Her hand took the lipstick, and in an instant she was carried away in the air through the spring, and looking down with a half-drowsy smile from a purple cloud she saw from above a chinaberry tree, dark and smooth and neatly leaved, neat as a guinea hen in the dooryard, and there was her home that she had left. On one side of the tree was her mama holding up her heavy apron, and she could see it was loaded with ripe figs, and on the other side was her papa holding a fish-pole over the pond, and she could see it transparently, the little clear fishes swimming up to the brim.

“Oh, no, not chinaberry flowers—secret ingredients,” said Miss Baby Marie. “My cosmetics have secret ingredients—not chinaberry flowers.”

“It’s purple,” Livvie breathed, and Miss Baby Marie said, “Use it freely. Rub it on.”

Livvie tiptoed out to the wash stand on the front porch and before the mirror put the paint on her mouth. In the wavery surface her face danced before her like a flame. Miss Baby Marie followed her out, took a look at what she had done, and said, “That’s it.”

Livvie tried to say “Thank you” without moving her parted lips where the paint lay so new.

By now Miss Baby Marie stood behind Livvie and looked in the mirror over her shoulder, twisting up the tassels of her hair. “The lipstick I can let you have for only two dollars,” she said, close to her neck.

“Lady, but I don’t have no money, never did have,” said Livvie.

“Oh, but you don’t pay the first time. I make another trip, that’s the way I do. I come back again—later.”

“Oh,” said Livvie, pretending she understood everything so as to please the lady.

“But if you don’t take it now, this may be the last time I’ll call at your house,” said Miss Baby Marie sharply. “It’s far away from anywhere, I’ll tell you that. You don’t live close to anywhere.”

“Yes’m. My husband, he keep the money,” said Livvie, trembling. “He is strict as he can be. He don’t know you walk in here—Miss Baby Marie!”

“Where is he?”

“Right now, he in yonder sound asleep, an old man. I wouldn’t ever ask him for anything.”

Miss Baby Marie took back the lipstick and packed it up. She gathered up the jars for both black and white and got them all inside the suitcase, with the same little fuss of triumph with which she had brought them out. She started away.

“Goodbye,” she said, making herself look grand from the back, but at the last minute she turned around in the door. Her old hat wobbled as she whispered, “Let me see your husband.”