nigger, anyway--and besides, she's plum crazy--"

"I saw 'em hanging on her door," steadfastly repeated the little girl. "The
wind blew 'em right out, an' there they were."

"Well, they wan't Sambo's sheep tails," retorted the boy, conclusively,
"'cause Sambo's sheep ain't got any tails."

Brought to bay, the little girl looked doubtfully up and down the turnpike.
"Maybe she conjured 'em _on_ first," she suggested at last.

"Oh, you're a regular baby, Betty," exclaimed the boy, in disgust. "You'll
be saying next that she can make rattlesnake's teeth sprout out of the
ground."

"She's got a mighty funny garden patch," admitted Betty, still credulous.
Then she jumped up and ran along the road. "Here's Virginia!" she called
sharply, "an' I beat her! I beat her fair!"

A second little girl came panting through the dust, followed by a small
negro boy with a shining black face. "There's a wagon comin' roun' the
curve," she cried excitedly, "an' it's filled with old Mr. Willis's
servants. He's dead, and they're sold--Dolly's sold, too."

She was a fragile little creature, coloured like a flower, and her smooth
brown hair hung in silken braids to her sash. The strings of her white
pique bonnet lined with pink were daintily tied under her oval chin; there
was no dust on her bare legs or short white socks.

As she spoke there came the sound of voices singing, and a moment later the