e watched
Rupert come around the house. Rupert had shed his coat and his sleeves
were rolled up almost to his shoulders. There was a streak of black
across his cheek and a large rip almost separated the collar from his
shirt. Although he looked hot, cross, and tired, more like a day-laborer
than a gentleman plantation owner whose ancestors had always "planted
from the saddle," his stride had a certain buoyancy which it had lacked
the day before.

With an idea of escaping Ricky by joining his brother, Val hurried
downstairs and headed kitchenward. But his sister was there before him
looking over a collection of knives of various lengths.

"Preparing for a little murder or two?" Val asked casually.

She jumped and dropped a paring knife.

"Val, don't do that! I wish you'd whistle or something while you're
walking around in those tennis shoes. I can't hear you move. I'm looking
for something to cut flowers with. There don't seem to be any scissors
except mine and I'm not going to use those."

"Take dat, Miss 'Chanda." A fat black hand motioned toward the paring
knife.

Just within the kitchen door stood a wide, a very wide, Negro woman. Her
neat print dress was stiff with starch from a recent washing, and round
gold hoops swung proudly from her ears. Her black hair, straightened by
main force of arm, had been set again in stiff, corrugated waves of
extreme fashion, but her broad placid face was both kind and serene.

"I'se Lucy," she stated, thoroughly at her ease. "An' dis," she reached
an arm behind her, pulling forth a girl at least ten shades lighter and
thirty-five shades thinner, "is mah sistah's onliest gal-chil',
Letty-Lou. Mak' yo' mannahs, Letty. Does yo' wan' Miss 'Chanda to think
yo' is a know-nothin' outa de swamp?"

[Illustration: "_I'se Lucy," she stated, thoroughly at her ease. "An'
dis is Letty-Lou._"]

Thus sternly admonished, Letty-Lou ducked her head shyly and murmured
something in a die-away voice.

"Letty-Lou," announced her aunt, "is com' to do fo' yo'all, Miss
'Chanda. I'se larn'd her good how to do fo' ladies. She is good at
scrubbin' an' cleanin' an sich. Ah done train'd her mahse'f."

Letty-Lou looked at the floor and twisted her thin hands behind her
back.

"But," protested Ricky, "we're not planning to have anyone do for us,
Lucy."

"Dat's all right, Miss 'Chanda. Yo'all's not gittin' a know-nothin'.
Letty-Lou, she knows her work. She kin cook right good."

"We can't take her