"Isn't she lots of company for you ?" She need not have asked that question if she could have seen them that evening, sitting together in the early twilight.
Lloyd was in her mother's lap, leaning her head against her shoulder as they rocked slowly back and forth on the dark porch.
There was an occasional rattle of wheels along the road, a twitter of sleepy birds, a distant croaking of frogs.
Mom Beck's voice floated in from the kitchen, where she was stepping briskly around.
"Oh, the clouds hang heavy, an' it's gwine to rain.
Fa'well, my dyin' friends," she sang.
Lloyd put her arms closer around her mother's neck.
"Let's talk about Papa Jack," she said.

"What you 'pose he's doin' now, 'way out West ?" Elizabeth, feeling like a tired, homesick child herself, held her close, and was comforted as she listened to the sweet little voice talking about the absent father.
The moon came up after awhile, and streamed in through the vines of the porch.

The hazel eyes slowly closed as Elizabeth began to hum an old-time negro lullaby.
"Wondah if she'll run away to-morrow," whispered Mom Beck, as she came out to carry her in the house.
"Who'd evah think now, lookin' at her pretty, innocent face, that she could be so naughty?
Bless her little soul!" The kind old black face was laid lovingly a moment against the fair, soft cheek of the Little Colonel.

Then she lifted her in her strong arms, and carried her gently away to bed..