“I want to travel,” she said to herself. “I want to go places, too.”

But that was why Jimboy married her, because she wasn’t a runabout. He’d had enough of those kind of women before he struck Stanton, he said. St. Louis was full of them, and Chicago running over. She was the first nice girl he’d ever met who lived at home, so he took her.... There were mighty few dark women had a light, strong, good-looking young husband, really a married husband, like Jimboy, and a little brown kid like Sandy.

“I’m mighty lucky,” Annjee thought, “even if he ain’t here.” And two tears of foolish pride fell from the bright eyes in her round black face. They trickled down on the letter, with its blue lines and pencil-scrawled message, and some of the words on the paper began to blur into purple blots because the pencil had been an indelible one. Quickly she fumbled for a handkerchief to wipe the tears away, when a voice made her start.

“You Annjee!” cried Aunt Hager in the open door. “Go to bed, chile! Go on! Settin’ up here this late, burnin’ de light an’ lurin’ all sorts o’ night-bugs an’ creepers into de house!” The old woman came in out of the dark. “Lawd! I might anigh stumbled over this boy in de middle o’ de flo’! An’ you ain’t even took off yo’ hat since you got home from work! Is you crazy? Settin’ up here at night with yo’ hat on, an’ lettin’ this chile catch his death o’ cold sleepin’ down on de flo’ long after his bedtime!”

Sheepishly Annjee folded her letter and got up. It was true that she still had on her hat and the sweater she had worn to Mrs. Rice’s. True, too, the whole room was alive with soft-winged moths fluttering against the hot glass of the light—and on the kitchen floor a small, brown-skin, infinitely lovable edition of Jimboy lay sprawled contentedly in his grandmother’s path, asleep!

“He’s my baby!” Annjee said gently, stooping to pick him up. “He’s my baby—me and Jimboy’s baby!”

IV. THURSDAY AFTERNOON

Hager had risen at sunrise. On Thursdays she did the Reinharts’ washing, on Fridays she ironed it, and on Saturdays she sent it home, clean and beautifully white, and received as pay the sum of seventy-five cents. During the winter Hager usually did half a dozen washings a week, but during the hot season her customers had gone away, and only the Reinharts, on account of an invalid grandmother with whom they could not travel, remained in Stanton.

Wednesday afternoon Sandy, with a boy named Jimmy Lane, called at the back door for their soiled clothes. Each child took a handle and between them carried the large wicker basket seven blocks to Aunt Hager’s kitchen. For this service Jimmy Lane received five cents a trip, although Sister Lane had repeatedly said to Hager that he needn’t be given anything. She wanted him to learn his Christian duties by being useful to old folks. But Jimmy was not inclined to be Christian. On the contrary, he was a very bad little boy of thirteen, who often led Sandy astray. Sometimes they would run with the basket for no reason at all, then stumble and spill the clothes out on the sidewalk—Mrs. Reinhart’s summer dresses, and drawers, and Mr. Reinhart’s extra-large B. V. D.’s lying generously exposed to the public. Sometimes, if occasion offered, the youngsters would stop to exchange uncouth epithets with strange little white boys who called them “niggers.” Or, again, they might neglect their job for a game of marbles, or a quarter-hour of scrub baseball on a vacant lot; or to tease any little colored girl who might tip timidly by with her hair in tight, well-oiled braids—while the basket of garments would be left forlornly in the street without guardian. But when the clothes were safe in Aunt Hager’s kitchen, Jimmy would usually buy candy with his nickel and share it with Sandy before he went home.