"Mammy Cely," said Philip one day after a thoughtful consideration of her face, "what makes you black?"
"I can't he'p it, honey. God made me that way."
The child looked at her in perplexity.
"Well, what did he do it for?"
There was no answer to this somewhat difficult question, and he continued, "Wouldn't you rather be white?"
"Co'se I'd ruther be white," replied Mammy Cely, "but when the Lord made me He wasn't askin' 'bout my druthers."
"Oh!" said Philip, wondering what her "druthers" were, but adding after a while in extenuation of the Almighty's ways, "Perhaps he forgot it."
He felt convinced that it was a mistake and it might not be too late yet to remedy it. He determined to incorporate into his nightly prayer for her a petition for a change of color. He was careful never to voice this when he was saying his prayers to her for he wanted it to come to her as a surprise. Every morning his first concern was to see whether the transformation had been wrought in the night. Mammy Cely could not understand his eager look into her face each day and his subsequent look of disappointment. Still he prayed on.
One day a sudden thought came to him and he hunted her up.
"Mammy Cely, I know now what will make you white!"