Quicksand
she was met, always, with smiling agreement and good-natured promises. “Yuh all is right, Mis‘ Green,“ and ”Ah suttinly will, Mis‘ Green,” fell courteously on her ear at each visit.
She was unaware that afterwards they would shake their heads sullenly over their wash-tubs and ironing-boards. And that among themselves they talked with amusement, or with anger, of “dat uppity, meddlin‘ No‘the‘n-ah,” and “pore Reve‘end," who in their opinion “would ‘a done bettah to a ma‘ied Clementine Richards.” Knowing, as she did, nothing of this, Helga was unperturbed. But even had she known, she would not have been disheartened. The fact that it was difficult but increased her eagerness, and made the doing of it seem only the more worth while. Sometimes she would smile to think how changed she was.
And she was humble too. Even with Clementine Richards, a strapping black beauty
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