ing, half smiling. Then he held out both hands. Who was he? He took a step toward her and stopped, and a familiar voice spoke softly. "Si May-e? Is dis you, Si May-e?"
Mary's heart leaped at the sound, and her astonished eyes stared at him.
"You ain' know me—Si May-e? Is you forgot you July?" he asked gently. He stood waiting for her to speak, holding his hands out to her—almost like a child. She looked at his face. At his hands. They were shaking. July's hands!
What must she do? What?
She could not think straight. She swallowed hard and put her hand up to her throat, and her heart thumped crazily as he spoke again.
"May-e—May-e, gal, I come back, honey. Please say you glad to see me. Don' stand up a-gazin at me so hard. Dis is you July, Si May-e."
He took her hands—both of them. She let him. She was paralyzed with joy and with misery. Her eyes dimmed and his face was blurred, but his voice had her heart quivering just as it used to do in the old days.
She drew her hands slowly out of his, and her voice sounded hollow and strange as she made it say, "No, you ain' my July. I ain' had no July in twenty years."
