In the spring of 1881, I left Fisk University in search of a summer school. Knowing nowhere else to go, I went to the southwestern part of Arkansas. I had been informed by a Fisk student that there were vacancies in Hempstead county, and thither I bent my way in company with two other young men, also seeking summer employment, both of whom opened subscription schools in the State. I had taken two lessons a day in Latin during the school year just ended, and expected to “double my Greek” the next year. This would necessitate my being in at the beginning of the school year. I had always been politically inclined, and so had studied almost every artifice to win among strangers. We three rode from Hope, Arkansas, to Washington, a distance of ten miles, in an old-fashioned ambulance. On arriving at Washington, we were taken to the house of the colored teacher of that place. I looked at him; he extended his hand; I explained our business, and immediately he volunteered to assist us. I had a particular school in view on leaving Nashville. On arriving at Washington, I learned from Mr. Shepperson, the teacher referred to, that one of the trustees of that school was in town. I immediately started out in search of him. In a short time I was presented to a stoutly-built, heavy-set man, who was introduced as the gentleman I desired to see. I forthwith explained to Mr. Holt, for such was his name, that I had been informed that there was a colored school to be taught that summer in his district, and that I had come hoping I could get it. “Yes,” said he, “there is a school there, but it will be a month before it can open.” “Is that so?” said I. “I don’t see what I’ll do. Have you any objections to its being opened now?” “Oh, no; if the colored people are willing, I am,” said he. But I could see in the tone of his voice something that showed an unwillingness to have the school begin before Mr. Holt’s cotton was worked out. However, I took him at his word, and set out in the hot sun and sand, with my satchel on my back, to the desired plantation. On the way, I saw two million lizzards, one billion spiders, and a trillion scorpions, to say nothing of tarantulas and centipedes that appeared in countless numbers along my path. I arrived at Mr. H.’s house about six o’clock in the evening, and proceeded immediately to the cabin where the colored people lived. Finding no one at the cabin, I went to the field. “Good evening,” said I to an old colored lady. “Good evenin’,” said she. “I am from Fisk University, Nashville, Tenn. I have come out here to teach this school for you.” “Whar’s ’Fesser Thomson?” said she. “I don’t know where the Professor is, but I’ll teach for you. My name is Ross.” “Yas, sah.” “And your name?” “Daffney.” “Mrs. Daffney, will you show me how to find the rest of the colored people in this settlement?” “Yas, sah. Go down here and cross yonder, and you’ll come to a big field and some trees, sah.”