"You'd just as leave stay in here a little while," he said. "There ain't anybody going to hurt you, you know. You understand that, don't you?"
Peewee gulped nervously. "Yes, sir."
"All right, then."
He closed the door, while Peewee stared at him uneasily. Who were these people? What did they mean to do with him? He looked questioningly around the room. There was an open trunk in it, besides the bed and the one chair. The trunk's contents of rich-looking dresses, but torn and spotted, were scattered on the open lid and hung upon its sides. Peewee's breathing tightened queerly as he caught the faint perfume which came from the clothing and filled the room, and he moved closer, looking at the things. The scent was unmistakable and unforgettable as he touched the dresses; his mother's bedroom had been heavy with this strong perfume on the day she died. Were these his mother's things?
He could hear voices in the other room—the man's voice, the colored girl's voice, then the
