2

White folks had nearby farms but they didn't have a country store. Consequently, they stopped by on Saturdays to get feed for their cattle and fat back for their hungry bellies.

Morning came. The old witch had ceased picking her white goose. This was not a morning in which all was to be calm like the undisturbed snow had fallen the previous night. There was to be news - news for the old men at the country store, news for the grannies who dipped snuff, news for everybody. What news could create more excitement than for a white baby to be placed on a nigger's porch?

The Robertson house had been chosen by that mystical figure. She had laid her burden near the door and gone. Where, nobody knew. The situation was a problem for John and Carrie. Must they take the child to town and leave it at the police station or must they keep it?

The villagers felt that the child should be given up at once. But Carrie felt that it was sent by some unseen hand to bring good luck. In spite of the wagging tongues, Carrie kept the child as a mother would her own.

After those old gossipy folks saw that it was useless to try to persuade Carrie to take the bundle to town their tongues rested on that particular subject and worked on their own short comings. The only thing whose continuity lay undisturbed was the eternal snuff dipping and tobacco chewing.

There was already a little brown baby in the Robertson home. He was Junior - bright-eyed, chubby and smilling. People who knew nothing of that mysterious figure thought he and Charles, (as he was called) were twins - a brown and a white - as they saw

Auntie

3

3

Carrie suckle both of them at her overflowing breasts.

Old folks with crooked fingers and wobbly legs looked with penetrating eyes upon the two - brown and white - wondering about the outcome. The old blind, half-bent fortune teller predicted tragedy.

But regardless of this undercurrent of wonderings and predictions Carrie nursed her white baby and clung to it with the tenacity of an enraged beast.

By the time Junior and Charles were two years old Carrie became pregnant again. During the entire period she was jubilant because she and John had prayed for a girl. They lived and gloried in their hope.

It was a (damn) hot day in August when Violet was born. John walked the floor like a beast in pain until he heard the baby's first cry and knew all was well.

John and Carrie never wanted Charles to become conscious of his white skin. They knew, however, that if he ever grew-up in Atherton, he would know all about himself. They were aware that some of those tireless wagging tongues would tell him, tell him how he came to be a white among browns, tell him of that bleak December night.

Niggers heard of the north - a land that flowed with "milk and honey" - a land where a "Man's a man for a that." They went to New York like droves of cattle, to Chicago like swarms of bees and to Detroit like flocks of birds.

Atherton niggers heard of the promised land, too. Crops were not bringing much. There were hungry mouths to feed and naked backs to clothe. John felt the existing conditions and

4

He longed to go where men were men. Carrie, seeing the possi-
bility of improvement finally consented for him to go.

It was a hot day in early September when the Robertson
family held its reunion. John had made good in Camden with a
job of the Victor phonograph company. Carrie and the children
had never been so happy in all their lives as when John greeted
them with kisses on that day. It seemed as if he had been away
an eternity.

When the Robertsons bade Atherton adieu, they never
expected to live there again. John had sold the farm. Perhaps
someday they would return for a short visit. Possibly by that
time the wagging tongues would be cold or the wobbly legs too
feeble to frequent the country store.

It was a warm day in September of the following year when
Carrie took Charles and Junior to school. All the preliminaries
had been seen after. The teacher thought that Carrie was
Charles' nurse, but dared not mention it. She did ask, if
John and Charles were twins to which Carrie replied in the
affirmative. The teacher reflected - there is a possibility
of their being fraternal twins, but never identical - even so
Charles must be a reversion. Carrie never dreamed that the
teacher would ask as many questions. When she went to school
teachers were not concerned about your having had whooping
cough or scarlet fever.

Just as Carrie had kept the four room cottage in Atherton
so did she keep the home in Camden - immaculate. She moved
about the house with a quickened motion that reminded one of a
flash of lightning. Her whole being was imbued with such

5

dynamic force that nothing could stop her. In reality she was
an ideal wife and mother, one of which John was proud.

Because of Charles' white skin the children at school
took to him more than to John. This perplexed the brothers.
Why should they pay more attention to Charles than to his
brother? Finally, they decided to ask mother. Carrie knew
why. The realization of it was to her a gush of pain. It
caught at her heart and throat. She did at last answer the
question, but wholly unsatisfactory.

The July sun was beaming upon the hot pavement, causing
it to generate heat, so to speak. Perspiration had formed
one continuous stream on John's face. Could he believe his
eyes? There was James Legon before him. Both of the Atherton
folks seemed glad to meet each other. But was John actually
glad? He thought that his home town had gone out of his life
forever and here before his very eyes was a relic of Atherton -
a living relic.

