“It’s pleasant to hear the rain on the roof, isn’t it?” said Hazel later, as she sipped the cocoa that Granny had learned to make for her, and ate her cornbread.
Sometimes at supper they did not set any table, but ate before the fire (just like a picnic, Hazel would say) and they were sitting that way to-night.
“I never heard the rain beat on the roof until I came to Alabama,” Hazel said. “I’ve heard a great many new things, haven’t I, but the most beautiful of all is the mocking bird. What is it doing now out in the rain? I should think it would be very wet?”
Granny laughed. “Its head is under its wing and the water done run off its back. But it likes it, honey, it don’t never take cold. Listen how it’ll sing to-morrow.”
They were silent for a minute, enjoying the fire. Then Granny rose to her feet.
“Someone is outside,” she said; and moving quickly, she threw open the door.
On the porch stood Scipio.
“Come in, child,” she invited.
“I can’t,” he answered. “I’s wet and soiled.”
Hazel ran to where he stood. “Come in, oh, please come in, Scip,” she cried; and Scipio stepped within the door while Granny went back to the fire.