She had just turned into a side street, discouraged and bewildered, when the round face of a coloured woman standing in the doorway of a whitewashed cottage caught her eye and attention. Once more she paused and consulted her watery oracle, then turned to encounter the gaze of the round-faced woman. The oracle had spoken and she turned into the yard.
"Whaih you goin', honey? You sut'ny look lak you plumb tukahed out. Come in an' tell me all 'bout yo'se'f, you po' little t'ing. Dese yo' little brothas an' sistahs?"
"Yes'm," said Patsy Ann.
"W'y, chil', whaih you goin'?"
"I don' know," was the truthful answer.
"You don' know? Whaih you live?"
"Oh, I live down on Douglas Street," said Patsy Ann, "an' I's runnin' away f'om home an' my step-mothah."
The woman looked keenly at her.
"What yo' name?" she said.
"My name's Patsy Ann Meriweather."