writing, but the box was empty She was surprised, for she realized that her mother could have used only one or two of the pIlls. Frances was so determined to get some sleep that she searched the entire little store of things in the shoe box quite heartlessly, but there were no pIlls. She returned to her room and tried to read, but could not, and so smoked instead and stared out at the dawn-blackening sky. The house sighed. She could not take her mind off the Negro gIrl. If she died . . . When It was light, she dressed and got Into the car. In town, the postman was unlocking the post office to sort the early mail. "I declare," he said to the rural mailcan I do?" "}T ou look better tonight," said Tom. "I slept," said Frances. "I slept and slept. From early this morning until ff -U 0 ( !J, Á-\.'::J- tr , \' . '" just 'while ago. I never slept so well." Then she told him about the Negro near the cemetery the previous after- noon, and how she had drIven back out there as soon as dawn came, and found him again He had been walking across the open field near the remains of the house that had burned down. There was no path to hIm from her, and she had hurried across ground uneven from old plowing and covered with the kind of small, tender grass It takes a very skillful mule to crop. "Wait!" she