"It ain't goin' to do no good to look at it that a-way, Joe," his mother
replied. "I know hit 's ha'd, but we got to do de bes' we kin."

"What are we goin' to do?" cried the boy fiercely. "They won't let us
work. They won't let us live anywhaih. Do they want us to live on the
levee an' steal, like some of 'em do?"

"What are we goin' to do?" echoed Kitty helplessly. "I 'd go out ef I
thought I could find anythin' to work at."

"Don't you go anywhaih, child. It 'ud only be worse. De niggah men dat
ust to be bowin' an' scrapin' to me an' tekin' off dey hats to me
laughed in my face. I met Minty--an' she slurred me right in de street.
Dey 'd do worse fu' you."

In the midst of the conversation a knock came at the door. It was a
messenger from the "House," as they still called Oakley's home, and he
wanted them to be out of the cottage by the next afternoon, as the new
servants were coming and would want the rooms.

The message was so curt, so hard and decisive, that Fannie was startled
out of her grief into immediate action.

"Well, we got to go," she said, rising wearily.

"But where are we goin'?" wailed Kitty in affright. "There 's no place
to go to. We have n't got a house. Where 'll we go?"

"Out o' town someplace as fur away from this damned hole as we kin
git." The boy spoke recklessly in his anger. He had never sworn before