm going away--I'm going to be free."
She gazed at him dimly and faltered, "No'th, honey, is yo'
gwine No'th agin?"
He looked out where the North Star glistened pale above
the waters, and said, "Yes, mammy, I'm going--North."
Then, without another word, he went out into the narrow
lane, up by the straight pines, to the same winding path, and
seated himself on the great black stump, looking at the blood
where the body had lain. Yonder in the gray past he had
played with that dead boy, romping together under the sol-
emn trees. The night deepened; he thought of the boys at
Johnstown. He wondered how Brown had turned out, and
Carey? And Jones,--Jones? Why, he was Jones, and he
wondered what they would all say when they knew, when
they knew, in that great long dining-room with its hundreds
of merry eyes.


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