“You Sandy,” Aunt Hager called loudly from the kitchen-door. “Come in here an’ get me some water an’ cut mo’ firewood.” Her black face was wet with perspiration and drawn from fatigue and worry. “I got to get the rest o’ these clothes out yet this evenin’. . . . That chile Harriett’s aggravatin’ me to death! Help me, Sandy, honey.”

They ate supper in silence, for Hager’s attempts at conversation with her young daughter were futile. Once the old woman said: “That onery Jimboy’s comin’ home Saturday,” and Harriett’s face brightened a moment.

“Gee, I’m glad,” she replied, and then her mouth went sullen again. Sandy began uncomfortably to kick the table-leg.

“For Christ’s sake!” the girl frowned, and the child stopped, hurt that his favorite aunt should yell at him peevishly for so slight an offense.

“Lawd knows, I wish you’d try an’ be mo’ like yo’ sisters, Annjee an’ Tempy,” Hager began as she washed the dishes, while Harriett stood near the stove, cloth in hand, waiting to dry them. “Here I is, an old woman, an’ you tries ma soul! After all I did to raise you, you don’t even hear me when I speak.” It was the old theme again, without variation. “Now, there’s Annjee, ain’t a better chile livin’—if she warn’t crazy ’bout Jimboy. An’ Tempy married an’ doin’ well, an’ respected ever’where.... An’ you runnin’ wild!”

“Tempy?” Harriett sneered suddenly, pricked by this comparison. “So respectable you can’t touch her with a ten-foot pole, that’s Tempy! . . . Annjee’s all right, working herself to death at Mrs. Rice’s, but don’t tell me about Tempy. Just because she’s married to a mail-clerk with a little property, she won’t even see her own family any more. When niggers get up in the world, they act just like white folks—don’t pay you no mind. And Tempy’s that kind of a nigger—she’s up in the world now!”

“Close yo’ mouth, talking that way ’bout yo’ own sister! I ain’t asked her to be always comin’ home, is I, if she’s satisfied in her own house?”

“No, you aren’t asking her, mama, but you’re always talking about her being so respectable.... Well, I don’t want to be respectable if I have to be stuck up and dicty like Tempy is.... She’s colored and I’m colored and I haven’t seen her since before Easter.... It’s not being black that matters with her, though, it’s being poor, and that’s what we are, you and me and Annjee, working for white folks and washing clothes and going in back doors, and taking tips and insults. I’m tired of it, mama! I want to have a good time once in a while.”

“That’s ’bout all you does have is a good time,” Hager said. “An’ it ain’t right, an’ it ain’t Christian, that’s what it ain’t! An’ de Lawd is takin’ notes on you!” The old woman picked up the heavy iron skillet and began to wash it inside and out.