d out, Essie baby. Look at your little face! Go wash it,
baby, and cool it off before old man Gibbs comes."

"It ain't hot, ma."

"He brought you into the world, Essie baby, and I don't want him to see
it--to see it all--all--"

"I'm all right, ma. Lemme stay by you."

"Go wash your face, Ess. Ma says go wash your face."

"You shut up, Jimmie Birdsong--it ain't your face!"

"You know all righty, missy, why she wants you to wash it--you know--"

"Ma, he keeps fussin' with me! Jimmie, please don't."

"Aw, I ain't, neither, ma. She's always peckin' at me. I--I ain't mad at
her; but I want her to wash that--that stuff off her face."

"Jimmie!"

Her lips quivered, and she glanced toward the stranger, with her lips
drooping over her eyes like curtains to her shame; and he smiled at her
with eyes as soft as spring rain, his voice a caress.

"Go, little lady. You're all tired out and too pretty and too sweet not
to wash your face and--cool it off."

"She's gotta go, or I'll get her in a corner and rub--"

"I'm goin', ain't I, Jimmie? Honest, the minute we make up you begin
pickin' a fuss again."

"Oh, my children!"

"Oh, Gawd, there she goes off again! Why don't old man Gibbs come? Lay
her down, Joe; she can't breathe that way. Look! Her hands are all
blue-like. Hold her up, Joe! Oh, Gawd, why don't old man Gibbs come?
She's all shakin'--all shakin'!"

"No, I ain't. What you cryin' there at the foot of the bed for, Essie?
It ain't no time to cry now, darlin'. It's like it says on the crocheted
lamp-mat your papa's aunt did for us--'God is Good!' Where is that mat,
Essie? I--I ain't seen it round for--so--long. God is good!
God--is--good! Where is that mat, Essie?"

"It's round somewheres, ma. It's old and worn out--in the rag-bag,
maybe."

"Well get it out, Essie."

"Yes, ma."

"Promise, Essie!"

"Sure, ma; we'll get it out and keep it out."

"Oh, Joe, why did you keep us waitin' and waitin'? She's so little and
pretty. Look at her dimples, Joe, even when she's cryin'. The prettiest
girl in the notions, she was; and I--I been so scared for her, Joe. Why
did you keep us waitin' and waitin'?"

"Me and the little girl was slow in getting here, ma; but we--we're here
for good now--ain't we, little lady? Little lady with the hair just like
ma's!"

"She gets it from me, Joe. Her papa used to say her hair was like the
copper trimmings of his machines. Such machines he kept, Joe! His boss
told me hissel