"You know my Uncle
Robert owns her, and Auntie Connie named her after Aunt Esther and
Cousin Alice. Her name is really Esther Alice. But the colored people
never speak as we do."
"How can anybody 'own' anybody else, even if their skin is black?"
asked Sylvia.
Both her companions looked at her in such evident surprise that Sylvia
was sure she ought not to have asked such a question. Suddenly she
remembered that Flora's "Mammy" and "Uncle Chris," as Flora called him,
were negroes, and of course must have heard. She resolved not to ask
another question during her visit.
Their way took them through pleasant streets shaded by spice trees and
an occasional oak. From behind high walls came the fragrance of orange
blossoms, ripening pomegranates and grapes. Very soon they had crossed
the Ashley River, and now the road ran between broad fields of cotton
where negroes were already at work gathering the white fluffy crop which
would be packed in bags and bales and shipped to many far distant ports.
The three little friends talked gaily of the pleasant visit which had
just begun. Sylvia was hoping that Flora would again speak of the
promised ride on one of the white ponies, but not until Uncle Chris
guided the swift horses into the driveway, shaded by fine live-oaks,
which led to the big house, was her wish gratified.
"We'll have a ride this afternoon, girls, if you are not too tired," she
said.
Grace and Sylvia promptly declared that they were not at all tired, and
that a ride was just what they would like best.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52