“You sure beat all!” he confided to Porgy, with a puzzled frown. “Runnin’ away like the devil was after you, from bein’ a witness; an’ now goin’ to jail with a face like Sunday mornin’.” § In the fresh beauty of an early October morning, Porgy returned home. There were few of his friends about, as work was now plentiful, and most of those who could earn a day’s wage were up and out. He drove through the entrance, pulled his goat up short, and looked about him. Serena was seated on her bench with a baby in her arms. Porgy gave her a long look, and a question commenced to dawn in his eyes. The child turned in her arms, and his suspicions were confirmed. It was his baby--his and Bess’s. Then Serena looked up and saw him. She arose in great confusion, clasped the infant to her ample bosom, and, without a word of greeting, stepped through her doorway. Then, as though struck by an afterthought, she turned, thrust her head back through the opening, and called loudly: “Oh, Maria! hyuh Porgy come home.” Then she disappeared and the door slammed shut. Mystified and filled with alarm, Porgy turned his vehicle toward the cook-shop and arrived at the door just as Maria stepped over the threshold. She seated herself on the sill and brought her face level with his. Then she looked into his eyes. What Porgy saw there caused him to call out sharply: “Where’s Bess? Tell me, quick, where’s Bess?” The big negress did not answer, and after a moment her ponderous face commenced to shake. Porgy beat the side of his wagon with his fist. “Where, where--” he began, in a voice that was suddenly shrill. But Maria placed a steadying hand over his frantic one and held it still. “Dem dutty dogs got she one day w’en I gone out,” she said in a low, shaken voice. “She been missin’ yuh an’ berry low in she min’ ’cause she can’t fin’ out how long yuh is lock up fuh. Dat damn houn’ she knock off de wharf las’ summer fin’ she like dat an’ git she tuh tek er swalluh ob licker. Den half a dozen of de mens gang she, an’ mek she drunk.” “But wuh she now?” Porgy cried. “I ain’t keer ef she wuz drunk. I want she now.” Maria tried to speak, but her voice refused to do her bidding. She covered her face with her hands, and her throat worked convulsively. Porgy clutched her wrist. “Tell me,” he commanded. “Tell me, now.” “De mens all carry she away on de ribber boat,” she sobbed. “Dey leabe word fuh me dat dey goin’ tek she all de way tuh Sawannah, an’ keep she dey. Den Serena, she tek de chile, an’ say she is goin’ gib um er Christian raisin’.” Deep sobs stopped Maria’s voice. For a while she sat there, her face buried in her hands. But Porgy had nothing to say. When she finally raised her head and looked at him, she was surprised at what she saw.