As he mused, Peter's soul made one of those sharp liberating movements that occasionally visit a human being. The danger of Tump Pack's jealousy, the loss of his prestige, the necessity of learning the specific answers to the examination questions, all dropped away from him as trivial and inconsequent. He turned from the window, put away his books and question-slips, picked up his hat, and moved out briskly through his mother's room toward the door. The old woman in the kitchen must have heard him, for she called to him through the partition, and a moment later her bulky form filled the kitchen entrance. She wiped her hands on her apron and looked at him accusingly. "Wha you gwine, son?" "For a walk." The old negress tilted her head aslant and looked fixedly at him. "You's gwine to dat Cissie Dildine's, Peter." Peter looked at his mother, surprised and rather disconcerted that she had guessed his intentions from his mere footsteps. The young man changed his plans for his walk, and began a diplomatic denial: "No, I'm going to walk by myself. I'm tired; I'm played out." "Tired?" repeated his mother, doubtfully. "You ain't done nothin' but set an' turn th'ugh books an' write on a lil piece o' paper." Peter was vaguely amused in his weariness, but thought that he concealed his mirth from his mother. "That gets tiresome after a while." She grunted her skepticism. As Peter moved for the door she warned him: "Peter, you knows ef Tump Pack sees you, he's gwine to shoot you sho!" "Oh, no he won't; that's Tump's talk." "Talk! talk! Whut's matter wid you, Peter? Dat nigger done git crowned fuh killin' fo' men!" She stood staring at him with white eyes. Then she urged, "Now, look heah, Peter, come along an' eat yo' supper." "No, I really need a walk. I won't walk through Niggertown. I'll walk out in the woods." "I jes made some salmon coquettes fuh you whut'll spile ef you don' eat 'em now." "I didn't know you were making croquettes," said Peter, with polite interest. "Well, I is. I gotta can o' salmon fum Miss Mollie Brownell she'd opened an' couldn't quite use. I doctered 'em up wid a lil vinegar an' sody, an' dey is 'bout as pink as dey ever wuz." A certain uneasiness and annoyance came over Peter at this persistent use of unwholesome foods. "Look here, Mother, you're not using old canned goods that have been left over?" The old negress stood looking at him in silence, but lost her coaxing expression. "I've told and told you about using any tainted or impure foods that the white people can't eat." "Well, whut ef you is?" "If it's too bad for them, it's too bad for you!" Caroline made a careless gesture. "Good Lawd, boy! I don' 'speck to eat whut's good fuh me! All I says is, 'Grub, keep me alive. Ef you do dat, you done a good day's wuck.'"