The Legon family had been living in Pittsburgh for
several years but did not like it. Why Camden had been chosen
was just as unfathomed to John as a problem in analytic
geometry. Yet it happened - bad luck.

The following September the two Legon children matricu-
lated at the same school that Junior and Charles attended.
After a few days the Legons noticed how popular Charles was
with the whites. They also became aware of the similarity of
Charles and the whites' complexion. Jealousy arose and they
told their mother about Charles. Their curiosity was satis-
fied to the utmost for Helen Legon told them all - all about
the mystical figure and dark of the night.

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They say I am white. I look at my skin. Must I tell mother?
How will it affect her? Will she tell me the truth? Wonder why
they said it before Junior? Are they jealous of me? All of
this went through Charles' mind as he sat concentrated upon the
image that the mirror reflected. He was alone in his room - he
could meditate alone. No, he must not tell mother; he did not
have the nerve. Perhaps Junior had told her.

As Charles sat concentrating on the reflection of the mirror
and meditating some one came into the room. Charles was not
conscious of it, though. His thoughts were intense upon one
thing. Carrie stood watching him - watching him only as a
mother can. Had he found out - I wonder. "Charles what are
you doing"? He was startled! For a moment he hesitated - then
replied "Oh! nothing - just looking at some pimples on my face."
Carrie knew that Charles was lying. She could read it in his
face. Charles saw that his mother was not pleased with the
answer. He viewed a countenance permeated with suspicion. Then
he must tell her - all - just as he had heard.

On a late autumn afternoon Charles sat on the steps of the
dormitory in which he lived at the University of North Carolina
listening to the Chimes. They bewitched him and he was carried
away into pure ecstacy for a moment. He was overwhelmed with
love. Yet, his thoughts were stormy. Must he tell her of his
past life - tell her of the mystical figure, tell her of his
brown parents? Will the confession bring happiness? No, his
secret must be an encysted shadow within his heart - forever
dead - yet alive.

* * * * * * *

Crumbs 2.

glint of suppressed ire in the eye of her dear loved first born.

Matt Junior loved freedom and fun, in a word, all of the mischievous boy things which his father very righteously and most seriously challenged. Kenneth, the second, was chewing manfully looking straight ahead as in a dream. He, like his mother, had learned how to go off into the silvery spaces when things around became uncomfortable, and in an abstract way he received his father's severities with a respectful indifference.

With some self-chastisement Ruth poured the milk. Her revolt this morning was, she felt sure, but the maturing of an unrest that had sprung last night when Bill Lane had dropped by with the good news that, at last, the assets of "The Clarion" promised that there could be added one full time columnist to the staff. He thought it only fair to make her the first offer - she had inspired the establishment of the little sheet, and it had been her clever writing, first in one column and then another, under a variety of names that had popularized it.

"Your college training and contacts make you the most desirable person and, now, it would be great if you would write under your own name, it would lend prestige!"

His suggestion brought a warm tug of allegiance. She knew what he meant, her own name, her maiden name, the name of her father's daughter would mean more that her married name. She had not meant to do this, but George had suggested it when she begged for more of his time. He liked to see a woman's mind occupied" it "kept them from fretting about nothing"! She thought George would not like this. He did not mind a woman's doing "little things" but this promised to be the beginning of big things, big things that she loved.

She had looked bravely at Bill when she said, "I'm afraid this will take all of my time and right thru here George needs me

Crumbs 4.

left for mother this morning, and most mornings, anywhere in sight was crumbs. Crumbs at Kenneth's place, Crusts at Matt Junior's, all over the tablecloth, while Matthew, finding that he had too much breakfast had pushed a half plate of food away and was lost behind the morning paper. He had forgotten her. Of course he still loved her-but this happened too often - there were always the crumbs for her to clear away, white, crumbs yellow, brown crumbs. Dry crumbs, greasy crumbs. They were always there, and always would be there.

Perhaps, in her abstraction, she would nibble of a peace of toast as she cleared the dishes away and call it breakfast. There had been no rebellion, she did love all of her brood, but she realized suddenly that she did want the substance of something. George had his compensations of "Service", his mother had her Bible, the visiting "sisters" and her memories of better days. The children had the Parson traditions and their youth. Her indignation swelled, but at the sight before her it receded. She saw its futility. It was over. A delightful calm succeeded it and a new peace followed its confusion. She found her voice firm and measured.

"George", she said serenely, as she pushed back her chair and began to clear the table, "I have a splendid idea", I've decided - " she noticed mischievously that he looked up when she said "decided" - "to take a full time job on The Clarion". She checked his attempt at reply.

"I can arrange with Miss Jennie to come to do the housework out of my salary. I've already promised Lane to start Monday. We can talk over other details when you come home tonight. Run up and tell Mother while I crumb the table..." She left the room