Maum Hannah was coming out of her door and, after closing it behind her, she hobbled painfully down the steps. Her clean white apron was starched stiff and her wide-brimmed, black sailor hat, which she wore only to church or on important occasions, was perched uncertainly on top of the fresh white bandanna that bound her head.
"Auntie is a faithful Christian in dis world. E sho is. We ought not to fret em if we can help it. Neither me, neither you."
"Ma is done too old to be all de time gwine round a-catchin chillen for people. E ought to let somebody else do em now." Ben sniffled and wiped his eyes and nose on his ragged coat sleeve.
Mary laughed. "Nobody ain' gwine have none now. Auntie is gwine to school to-day."
"School? Fo Gawd's sake, shut you mout', May-e. You talk too much crazy talk to be a grown 'oman. You know Ma ain' gwine to no school." Ben's short patience had given out, for he thought Mary was joking.
"I'm tellin you de Gawd's truth," Mary
