So they pounded the rice each day; just as they made bayberry candles on a string instead of using the molds which Theo had had sent from New York; just as they refused to scald the plantation piggins—shallow wooden buckets in which all staples were carried. It was bad luck: it might sour the wheat, or mold the coffee beans, or rot the precious everlasting rice. A great many things seemed to be bad luck. If Phoebe heard a screech owl in the woods, she could not possibly set bread that night, it would never rise. If the laundress on her way to the house from the quarters encountered a rabbit, or a black cat—or almost anything at all, it seemed—there could be no washing that morning. Lizette returned to her cabin.

'A plantation mistress should give her people simple religious instruction.'

In the first burst of enthusiasm Theo had tried to follow this precept too. On her second Sunday at the Oaks, she dutifully accompanied Joseph to the little parish church three miles away, endured an interminable sermon, then in the afternoon summoned the pickaninnies from the 'street' to the big house for Bible stories.

The children wriggled and squirmed, rolling longing eyes back toward the cabins, while Theo felt foolish and apologetic. She knew nothing of their previous Christian training—if any—and was suddenly conscious of her own deficiencies as a spiritual teacher.

Aaron had only an amused tolerance for orthodox religion, and such matters had not been included in her education. Still, it was surely an easy matter to read a Bible story, and she embarked bravely on Jonah and the whale.

When her voice stopped, all the kinky little black heads jerked, forty pairs of round eyes gazed at her unwinking.

'So you see,' she added, feeling that some pointing of the moral was indicated, 'God punished Jonah for his wickedness.'

The faces continued to regard her blankly.

'You understand the story, don't you?'

No answer for a moment, then a weedy ten-year-old broke into a pleased smile. 'Yas'm, Mistiss.'

She turned to him gratefully. He was the only child she recognized, Phoebe's son. 'You know what a whale is, don't you, Chance?'

He nodded, beaming. 'Ole wil'cat he wail in de woods'. 'No, that's different. I told you this was a big fish. It ate Jonah.'

Chance nodded intelligently. 'Sho wil'cat eat'um big fish, many time.'

She looked around at the others. 'Didn't any of you understand what I read you?'

They lowered their eyes, digging dusty toes into the porch planks. Someone giggled.

She sighed. 'Well, you may go now.'