Then she remembered her mother's remark about that shade of blue being a trying one for her to wear.

That recalled Mom Beck's prescription for beautifying the complexion.

Nothing, so the old colored woman declared, was so good for one's face as washing it in dew before the sun had touched the grass, at the same time repeating a hoodoo rhyme.

Mary had been intending to try it, but never could waken early enough.
Now it was only a little after five.

Slipping out of bed, she drew aside the curtain.