There were a few women and children about, and they ran to the entrance to see. But Porgy and Bess sat and looked fixedly at the bay, where it lay beyond the gate. Then the drays came, and the bay was blotted out by the procession. The great mules, fat and strong from their summer in pasture, moved swiftly with a sharp click of shoes, and the drivers cracked their whips and laughed down at the crowd. The low platforms of the vehicles seemed almost to brush the ground; and, upon them, clear to the top of the entrance arch, the bales towered, with the fibre showing in dazzling white patches where the bagging was torn. Twenty or more in the train they passed. Scarcely had the rumble receded in the distance, than a burst of heavy laughter sounded in the street, and two tall figures strode through the entrance and into the group of women and children. There was a bright flash from bandanas, and one of the men swung a child to his shoulder. Loud greetings followed, and another burst of laughter, heavy, deep-chested and glad. From an upper window a woman’s voice called, “Come on, Sister; le’s we go down. De stevedore is comin’ back.” Porgy turned toward Bess, and moistened his lips with his tongue. Then he spoke in a low husky voice: “Us ain’t talk much sence de picnic, Bess, you an’ me. But I gots tuh talk now. I gots tuh know how you an’ me stan’.” Bess regarded him dumbly. For a moment the look which Serena had seen when she had tried to take the baby brushed her face, then it passed, leaving it hopeless. Porgy leaned forward. “Yuh is wantin’ tuh go wid Crown w’en he come?” Then she answered: “W’en I tek dat dope, I know den dat I ain’t yo’ kin’. An’ w’en Crown put he han’ on me dat day, I run tuh he like water. Some day dope comin’ agin. An’ some day Crown goin’ put he han’ on my t’roat. It goin’ be like dyin’ den. But I gots tuh talk de trut’ tuh yuh. W’en dem time come, I goin’ tuh go.” “Ef dey warn’t no Crown?” Porgy whispered. Then before she could answer, he hurried on: “Ef dey wuz only jes’ de baby an’ Porgy, wut den?” The odd incandescence flared in her face, touching it with something eternal and beautiful beyond the power of human flesh to convey. She took the child from Porgy with a hungry, enfolding gesture. Then her composure broke. “Oh, fuh Gawd sake, Porgy, don’t let dat man come an’ handle me! Ef yuh is willin’ tuh keep me, den lemme stay. Ef he jus’ don’t put dem hot han’ on me, I kin be good, I kin ’member, I kin be happy.” She broke off abruptly, and hid her face against that of the child. Porgy patted her arm. “Yuh ain’t needs tuh be ’fraid,” he assured her. “Ain’t yuh gots yo’ man? Ain’t yuh gots Porgy? Wut kin’ of a nigger yuh t’inks yuh gots anyway, fuh let annuduh nigger carry he ’oman? No, suh! yuh gots yo’ man now; yuh gots Porgy.” §