“That’s right! She is. Last time I seed Tempy, she told me she couldn’t stand de Baptist no mo’—too many low niggers belonging, she say, so she’s gonna join Father Hill’s church, where de best people go.... I told her I didn’t think much o’ joinin’ a church so far away from God that they didn’t want nothin’ but yaller niggers for members, an’ so full o’ forms an’ fashions that a good Christian couldn’t shout—but she went on an’ joined. It’s de stylish temple, that’s why, so I ain’t said no mo’. Tempy’s goin’ on thirty-five now, she’s ma oldest chile, an’ I reckon she knows how she wants to act.”

“Yes, I reckon she do.... But there ain’t no church like de Baptist, praise God! Is there, Sister? If you ain’t been dipped in that water an’ half drowned, you ain’t saved. Tempy don’t know like we do. No, sir, she don’t know!”

There was no fruit or dessert, and the soiled plates were not removed from the table for a long time, for the two old women, talking about their children, had forgotten the dishes. Young flies crawled over the biscuit bread and hummed above the bowl of peas, while the wood fire died in the stove, and Sandy went out into the sunshine to play.

“Now, ma girl, Maggie,” said Sister Whiteside; “de man she married done got to be a big lawyer in St. Louis. He’s in de politics there, an’ Maggie’s got a fine job herself—social servin’, they calls it. But I don’t hear from her once a year. An’ she don’t send me a dime. Ma boys looks out for me, though, sometimes, round Christmas. There’s Lucius, what runs on de railroad, an’ then Andrew, what rides de horses, an’ John, in Omaha, sends me a little change now an’ then—all but Charlie, an’ he never was thoughtful ’bout his mother. He ain’t never sent me nothin’.”

“Well, you sho is lucky,” said Hager; “’cause they ain’t no money comes in this house, Christmas nor no other time, less’n me an’ Annjee brings it here. Jimboy ain’t no good, an’ what Harriett makes goes for clothes and parties an’ powderin’-rags. Course, I takes some from her every week, but I gives it right back for her school things. An’ I ain’t taken nothin’ from her these three weeks she’s been workin’ at de club. She say she’s savin’ her money herself. She’s past sixteen now, so I lets her have it.... Po’ little thing! . . . She does need to look purty.” Hager’s voice softened and her dark old face was half abashed, kind and smiling. “You know, last month I bought her a gold watch—surprise fo’ her birthday, de kind you hangs on a little pin on yo’ waist. Lawd knows, I couldn’t ’ford it—took all de money from three weeks o’ washin’, but I knowed she’d been wantin’ a watch. An’ this front room—I moved ma bed out last year an’ bought that new rug at de second-hand store an’ them lace curtains so’s she could have a nice place to entertain her comp’ny. . . . But de chile goes with such a kinder wild crowd o’ young folks, Sister Whiteside! It worries me! The boys, they cusses, an’ the girls, they paints, an’ some of ’em live in de Bottoms. I been tried to get her out of it right along, but seems like I can’t. That’s why I’s glad she’s in de country fo’ de summer an’ comes in but only once a week, an’ then she’s home with me. It’s too far to come in town at night, she say, so she gets her rest now, goin’ to bed early an’ all, with de country air round her. I hopes she calms down from runnin’ round when she comes back here to stay in de fall.... She’s a good chile. She don’t lie to me ’bout where she goes, nor nothin’ like that, but she’s just wild, that’s all, just wild.”