s a wispy fringe of it on the back of
her scraggy neck. In her dull eyes glimmered nothing but the innate
uneasiness of those who are always in need, and her mouth had drawn
itself into the shape of a horseshoe. There is no luck in a horseshoe
hung thus on a woman's face. One might fancy she felt no emotion, her
whole demeanor was so apathetic; but of a sudden she leaned over and
took up one of the thick shining curls; half smiling, she began to
wrap it about her finger.

"I useter be right smart proud o' Louisa's hair," she remarked in a
drawling, listless voice. "She come by it from them uppidy folks o'
her pa's. I've saw her when she wasn't much more 'n hair an' eyes,
times her pa was laid up with the misery in his chest, an' me with
nothin' but piecework weeks on end.

"... She was a cu'rus kind o' child, Louisa was. She sort o'
'spicioned things wasn't right, but you think that child ever let a
squeal out o' her? Not her! Lemme tell you-all somethin', jest to show
what kind o' a heart that child had, suhs."

With a loving and mothering motion she moved the bright curl about and
about her hard finger. She spoke half intimately, half garrulously;
and from the curl she would lift her faded eyes to the Butterfly
Man's.

"'T was a Sarrerday night, an' I was a-walkin' up an' down, account o'
me bein' awful low in the mind.

"'Ma,' says Louisa, 'I'm reel hungry to-night. You reckon I could have
a piece o' bread with butter on it? I wisht I could taste some bread
with butter on it,' says she.

"'Darlin',' says I, turrible sad, 'Po' ma c'n give yo' the naked bread
an' thanks to God I got even that to give,' I says. 'But they ain't a
scrap o' butter in this house, an' no knowin' how to git any. Oh,
darlin', ma's so sorry!'

"She looks up with that quick smile o' her'n. Yes, suh, Mr. Flint, she
ups and smiles. 'You don't belong to be sorry any, ma,' says she,
comfortin'. 'Don't you mind none at all. Why, ma, darlin', _I just
love naked bread without no butter on it_!' says she. My God, Mr.
Flint, I bust out a-cryin' in her face. Seemed like I natchelly
couldn't stand no mo'!" And smiling vaguely with her poor old
down-curved mouth, she went on fingering the curl.

"Will you-all look a' that!" she murmured, with pride. "Even her
hair's lovin', an' sort o' holds on like it wants you should touch it.
My Lord o' glory, I'm glad her pa ain't livin' to see this day! He had
his share o' misery, po' man, him dyin' o' lung-