rows, laughing, talking, picking the white locks of cotton and putting them in the crocus sacks swung from neck or shoulder.
The picking is easy. Nimble fingers move quickly. Every boll is left clean. Eyes glance up to meet other eyes. Musical voices flow into one another. Cotton-picking time is the best of the year. Every work-day is a holiday.
Maum Hannah is old and bending over long makes her painful, but as she works she tells wonderful stories.
She knows all about Africa, that far country over the water. Old Paupa July, her grandfather, and Mudder Charity, her grandmother, were children of chiefs there. They talked a different talk from the people here and they were very wise. They knew signs and how to cast spells and how to take off spells which doctors put on people.
The days ran swiftly and happily. When the afternoon turned, and the sun began to drop, Mary hurried home to fetch water from the spring and get wood for a rousing fire so the cabin would be bright and supper done by the time July came at first dark. July's coming home was the best time of the whole day even when he came in weary and dirty with river mud and sweat. As soon as his feet were washed
