“I have never before seen anyone save my little poor mama who belonged to me,” I said. “It is very strange, to be here with you.”
“Do you like it?” asked Mrs. Knox.
“I am a little afraid,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to like me and I am afraid you may not.”
“Oh, but why? We already do!”
“Do you? Oh, I’m glad. Life has been—”
“How has it been?”
“Lonesome, sometimes. Interesting, of course, and nice, but lonesome. I was always taking favors from other people. I had no one of my own. There was only—only the Pride of India tree with mama under it. I used to go out and talk to it, but—”
“Hush,” said the lady. “Do not weep, Azalea. Save all your strength for our sakes. I cannot doubt that what you tell me is true. I want you to see something.”