with dew and sun. After
picking some berries for him, she sat down on the grass under the row
of cotton-woods, and sank into a kind of lethargy. A kingbird
chattered and shrieked overhead, the grasshoppers buzzed in the
grasses, strange insects with ventriloquistic voices sang all about
her,--she could not tell where.

"Ma, can't I put on my clean dress?" insisted Sadie.

"I don't care," said the brooding woman darkly. "Leave me alone."

Oh, if she could only lie here forever, escaping all pain and
weariness! The wind sang in her ears, the great clouds, beautiful as
heavenly ships, floated far above in the vast dazzling deeps of blue
sky, the birds rustled and chirped around her, leaping-insects buzzed
and clattered in the grass and in the vines and bushes. The goodness
and glory of God was in the very air, the bitterness and oppression of
man in every line of her face.

But her quiet was broken by Sadie who came leaping like a fawn down
through the grass.

"O ma, Aunt Maria and Uncle William are coming. They've jest turned
in."

"I don't care if they be!" she answered in the same dully-irritated
way. "What're they comin' here to-day for, I wan' to know." She stayed
there immovably, till Mrs. Council came down to see her, piloted by
two or three of the children. Mrs. Council, a jolly, large-framed
woman, smiled brightly, and greeted her in a loud, jovial voice. She
made the mistake of taking the whole matter lightly; her tone amounted
to ridicule.

"Sim says you've been having a tantrum, Creeshy. Don't know what for,
he says."

"He don't," said the wife with a sullen flash in the eyes. "_He_
don't know why! Well, then, you just tell him what I say. I've lived
in hell long enough. I'm done. I've slaved here day in and day out f'r
twelve years without pay--not even a decent word. I've worked like no
nigger ever worked 'r could work and live. I've given him all I had,
'r ever expect to have. I'm wore out. My strength is gone, my patience
is gone. I'm done with it--that's a _part_ of what's the matter."

"My sakes, Lucreeshy! You mustn't talk that way."

"But I _will_," said the woman, as she supported herself on one palm
and raised the other. "I've _got_ to talk that way." She was ripe for
an explosion like this. She seized upon it with eagerness. "They aint
no use o' livin' this way, anyway. I'd take poison if it want f'r the
young ones."

"Lucreeshy Burns!"

"Oh, I mean it."

"Land sakes alive, I b'le