She had received many presents in her short life, but they had all been bought with money. These gifts showed the patient toil by which they had been purchased. She was glad she had gone to the pines; she would accept Scipio’s silent message and play with him again, to-morrow. Granny came in from the garden where she had been at work. “It’s going to rain, sugar,” she called. “We’d best build up the fire.” “Is my kitten indoors?” Hazel asked anxiously, and ran down the road to find it playing among some dry branches. When she returned, the kitten in her arms, the drops were already falling, and in a little time the shower had settled into a steady downpour. “The rain will refresh the earth,” said Granny wisely. “All the world will shine beautiful to-morrow.” “It’s pleasant to hear the rain on the roof, isn’t it?” said Hazel later, as she sipped the cocoa that Granny had learned to make for her, and ate her cornbread. Sometimes at supper they did not set any table, but ate before the fire (just like a picnic, Hazel would say) and they were sitting that way to-night. “I never heard the rain beat on the roof until I came to Alabama,” Hazel said. “I’ve heard a great many new things, haven’t I, but the most beautiful of all is the mocking bird. What is it doing now out in the rain? I should think it would be very wet?” Granny laughed. “Its head is under its wing and the water done run off its back. But it likes it, honey, it don’t never take cold. Listen how it’ll sing to-morrow.” They were silent for a minute, enjoying the fire. Then Granny rose to her feet. “Someone is outside,” she said; and moving quickly, she threw open the door. On the porch stood Scipio. “Come in, child,” she invited. “I can’t,” he answered. “I’s wet and soiled.” Hazel ran to where he stood. “Come in, oh, please come in, Scip,” she cried; and Scipio stepped within the door while Granny went back to the fire. The boy’s scanty clothing was soaked. He would not advance into the room, but remained with head bent, a heavy figure in the shadow. He looked tired and the circles beneath his eyes showed the need of sleep. As he stood, hungry and ragged, he might have embodied the patient laborer of his patient race who for so long has planted the crop only to see another reap the harvest. Hazel caught her breath as she saw his big lips tremble. “Oh, Scip,” she whispered, “it was mean of me.” The boy looked up at her. “I know I’s rough,” he said.