the wheat harvest was nearly over. nancy and her companions had been carrying dinner to the mowers, in the big wheat field on the other side of back creek. on her way home nancy slipped from the company and ran through mrs. blake’s yard to her kitchen door. mary and betty had finished washing the dishes, and their mother was preparing to roast coffee beans in the oven. after one look at nancy’s face, she told the children they could go down the road and watch grandfather cutting his wheat. when they were gone, she turned to the yellow girl.

“what’s the matter now, child? has that scamp been pestering you again? set down and tell me.”

nancy dropped into a chair. “oh, i’m most drove out-a my mind, i cain’t bear it no longer, ‘deed i cain’t! i gets no rest night nor day. i’m goin’ to throw myself into the millpawnd, i am!” she bowed her head on her arms and broke into sobs.

“hush, hush! don’t talk so, nancy, it’s wicked. stop your crying, and tell me about it.” she stood over the girl, stroking her quivering shoulders until the sobs grew more throaty and, as it were, dried up. nancy lifted her face.

“miz’ blake, you’s the only one i got to talk to. he’s just after me night an’ day, till i wisht i’d never been bawn.”

“i guess a good many of us wish that, sometimes. but we come right again, and bear our lot. have you said anything to my father?”

“how could i, miz’ blake? i’d die a’ shame to speak it before that good ole man. i got nobody i kin come to but you.”

“then you must try to make it plain to me, nancy. can’t you keep out of his way?”

“it’s worst at night, miz’ blake. you know i sleeps outside miss sapphy’s door, an’ he’s right over me, at the top of the stairs. one night i heard him comin’ down the stairs in his bare feet, an’ i jumped up an’ run into the mistress’s room, makin’ out i thought i heered her callin’ me. she was right cross ‘cause i’d waked her up, and sent me back to my bed, an’ i layed there awake till mornin’. if i was to sleep sound, he could slip in to me any time. if i hollered, the mistress would put it all on me; she’d say i done somethin’ to make him think i was a bad girl. another time i heard him slippin’ down at night, an’ i jumped an’ run to old mr. washington. you know he sleeps on a cot in the wine closet. he give me his bed, an’ he set up all night in the hall. so i cain’t run in to the mistress agin, an’ i hates to go to mr. washington. he needs his rest. why, miz’ blake, there ain’t no stoppin’ mr. martin. he kin jist slip into my bed any night if i happens to fall asleep. i got nobody to call to. i cain’t do nothin’!”

here nancy sprang from her chair and stood with her hands pressed against her forehead and her blue-black hair.

“i tell you, i’d druther drown myself before he got at me than after! only i want somebody as’ll speak up for me to the master, an’ tell him i didn’t do it from wickedness. please, mam, tell him how i was drove to it.”

when she spoke of the master, she began to cry again, and could not go on.

presently mrs. blake said quietly but resolutely: “i’m a-going to get you away from all this, nancy. mind you, no more talk about the mill dam. you’re young and have life before you. i’ve seen how things were going, and i’ve been figuring on how to get you away from the mill. you’ve not been real happy over there for a good while back.”

“no’m, not since she turned on me.” nancy spoke absently, as if talking to herself. “it ain’t nothing she does to me. i don’ know what it is, but she never looks at me no more. she’s jist turned on me.”

mrs. blake took her by the shoulders, as if to rouse her. “now you must listen to me, nancy. would you be brave enough to go away from here to a better place, where you’d be safe? i can’t run mart colbert out of the neighbourhood, but i think i can get you away. would you go?”

“i’d go anywheres to git away from him. i’d sooner go down to georgia an’ pick cotton, ‘deed i would.”

“it won’t come to that, nancy. just you hold out a little longer, and i’ll get you out of these troubles. have you said anything to till?”

nancy looked up at her with wondering, startled eyes. “to maw? how could i, mam?”

mrs. blake turned away and began to put slow wood in her stove to get on with her roasting. “here come my girls up the road. you better let them go along home with you. maybe mother’s missed you, but if they’re with you, nothing will be said.”

after nancy and the children were gone, mrs. blake sat down to watch over the pans of browning coffee. she understood why nancy did not go to till for advice and protection. till had been a dodderidge before ever she was nancy’s mother. in till’s mind, her first duty was to her mistress. ever since mrs. colbert had become an invalid, till’s position in the house was all-important; and position was dear to her. long ago matchem had taught her to “value her place,” and that became her rule of life. anything that made trouble between her and the mistress would wreck the order of the household.

nancy had come into the world by accident; the other relation, that with the dodderidges, till regarded as one of the fixed conditions you were born into. beginning with jezebel, her kin had lived under the roof and protection of that family for four generations. it was their natural place in the world.

yes, mrs. blake knew why till shut her eyes to what was going on over at the mill house. and she realized once more that she herself was by nature incapable of understanding her mother. ever since she could remember, she had seen her mother show shades of kindness and cruelty which seemed to her purely whimsical. at this moment mrs. blake could not for the life of her say whether mrs. colbert had invited this scapegrace to her house with the deliberate purpose of bringing harm to nancy, or whether she had asked him merely for the sake of his company, and was now ready to tolerate anything that might amuse him and thus prolong his stay. this was quite possible, since mrs. colbert, though often generous, was entirely self-centred and thought of other people only in their relation to herself. she was born that way, and had been brought up that way.

yet one must admit inconsistencies. there was her singular indulgence with tansy dave, her real affection for till and old jezebel, her patience with sampson’s lazy wife. even now, from her chair, she took some part in all the celebrations that darkies love. she liked to see them happy. on christmas morning she sat in the long hall and had all the men on the place come in to get their presents and their christmas drink. she served each man a strong toddy in one of the big glass tumblers that had been her father’s. when tap, the mill boy, smacked his lips and said: “miss sapphy, if my mammy’s titty had a-tasted like that, i never would a-got weaned,” she laughed as if she had never heard the old joke before.

when the darkies were sick, she doctored them, sent linen for the new babies and had them brought for her to see as soon as the mother was up and about. recalling these things and trying to be fair to her mother, mrs. blake suddenly rose from her chair and said aloud:

“no, it ain’t put on; she believes in it, and they believe in it. but it ain’t right.”