So this
morning she wondered what the tapping meant, and called out: "Come in."
The door opened very slowly and a little negro girl, with a round woolly
head and big startled eyes, stood peering in. She was barefooted, and
wore a straight garment of faded blue cotton.
For a moment the two children stared at each other. Then Sylvia
remembered that Aunt Connie's little girl was coming to live with her
mother.
"Are you Estralla?" she asked eagerly, sitting up in bed.
"Yas, Missy," replied the little darky, lifting the big pitcher of water
and bringing it into the room, where she stood holding it as if not
knowing what to do next.
"Set the pitcher down," said Sylvia.
"Yas, Missy," said Estralla, her big eyes fixed on the little white girl
in the pretty bed who was smiling at her in so friendly a fashion. She
took a step or two forward, her eyes still fixed on Sylvia, and not
noticing the little footstool directly in front of her, over which she
stumbled with a loud crash, breaking the pitcher and sending the hot
water over her bare feet.
"Oh, Mammy! Mammy! Mammy!" she screamed, lying face downward on the
floor with the overturned footstool and broken pitcher, while the
steaming water soaked through the cotton dress.
In a moment Sylvia was out of bed.
"Get up, Estralla," she commanded, "and stop screaming."
The little darky's wails ceased, and she looked up at the slender white
figure standing in front of her.
"I kyan't git up; I'se all scalded and cut," she sobbed, "an' if I does
get up I'se gwine to get whipped for breaking the pitcher," and at the
thought of new trouble in store for her, she began to scream again.
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