parted from it."
She smiled down at the two. I could almost have prayed she would weep
instead. It would have been easier to bear.

"The King's Daughters, they give her a mighty nice doll off their
Christmas tree last year, but Louisa, she didn't take to it like she
done to Loujaney.

"'_That_ doll's jest a visitin' lady,' says she, 'but Loujaney, she's
_my child_. Mr. Flint made her a-purpose for me, same's God made me
for you, ma, an' she's mine by bornation. I can live with Loujaney. I
ain't a mite ashamed afore her when we ain't got nothin', but I turn
'tother's face to the wall so she won't know. Loujaney's pore folks
same's you an' me, an' she knows prezac'ly how 't is. That's why I
love her so much.

"An' day an' night," resumed the drawling voice, "them two's been
together. She jest lived an' et an' slept with that doll. If ever a
doll gits to grow feelin's, Loujaney's got 'em. I s'pose I'd best give
that visitin' doll to some child that wants it bad, but I ain't got
the heart to take Loujaney away from her ma. I'm a-goin' to let them
two go right on sleepin' together.

"Mr. Flint, suh, seein' Louisa liked you so much, an' it's you she'd
want to have it--" she leaned over, pushed the thick fair hair aside,
and laid her finger upon a very whimsy of a curl, shorter, paler,
fairer than the others, just above the little right ear.

"Her pa useter call that the wishin' curl," said she, half
apologetically. "You see, suh, he was a comical sort of man, an' a great
hand for pertendin' things. I never could pertend. Things is what they
is an' pertendin' don't change 'em none. But him an' her was different.
That's how come him to pertend the Lord'd put the rainbow's pot o' gold
in Louisa's hair with a wish in it, an' that ridic'lous curl one side
her head, like a mark, was the wishin' curl. He'd pertend he could pull
it twict an' say whisperin', '_Bickery-ickery-ee--my wish is comin' to
me_,' an' he'd git it. An' she liked to pertend 'twas so an' she could
wish things on it for me an' git 'em.... Clo'es an' shoes an' fire an'
cake an' beefsteak an' butter an' stayin' home.... Just pertendin', you
see.

"Mr. Flint, suh, _I_ ain't got a God's thing any more to wish for, but
you bein' the sort o' man you are, I'd rather 'twas you had Louisa's
wishin' curl, to remember her by." Snip! went the scissors; and there
it lay, pale as the new gold of spring sunlight, curling as young
grape-tendrils, in the Butterfly Man's op