While they were eating, Annjee came in from work with a small bucket of oyster soup in her hands. They heated this and added it to their supper, and Sandy’s mother sat down in front of the stove, with her feet propped up on the grate to dry quickly. It was very comfortable in the little kitchen.

“Seems like the snow’s melting,” said Annjee. “It’s kinder sloppy and nasty underfoot.... Ain’t been no mail today, has they?”

“No, honey,” said Hager. “Leastwise, I been washin’ so hard ain’t had no time to look in de box. Sandy, run there to de front do’ an’ see. But I knows there ain’t nothin’, nohow.”

“Might be,” said Annjee as Sandy took a match and went through the dark bedroom and parlor to the front porch. There was no mail. But Sandy saw, coming across the slushy dirty-white snow towards the house, a slender figure approaching in the gloom. He waited, shivering in the doorway a moment to see who it was; then all at once he yelled at the top of his lungs: “Aunt Harrie’s here!”

Pulling her by the hand, after having kissed and hugged and almost choked her, he ran back to the kitchen. “Look, here’s Aunt Harrie!” he cried. “Aunt Harrie’s home!” And Hager turned from the table, upsetting her tea, and opened wide her arms to take her to her bosom.

“Ma chile!” she shouted. “Done come home again! Ma baby chile come home!”

Annjee hugged and kissed Harriett, too, as her sister sat on Hager’s knees—and the kitchen was filled with sound, warm and free and loving, for the prodigal returned.

“Ma chile’s come back!” her mother repeated over and over. “Thank de Lawd! Ma chile’s back!”

“You want some fried apples, Harrie?” asked Sandy, offering her his plate. “You want some tea?”

“No, thank you, honey,” she replied when the excitement had subsided and Aunt Hager had released her, with her little black hat askew and the powder kissed off one side of her face.

She got up, shook herself, and removed her hat to brush down her hair, but she kept her faded coat on as she laid her little purse of metal mesh on the table. Then she sat down on the chair that Annjee offered her near the fire. She was thinner and her hair had been bobbed, giving her a boyish appearance, like the black pages in old Venetian paintings. But her lips were red and there were two little spots of rouge burning on each cheek, although her eyes were dark with heavy shadows as though she had been ill.

Hager was worried. “Has you been sick, chile?” she asked.

“No, mama,” Harriett said. “I’ve been all right—just had a hard time, that’s all. I got mad, and quit the show in Memphis, and they wouldn’t pay me—so that was that! The minstrels left the carnival for the winter and started playing the theatres, and the new manager was a cheap skate. I couldn’t get along with him.”