He turned his back, and easing a hand stealthily up to his face, tried to brush them away. Cousin Big Sue mustn’t see him cry. Sis said he must be a man and try to be good.
He suddenly forgot his sorrow when swarms of tiny, almost invisible insects rose from nowhere, and settled in his eyes and ears and nostrils and teeth, with a fierce singing and stinging that was maddening. He took off his ragged hat and tried to fight them away, but they ignored its waving. As fast as he killed what seemed to be handfuls, by crushing them on his face and neck and bare legs, others took their places. Sand-flies and mosquitoes were eating him up. Cousin Big Sue had to fight them too, but Uncle was not troubled at all.
“Is de sand-flies pesterin’ yunnuh?” he asked mildly.
“Great Gawd, dey sho’ is!”
“Git some sweat out you’ armpits an’ rub on you’ face. Dat’ll run ’em!”
“Do, Uncle! Fo’ Gawd’s sake! I ain’ no filthy ol’ man like you! I washes myself!”
“Wha’ dat you say, daughter?”
Big Sue broke into a laugh. “I ain’ say nuttin! Not nuttin!”
Uncle calmly worked on, unconscious of what she said. Sweat trickled over his wrinkled face, but it kept its pleasant smile. More than once Big Sue opened her mouth to speak, but closed it without a word, and her face was as doleful as if, like Breeze, she was lonely and homesick.
Breeze wondered bitterly why he hadn’t run away and hidden down in the branch where nobody would ever find him? Baby partridges, or new hatched guineas, will sneak under a leaf and stay there until they die before they’ll let a stranger find them. Why didn’t he do it? He would rather die by himself in the woods than be here on his way to live with this strange woman whose wind was broken.