In the other rooms of the house there were no stoves, so the doors were kept open in order that the heat might pass through from the kitchen. They couldn’t afford to keep more than one fire going; therefore the kitchen was living-room, dining-room, and work-room combined. In the mornings Sandy would jump out of bed and run with his clothes in his hands to the kitchen-stove, where his grandmother would have the fire blazing, the coffee-pot on, and a great tub of water heating for the washings. And in the evenings after supper he would open his geography and read about the strange countries far away, the books spread out on the oilcloth-covered kitchen-table. And Aunt Hager, if her ironing was done, would sit beside the stove and doze, while Annjee tossed and groaned in her chilly bedroom. Only in the kitchen was it really bright and warm.

In the afternoons when Sandy came home from school he would usually find Sister Johnson helping Hager with her ironing, and keeping up a steady conversation.

“Dis gonna be a hard winter. De papers say folks is out o’ work ever’ where, an’, wid all dis sleet an’ rain, it’s a terror fo’ de po’ peoples, I tells you! Now, ma Tom, he got a good job tendin’ de furnace at de Fair Buildin’, so I ain’t doin’ much washin’ long as he’s workin’—but so many colored men’s out o’ work here, wid Christmas comin’, it sho is too bad! An’ you, Sis Williams, wid yo’ daughter sick in bed! Any time yo’ clothes git kinder heavy fo’ you, I ain’t mind helpin’ you out. Jest send dis chile atter me or holler ’cross de yard if you kin make me hear! . . . How you press dis dress, wid de collar turn up or down? Which way do Mis’ Dunset like it?”

“I always presses it down,” returned Hager, who was ironing handkerchiefs and towels on the table. “Better let me iron that, an’ you take these here towels.”

“All right,” agreed Sister Johnson, “’cause you knows how yo’ white folks like dey things, an’ I don’t. Folks have so many different ways!”

“Sho do,” said Hager. “I washed for a woman once what even had her sheets starched.”

“But you’s sure got a fine repertation as a washer, Sis Williams. One o’ de white ladies what I washes fo’ say you washes beautiful.”

“I reckon white folks does think right smart of me,” said Hager proudly. “They always likes you when you tries to do right.”

“When you tries to do yo’ work right, you means. Dey ain’t carin’ nothin’ ’bout you ’yond workin’ fo’ ’em. Ain’t dey got all de little niggers settin’ off in one row at dat school whar Sandy an’ Willie-Mae go at? I’s like Harriett—ain’t got no time fo’ white folks maself, ’ceptin’ what little money dey pays me. You ain’t been run out o’ yo’ home like I is, Hager. . . . Sandy, make haste go fetch my pipe from over to de house, an’ don’t stay all day playin’ wid Willie-Mae! Tote it here quick! . . . An’ you oughter hear de way white folks talks ’bout niggers. Says dey’s lazy, an’ says dey stinks, an’ all. Huh! Dey ought to smell deyselves! You’s smelled white peoples when dey gets to sweatin’ ain’t you? Smells jest like sour cream, only worser, kinder sickenin’ like. And some o’ dese foriners what’s been eating garlic—phew! Lawdy!”