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“
You
’
re
the
girl
from
Royall
’
s
,
ain
’
t
you
?
”
The
colour
rose
in
Charity
’
s
face
.
“
I
’
m
Charity
Royall
,
”
she
said
,
as
if
asserting
her
right
to
the
name
in
the
very
place
where
it
might
have
been
most
open
to
question
.
The
woman
did
not
seem
to
notice
.
“
You
kin
stay
,
”
she
merely
said
;
then
she
turned
away
and
stooped
over
a
dish
in
which
she
was
stirring
something
.
Harney
and
Charity
sat
down
on
a
bench
made
of
a
board
resting
on
two
starch
boxes
.
They
faced
a
door
hanging
on
a
broken
hinge
,
and
through
the
crack
they
saw
the
eyes
of
the
tow
-
headed
boy
and
of
a
pale
little
girl
with
a
scar
across
her
cheek
.
Charity
smiled
,
and
signed
to
the
children
to
come
in
;
but
as
soon
as
they
saw
they
were
discovered
they
slipped
away
on
bare
feet
.
It
occurred
to
her
that
they
were
afraid
of
rousing
the
sleeping
man
;
and
probably
the
woman
shared
their
fear
,
for
she
moved
about
as
noiselessly
and
avoided
going
near
the
stove
.
The
rain
continued
to
beat
against
the
house
,
and
in
one
or
two
places
it
sent
a
stream
through
the
patched
panes
and
ran
into
pools
on
the
floor
.
Every
now
and
then
the
kitten
mewed
and
struggled
down
,
and
the
old
woman
stooped
and
caught
it
,
holding
it
tight
in
her
bony
hands
;
and
once
or
twice
the
man
on
the
barrel
half
woke
,
changed
his
position
and
dozed
again
,
his
head
falling
forward
on
his
hairy
breast
.
As
the
minutes
passed
,
and
the
rain
still
streamed
against
the
windows
,
a
loathing
of
the
place
and
the
people
came
over
Charity
.
The
sight
of
the
weak
-
minded
old
woman
,
of
the
cowed
children
,
and
the
ragged
man
sleeping
off
his
liquor
,
made
the
setting
of
her
own
life
seem
a
vision
of
peace
and
plenty
.
She
thought
of
the
kitchen
at
Mr
.
Royall
’
s
,
with
its
scrubbed
floor
and
dresser
full
of
china
,
and
the
peculiar
smell
of
yeast
and
coffee
and
soft
-
soap
that
she
had
always
hated
,
but
that
now
seemed
the
very
symbol
of
household
order
.
She
saw
Mr
.
Royall
’
s
room
,
with
the
high
-
backed
horsehair
chair
,
the
faded
rag
carpet
,
the
row
of
books
on
a
shelf
,
the
engraving
of
“
The
Surrender
of
Burgoyne
”
over
the
stove
,
and
the
mat
with
a
brown
and
white
spaniel
on
a
moss
-
green
border
.
And
then
her
mind
travelled
to
Miss
Hatchard
’
s
house
,
where
all
was
freshness
,
purity
and
fragrance
,
and
compared
to
which
the
red
house
had
always
seemed
so
poor
and
plain
.
“
This
is
where
I
belong
—
this
is
where
I
belong
,
”
she
kept
repeating
to
herself
;
but
the
words
had
no
meaning
for
her
.
Every
instinct
and
habit
made
her
a
stranger
among
these
poor
swamp
-
people
living
like
vermin
in
their
lair
.
With
all
her
soul
she
wished
she
had
not
yielded
to
Harney
’
s
curiosity
,
and
brought
him
there
.
The
rain
had
drenched
her
,
and
she
began
to
shiver
under
the
thin
folds
of
her
dress
.
The
younger
woman
must
have
noticed
it
,
for
she
went
out
of
the
room
and
came
back
with
a
broken
tea
-
cup
which
she
offered
to
Charity
.
It
was
half
full
of
whiskey
,
and
Charity
shook
her
head
;
but
Harney
took
the
cup
and
put
his
lips
to
it
.
When
he
had
set
it
down
Charity
saw
him
feel
in
his
pocket
and
draw
out
a
dollar
;
he
hesitated
a
moment
,
and
then
put
it
back
,
and
she
guessed
that
he
did
not
wish
her
to
see
him
offering
money
to
people
she
had
spoken
of
as
being
her
kin
.
The
sleeping
man
stirred
,
lifted
his
head
and
opened
his
eyes
.
They
rested
vacantly
for
a
moment
on
Charity
and
Harney
,
and
then
closed
again
,
and
his
head
drooped
;
but
a
look
of
anxiety
came
into
the
woman
’
s
face
.
She
glanced
out
of
the
window
and
then
came
up
to
Harney
.
“
I
guess
you
better
go
along
now
,
”
she
said
.
