Her head went lower. I had, while away, spent half of a much-needed day in search of a hat that would withstand mountain wear and weather, yet be pretty enough for Coretta’s taste. “And you let the pigs get to my potato-patch.” She turned to the machine. Well, it was my machine. I looked at the gay pieces of gingham scattered about and resolved to be drastic. “I’m going to have the machine brought home, Coretta. You won’t have any time for sewing until you get your fruit and vegetables put up.” She was dismayed. “Oh, I’ll never git ready!” “Ready for what?” “To go to the mills.” “The mills!” “We’re all goin’ to Georgia. Sam can git three dollars a day there. Katy can keep house an’ tend to the young-uns, an’ I’m goin’ to work, too. We can make ’tween five and six dollars a day. An’ I’ve got to have the machine. How’ll I ever git their clo’es made?” She ran on, but I shrank aside, looking about me and counting the curly heads. Our supreme judiciary had that year annulled the law of the people for the rescue of the child in the mills. “Coretta, you can’t take these babies----” “Oh, I knowed you’d talk that way, but please don’t, for we’ve got to go. The tickets have come, an’ we have to use ’em inside o’ two weeks. I’m jest worn out workin’ on the farm like a man, an’ in the house, too. We’ll never git a start here.” I had no argument against the truth. Once I had thought of making Sam the legal owner of that part of the farm he was supposed to till, and had consulted the village wise man about it. “Let me see,” he said: “Sam gets the full product of his labor now, don’t he?” “Oh, you read the book?” “Sure, I did! And you keep the place up? Pay for fencin’, and the like?” I admitted it. “And the taxes?” “Of course.” “And he can’t make ends meet?” “No.” “Well, if I was Sam, I’d injunct aginst any change that ’ud saddle me with taxes and improvements.” So I had made no change. And I had no answer for Coretta. She was still talking. “They’ll give us a good house at the mill, an’ furnish it too.” “If you pay three times over in instalments.” “When I git enough for my house, I mean to move back.” “You’ll never get it paid for, and if you leave they’ll sell it to somebody else. They count on getting pay from three families for every set of furniture they put out,” I exaggerated stoutly. “You needn’t talk like that, Mis’ Dolly,” she said, with her face all protest. “I’ve got to go.” “Very well.” I rose, and started out. Spying the hat that had cost me so much thought, I said: “You didn’t like the hat?” Her face became an eager pink with satisfaction. “Shore I liked it! Everybody says it jest suits me. I want everything _like that hat_!”