mush is done now, an' de fry-meat is brown."
"I rather eat when I come back, Auntie. Le me fetch de water first, I want to eat breakfast wid Budda dis last time." At the door, she paused. "You wouldn' tell Budda Ben, would you, Auntie?"
Maum Hannah threw up her hands. "Who? Me? Great Gawd, gal, Budda would choke July to deat'. E would wring July's neck same like a chicken."
As Mary hurried along with her three empty buckets, walking quickly between the long rows of houses on each side of the rain-rutted road, gay greetings were called to her from the opep doors and windows.
"Hey, Si May-e, how you feel dis mornin?"
"You sho got a fine weddin-day!"
"Looka how de sun is a-shinin on you, gal!"
"July's a lucky boy fo-true."
Mary laughed and called back merry, good-mannered answers to them all, holding her small head high, and hoping't that nobody saw that her eyes were red.
The fresh morning air was filled with delicious scents: ripe leaves, fragrant weeds, late cotton blossoms, and the breath of the dark red earth itself. Summer was over. The birds were sing-
