After her caller had departed Virginia returned to the couch and with intense interest gave herself up to the examination of the book which had been her mother’s.
A negress of uncertain age appeared in the doorway of the house. Her hair was streaked with grey and she was enormously fat. She wore a calico dress over the front of which stretched a snowy white apron, its strings lost in a crease of flesh at the waist line. Bound about her head was a white handkerchief and her sleeves were rolled to her elbows.
She moved about the porch replacing the wicker furniture. Stopping by the couch she rearranged some magazines, and then, “Honey chil’, ain’ you gwine git dressed? De clock done struck fo’.”
“In a minute.”
Serena’s eyes wandered to the side lawn. Instantly her attention was riveted upon certain objects protruding from some shrubbery. They were conspicuous and unusual as lawn decorations, bulking large beside a recumbent lawn mower, a rake and grass shears.
“You Ike,” she shouted. The objects moved convulsively. “Wot you mean a sleepin’ under dat bush?” The commotion in the shrubbery ceased and the objects reappeared in their normal position as the feet of a sleepy-eyed negro youth.
“Ah ain’ a sleepin’ none, Miss Sereny, ah was a layin’ under dat bush a ca’culatin’ whar ah gwine to trim it.”
“You got a po’ haid fo’ figgers den. You computen all dis yere afternoon, ah guesses. Ma eye is on you, boy. Go change you’ clothes an’ git dat ca’ah down to de office a fo’ you is late.”
Ike gathered the tools and disappeared in haste.
Serena turned again to the girl, who had displayed but slight interest in the sleeping laborer. “It gittin’ mighty late, chil’.”