Theo's spine prickled. She peered at the object on the sheet, unwilling to believe that she could be seeing truly. It was a small crude doll made of dried mud. The chant stopped. The old negress cocked her head as though she were listening.

Mrs. Alston struggled up from the pillows. 'How much longer will it be, Maum Chloe?' she panted.

Maum Chloe thrust the doll back into her bosom.'Conjuh say not till fust cock-crow, Mistiss.'

The woman sank back on the bed with a sobbing sigh. 'Such a long time—I don't know if I can——'

'Sho yo' kin, Mistiss. Yo' jus' chaw on dis bit o' conjuh root. He gib yo' sleep'. She thrust a hand into a bag that dangled from her apron strings and fished out a twisted black root. Its pungent smell filled Theo's nostrils.

Mrs. Alston let the negress put it into her mouth and sucked on it feebly.

'Good, Mistiss, enty? En Maum Chloe e'en cut de pain mo''. She fumbled beneath the bed, brought up the knife, thrust it rhythmically backward and forward a foot above the tossing, restless figure. Mrs. Alston grew quieter, her eyelids fell slowly.

Maria returned from the mantelpiece, a pile of wax pellets and fuzz in her cupped hand. 'Those worthless niggers—they never think to clean, unless you stand over them every minute. I found dust near half an inch thick over there behind the clock. If this were my house, I'd order ten lashes apiece for the whole parcel of them. They'd soon mend their ways.'

'Oh, hush,' begged Theo. 'Mrs. Alston is sleeping, and I

—I'm very tired. Won't you please show me my room?'

When Maria at last complied, Theo dropped down on the bed too exhausted to remove her dress. The fatigues of the long journey, her difficulties with Joseph, the ordeal of meeting the Alstons, were all overshadowed by the weird scene she had just witnessed in the great front chamber. How could intelligent people accept all the huggermuggery and black magic of the African mind for their own! Twins because a bird had called twice, a brandished knife and a dirty piece of root to deaden pain! Most monstrous of all, the hideous doll that was supposed to prophesy the exact moment of deliverance!

She pictured her father's incredulous amusement when she should tell him of this. She knew so well his hearty scorn for superstition, his calm, realistic approach to fact. Yet with it he had immense sympathy for suffering. He would have been as appalled as she by Maria's callous indifference, and the rest of the family's elaborate ignoring of Mrs. Alston's danger. Mrs. Alston. But I am Mrs. Alston too. This is now my family, my home, my country.

She buried her face in the pillow. 'I hate it here; I want to go home,' she whispered, and at the sound of her own voice she burst into tears.