The Negro has as much prejudice as the white man. Under like conditions the negro would make the same laws against the white. This crept out in the treatment of Rodney. His worst enemies were always negroes. The Anglo-Saxon blood in his veins made scoffers of some and demons of others. To be pitied is the boy who has never framed the word "father" upon his lips. Rodney attempted it once, but failed, and never tried it again. He stood before his father bareheaded and with the coveted word upon his lips. "You have a fine head of hair," said his father. "That's what people say," replied Rodney. "Are you proud of it?" "Should I not be, sir?" "Well, my little man, it's a disgrace to you." This was the first and last meeting of Rodney and his father. Once two fine ladies of ebony hue visited his mother, to show their silk dresses and to take dinner. A large dish of parched horse-corn was placed in the center of the table. His mother said a solemn blessing, and the ladies looked vexed. "My dear people," she said, after looking them into a smile, "if you are good, this is good enough. If you are not good, it is too good. In either case, help yourselves." Rodney learned from this and similar incidents to make the most of a bad case. "A little corn, if you please," said one. She was helped plentifully by Rodney's mother. "Give me a part of yours," said the second to the first. She received about four-fifths of it. "You are too generous," said Rodney's mother, and refilled the plate. Rodney sat on the floor, stroked his cat, and eyed the fine dresses. The ladies munched with dignity, or fingered the laces on their sleeves. "I see Rodney has had the smallpox," said one. "Yes," replied his mother. "My boy had it, too." "How did it serve him?" "It killed him. All the good children die. It was a sad stroke to me. Well, since his death I have been able to dress like a lady." "Like a lady!" said the other. "How my old mistress used to say that word. I caught the inspiration then. It lingered in my bones a long time before it crept out thus." Here she surveyed her clothing with satisfaction. "I see that parched horse-corn and fine dresses go well together," said Rodney's mother, as she helped their empty plates. "You see we are considerate," said one. "Yes, and ladylike," said the second. "Yes, and patched with the blue and the gray," said Rodney's mother. They looked at their clothes, but saw not the point. "Mother," said Rodney, lying flat on his back, hugging the cat, and beating his heels upon the floor, "what is fine lace worth a yard?" "What is it worth, ladies?" said she. They looked at each other and frowned. "Rodney has begun, ladies. Be prepared," said his mother. Here she emptied the last of the corn into her visitors' plates. "When I washed for Mrs. Rodman a few months ago she had beautiful lace on her pillow slips."