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happening, she said to herself as the nine Negroes flashed before her mind’s eye.
    Finally, there was a blank—darkness. Then she was alone on a long trail that led over a low-lying hill. On each side of the trail small dry bush stubbornly spread out far and wide all over the valley. The trail led to a place where Sophia knew she was forbidden. But it was a place where she had always wanted to go.
    As she walked along, she felt tranquil. She was almost to the hill before she encountered any living thing. Then she passed a woman hidden behind a parasol. Sophia could see only a dingy dress and an apron that covered the woman’s ankles, but she knew that the woman was colored and that she was very old. She met two more women just like the first, and not once did the women speak or show themselves. But Sophia was not alarmed as she went on up the hill.
    Suddenly, she was on a dusty, rutted street. The heat was almost unbearable. Gleaming white rocks made fences around some houses, while similar rocks were used for walks up to the doors of others. All porches had little kilns glowing with charcoal. There were no people or other living things, but she knew someone was waiting for her. Complete silence made a weird sound in her ears, like the bursting foam of a million soap bubbles.
    At last she saw Letha standing in a doorway. Immediately Sophia knew it was Letha who had been waiting. She felt a burst of warm friendship, a happiness such as she had never known. But suddenly Letha disappeared and a crowd of ugly children sprang through the door and captured Sophia. Sophia kicked and screamed. But they quickly overpowered her. Though she twisted and turned she could not get away. They dragged her screaming into the dark hot house.
    Darkness and heat bound Sophia as she struggled to come up to the light. Turning and twisting, she finally sprang up. Her heart pounded, her throat was dry, and she was wet with sweat.
    The sunlight streamed through her window. A bluejay was chattering at a mockingbird who was mimicking a cat. All of these familiar sounds assured her she was in her room, at home, safe. Still she lay shivering, even though her room was warm from the invasion of the early morning sun.
    What an awful dream! Why were so many things happening to upset her! Negroes had never been important in her life. They will not be now, she told herself.
    She bounded out of bed and moved about the room, drawing blinds to shut out the morning light. Already the heat drove her in for a cool shower.
    In the shower she realized it was a holiday and she had nothing planned. If only she hadn’t been so hasty. “… never want to see you again.” Maybe she should call Arnold and suggest they go horseback riding. Never . But if he called, maybe.
    As she dressed to go down for breakfast, the phone rang. Her heart raced wildly and she hurriedly threw on her robe so she would be ready to answer. She listened at the head of the stairs, hoping. Burt was talking to someone.
    Disappointed, she took her time dressing, then sauntered into the kitchen. With Ida away, it was every man for himself. Her father sat hidden behind the paper. His plate with the remnants of toast and bacon rinds had been pushed aside. He grunted a response to her “Good morning.”
    Half-eaten, too-brown, Swiss cheese toast, and three fourths of a cup of coffee indicated that Burt’s breakfast had been interrupted by the phone call. Sophia felt a tinge of anger as she stirred about making toast and hot chocolate. Ida should be here to get breakfast, she thought. Yet any other time, even if Ida was there, Sophia would fuss about the kitchen, anyway.
    But this morning she was upset. Only mother would give the help two days in a row. Grandma Sophie never would have. Grandma’s motto: Train a servant the way you want her to go, and hold a firm rein. That’s the way she would run her house, Sophia thought, as she rushed to retrieve her burning