DELIA explained, perhaps, the change in Hildegarde better than any of the others. "She certn'y am be-witched," she told Sampson. "Effen I shut my eyes an' didn't see 'er, I'd think 'twas Miss Sally."
Sampson nodded. "She sure am diffunt," there was a hint of criticism in the way he said it.
Delia surveyed him scornfully, "Ain' she got a right to have a good time?"
"I ain't sayin' she ain't."
"You didn't expect 'er to sit aroun' wearin' moanin' weeds for her Ma forever, did you?"
"I ain't expectin' nothin'," said the goaded Sampson.
"Well, then. 'Tain't for you and me to tell 'er what she is and what she ain't."
Sampson mumbled something under his breath. Delia caught it up and flung it back at him. "Why shouldn't she be like Miss Sally?"
"You said it yo'sef, Delia. She's like Miss Sally. An' I ain't struck on Miss Sally's ways."
Neither was Delia, but she refused to admit it. "She ain't like Miss Sally insides, I was talkin' 'bout the outsides. Eve'y since that ball at Mistah Wins-
