The Queen of Sheba sat on the kitchen chair with the soiled dress on her lap. Like the queen of old, “there was no more spirit in her.” She remained quite still two, three, five minutes. Then she heard her mother knock. She opened the door, the dress in her hand, and showed the spot without speaking. “How did it happen?” Mrs. Tyler asked. “I was playing with Charity. It wasn’t her fault,” hastily, “she told me not to touch it, but I was the Queen of Sheba and I wanted a train. Will it have to be done all over, Mother? Charity said it would have to be done all over.” “Yes, it will,” said Mrs. Tyler, and turned to the tub where she began to draw water. “You must go to bed, Hazel,” she said sternly. “Later I will bring you a supper of bread and milk.” As the little girl lay in bed, she could hear her mother rub, rubbing the dress against the wash-board. Then that sound ceased, and the door of the refrigerator was opened and shut. She silently ate the bread and milk brought her. No jolly time together at the table over the waffles and maple syrup and the pretty flowered plates! She heard her mother’s tired footsteps moving from ironing-board to stove and back to ironing-board, and she noted the click of the iron as it fell upon the metal holder. She could almost count each movement up and down the waist and the long skirt. At length John came. He was kept waiting a few minutes. Then the basket was handed him, the outer door closed, and the long day’s work was done. Hazel stole out of bed into the kitchen where her mother sat. She put her arms about her neck and kissed her again and again. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Her mother kissed back and held her close. “It does seem, Mother dear,” Hazel said at length, “as though, ever since we came to this place, I couldn’t have the least bit of fun without making such a lot of trouble.” CHAPTER II HEALTH AND A DAY The sky was washed the clear blue of late November the next morning, and Hazel could count the few little white clouds floating on it as she walked to church. The cold, fresh air quickened her blood and made her want to skip and dance, but she stayed demurely at her mother’s side. They soon left their dingy street and turned into a well-to-do neighborhood where white people lived, and then went on with the white people into a large church. The usher nodded pleasantly to them, and they took a pew to the left, half way up the aisle. Here they sat in silence while the organ played its solemn, spiritual music.