irls, whose father kept a
grocery-store, promised pickles and olives; three or four together
were to make the sandwiches, and Camilla Fingal was to bring along a
big bag of the famous rich and be-raisined cookies that lived in
the "cookie-jah." Sylvia, who always enjoyed prodigiously both in
anticipation and in reality any social event, could scarcely contain
herself as the time drew near with every prospect of fair weather.

The morning of the day was clear and fine, a perfect example of early
spring, with silvery pearls showing on the tips of the red-twig
osiers, and pussy-willows gleaming gray along the margins of swampy
places. Sylvia and Judith felt themselves one with this upward surge
of new life. They ran to school together, laughing aloud for no
reason, racing and skipping like a couple of spring lambs, their minds
and hearts as crystal-clear of any shadow as the pale-blue, smiling
sky above them. The rising sap beat in their young bodies as well
as in the beech-trees through which they scampered, whirling their
school-books at the end of their straps, and shouting aloud to hear
the squirrel's petulant, chattering answer.

When they came within sight and hearing of the schoolhouse, their
practised ears detected (although with no hint of foreboding) that
something unusual had happened. The children were not running about
and screaming, but standing with their heads close together, talking,
and talking, and talking. As Judith and Sylvia came near, several ran
to meet them, hurling out at them like a hard-flung stone: "Say--what
d'ye think? Those Fingal girls are niggers!"

To the end of her life, Sylvia would never forget the rending shock
of disillusion brought her by these blunt words. She did not dream
of disbelieving them, or of underestimating their significance. A
thousand confirmatory details leaped into her mind: the rich, sweet
voices--the dramatic ability--the banjo--the deprecatory air of
timidity--the self-conscious unwillingness to take the leading
position to which their talents and beauty gave them a right. Yes,
of course it was true! In the space of a heartbeat, all her
romantic Italian imaginings vanished. She continued to walk forward
mechanically, in an utter confusion of mind.

She heard Judith asking in an astonished voice, "Why, what makes you
think so?" and she listened with a tortured attention to the statement
vouchsafed in an excited chorus by a great many shrill little voices
that