that jimpson weed
poultice. Now what am I going to do?"

The negress gave a gasp at sight of the girl's face, and threw up her
hands in dismay.

"Lawsie, chile! How kum yer ter do sech a fool thing? A niggah dunno
nuffin' nohow. 'Sides, yer can't do hit in one night. Co'se not. Takes
two; mebbe three. I dunno."

"Then why did you tell me about it if you didn't know?" demanded Bee
indignantly. "You said that it would make me as fair as the lily of the
valley. Now, I've just ruined my face. Oh oh, oh!"

She began to cry weakly. Aunt Fanny smoothed her hair in an attempt at
consolation.

"I'se just a low-down niggah ter make yer cry so, Miss Bee," she said
remorsefully. "Dey does use jim'son in de Souf, but mebbe dey puts
sompin elsen wid hit. Nebber you mind. Aunt Fanny'll fin' sumpin ter fix
yer. Now go down ter yer pa. De brek'fus am gittin' cole, an' yer needs
hit hot."

"Go down?" cried Bee in perturbation. "I can't go down like this. You
go, and tell father I'm sick. Tell him I can't come. Oh! tell him
anything!"

"Beatrice," called her father at this moment from the foot of the
stairs, "is anything the matter? You were not at dinner last night. Are
you ill that you don't come to breakfast?"

"I reckon yer shorely in fer hit, Miss Bee," spoke Aunt Fanny
commiseratingly. "If yer sick he's gwine ter kum up anyhow. De bes'
thing is ter go right erlong, and get hit over wid. An' if he scolds
hard yer won't nebber forgib me."

"It is my own fault, Aunt Fanny," acknowledged the girl. "I ought to
have known better than to have done anything of the sort. Now I am in
for it, as you say. Yes; I'll go down. Father can't dislike me any more
than he does, so I might as well face him first as last." She rose as
she spoke and went to the door: "I am all right, father," she called.
"I'll be down in a minute."

It was more than a minute before she could pull herself together; then,
summoning all her fortitude, she went slowly down the stairs to the
dining room. Dr. Raymond turned at her entrance.

"Good morn--" he began in greeting, but stopped short as though he could
not believe the evidence of his eyes. "Beatrice Raymond, is that you?"
he demanded.

"Yes," returned Beatrice as steadily as she could. "It is I, father. Are
you ready for your coffee?"

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked sharply. "What have you been
doing to yourself?"

Something came into Bee's throat and choked her. A moment passed before