Claudie was not old enough to understand that people who talk in this way are not the best or the wisest or the most refined people, and so their words influenced her. She was a very sociable little body, however, and playing alone soon grew dull. It was hot on the veranda, and, too, indeed, that shady nook under the cedars seemed the only cool spot in the yard just then, and how cunning little Midge did look! “No second-class on board the train, No difference in the fare,” piped Pink, gleefully, as she set her table with gouber shells for plates. Claudie started. Why, Auntie sung that song once, and she said it meant that Jesus and the angels loved black people just as well as white ones, and thought them quite as beautiful. How funny to forget that! If the little angels would be willing to play with colored children of course she could, and then those persimmons were vanishing _so_ fast! The next minute a little white-robed maiden was flying through the rose-garden toward the cedars. “Oh, Pink!” she cried, breathlessly, “I never ate a persimmon in all my life.” “We is saving some for you,” answered Pink, as graciously as if her polite advances had been received at first, “an’ Chloe got some ‘simmon bread an’ Midge brought some goubers.” What these new delights were Claudie had no idea, and the children’s tongues ran faster than ever as they explained. After the feast came an exploring trip, and under Pink’s guidance the yard and the adjoining field proved a perfect storehouse of treasures. “’Clare, I done forgot,” she cried, suddenly producing a long necklace of chincapins, and presenting it shyly to Claudie; “I made it on purpose for you.” “Oh, you splendid Pink!” cried Claudie; “you are the very nicest little girl I know!” and throwing her arms around her new friend’s neck she kissed her rapturously. Then of course they must play house, with Claudie as the well-dressed mamma, and then came school and church and everything else they could think of, till at last, tired out with play, they threw themselves down in the shade to tell stories. “I wonder if Heaven is over yonder by the mountains,” said Claudie, dreamily; “my mamma is in Heaven, and she has a beautiful white robe, and a golden crown and a harp!” “An’ my mamma is in Hebben, too, an’ she wears a collarette,” chimed in Chloe with much importance; “but Hebben isn’t on the mountains; it’s in England!” Claudie had just opened her mouth to dispute this remarkable statement, when Pink took up the argument: