had bell-shaped sleeves that stopped right at the child’s
elbow; ribbon was woven through eyelet holes all around
their edges and tied into tiny bows.
She took her time and buttoned every button from her
waist to her neck. There was a lace pinafore with a fine
scalloped hem. She slipped on the stockings and buttoned
the boots.
And then she turned to the tall looking glass and saw
herself.
It was serious, her solemn brown face. Round at the
chin and only a little wide above her brows. Even, smart
eyes, she thought. Her mouth was kind of small. But her
hair!
She patted it furiously, but it did not match the rest.
She darted around the room, opening drawers and ward-
robe doors until she found an old comb. She examined it
closely to make sure none of Mistress’s horrible long, yel-
low hairs still clung to its teeth. Then she combed and
combed and parted and patted until the sides were all go-
ing down and there was a nice tuft falling to one side, just
over her left eye. She pushed it up.
She opened the door with both hands and walked
like a lady with small, deliberate steps. She ran her brown
hand along the banister as she walked downstairs. She felt
bright, like all the people in the Colored choir.
Something had changed.
“Damn you!” Annie Cook was hustling away the tea
tray as the child passed into the parlor. The child jerked
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