me too) was feeling before. I _am_
somebody here and every time I say 'Dr. Martin' to a well-educated Negro
physician whom another white man has just hailed as 'Andy' I feel not
only a real sense of righteous satisfaction but the joyful mischievous
fun that a small boy has. Give my love to Paul (speaking of small boys)
and tell him I'm saving up for the fishing-pole I am going to use when I
go fishing with him next summer. He said in his last letter he wanted to
come down here and make me a visit; but you tell him I think he'd better
get his growth before he does that."

X

March 15, 1921.

From a profound sleep, serene warm infinity of rest, Marise was wakened
by a little outcry near the bed, a sobbing voice saying through
chattering teeth, "Mother! Father!"

Still drowned in sleep, Marise cried out, "What? What's that?" and then,
"Oh, you, Elly. What's the matter, dear? Notions again?"

"Oh, Mother, it was an awful dream this time. Can't I get into bed with
you?"

"Why yes, come along, you dear little silly."

The fumbling approach to the bed, Marise holding the sheets open and
stretching out her hand through the cold darkness towards the little
fingers groping for her; the clutch at her hand with a quick anguish of
relief and joy. "Oh, _Mother!_"

Then the shivering body rolling into bed, the little cold arms tight
around her neck, the cold smooth petal-like cheek against hers.

Marise reached over beyond Elly and tucked the covers in with one arm,
drew the child closer to her, and herself drew closer to Neale. She
wondered if he had been awakened by Elly's voice, and the little stir in
the room, and hoped he had not. He had been off on a very long hard
tramp over mountain trails the day before, and had been tired at night.
Perhaps if he had been wakened by Elly he would drowse off again at once
as she felt herself doing now, conscious sleepily and happily of Elly's
dear tender limbs on one side of her and of Neale's dear strong body on
the other.

* * * * *

The strong March wind chanted loudly outside in the leafless
maple-boughs. As Marise felt her eyelids falling shut again it seemed to
her, half-awake, half-asleep, that the wind was shouting out the refrain
of an old song she had heard in her childhood, "There's room for all!
There's room for all! What had it meant, that refrain? She tried
drowsily to remember, but instead felt herself richly falling asleep
again,