had smooth, full faces and nice eyes, and they were singing
to her from across the street!
As the child watched, one man in the middle, a broad-
shouldered, honey-colored man with a gap right between
his front teeth—that man lowered his songbook and looked
at her.
A sudden draft blew in from underneath the wide front
door, and the child dropped the curtain in fright and shiv-
ered in her cotton shift.
The singing stopped, and she was sorry that it had
ended. With one timid finger she lifted the corner of the
lace and twisted her head to peek out.
The Colored choir was gone, and the slate walk in
front of the stately house was cold and empty.
The child took a deep breath, wondering how a body
could manage jolly when her life was just plain misery.
She rushed into the kitchen and set the heavy kettle on
the front burner of the stove. She lingered there because it
was warm.
“Girl! Ain’t you got nothin’ better to do than slouch
front a’ the stove?” Annie Cook stuck her wide, dark face in
from the food pantry. The child could see a few tiny, shiny
specks, like Mistress’s diamonds, flicker on Annie Cook’s
cheeks. She was in there eating sugar out of a tiny copper
pan.
The child turned her back, reaching into the glass-
front cupboard to take out two pink Limoges cups and
saucers.
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