color in my face and they
played with me or despised me. And they say they're so good!" The
bitterness in her voice was pitiable. "They're always saying they're so
good. They write about it and preach about it. We black people, we are
bad. We are immoral and common and cheap. Well, I want to be with bad
people. I've been with good people as long as I can bear. I want to be
with bad people again."

"Don't go on so, dearie," Kathleen said, anguish in her voice. "Rest and
see what to-morrow will bring. You'll kill yourself if you go on like
this."

"Good!" Hertha cried again with infinite scorn. Then as though a sudden
thought came to her, her whole manner softened. "I'll tell you who is
good,--my mammy. She took me in. She didn't question whether I'd grow up
pretty and clever, or ugly and dull. She took me in her arms. She's like
that. She isn't thinking about herself, she's thinking about others. She
don't care if they're black or white. I know, oh, I know. And if she
dies before I get home I'm going to die too!"

Suddenly her strength gave way, her indignation, her angry pride. "And I
was trying to be white," she moaned, "I was trying to be ashamed of
her." She flung herself into her friend's arms, the tears streaming down
her cheeks. "I was trying to forget."

Then Kathleen came into her own. Soothingly, caressingly, she got Hertha
out of her white dress with its bloodstains into a loose one of her own.
She brought water and a towel and washed her face. She brushed back her
tangled hair. And all the time she talked, sympathetically yet
cheerfully, with rare tact turning the girl's attention from her own
sorrow. Hope emanated from her kind face, from her running speech; until
at length Hertha found herself sitting in a chair sipping a cup of tea,
and smiling a little uncertainly at some odd remark.

"It's so good to be here," she said, looking with deep gratitude into
Kathleen's face. "When I had to leave Tom, I hurried to you. I knew if
you were home you'd take me in, but I was afraid you'd be caring for
some one else. I was frightened to ring the bell."

Her friend smiled benignantly.

"It's just the same as ever, only prettier. You've been doing a lot of
housecleaning."

There was a smart look about the place. The chairs had a fresh coat of
paint, the oilcloth on the table was white and new, and every bit of
metal was polished, from the knob on the oven door to the faucets at the
sink. The agate tea-kettle