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Chapter IV

           

           “Itwasnotsixyearsold,poormite,”Ianswered.“Itwasoneofthoseveryfairchildrenoneseesnowandthen.Itwasnotlikeitsmother.ShewasnotoneoftheWhitePeople.”

           “TheWhitePeople?”herepeatedquiteslowlyafterme.“Youdon’tmeanthatshewasnotaCaucasian?PerhapsIdon’tunderstand.”

           Thatmademefeelatrifleshyagain.OfcoursehecouldnotknowwhatImeant.Howsillyofmetotakeitforgrantedthathewould!

           “Ibegpardon.Iforgot,”Ievenstammeredalittle.“Itisonlymywayofthinkingofthosefairpeopleonesees,thoseveryfairones,youknow—theoneswhosefairnesslooksalmosttransparent.Therearenotmanyofthem,ofcourse;butonecan’thelpnoticingthemwhentheypassinthestreetorcomeintoaroom.Youmusthavenoticedthem,too.Ialwayscallthem,tomyself,theWhitePeople,becausetheyaredifferentfromtherestofus.Thepoormotherwasn’tone,butthechildwas.PerhapsthatwaswhyIlookedatit,atfirst.Itwassuchalovelylittlething;andthewhitenessmadeitlookdelicate,andIcouldnothelpthinking—”Ihesitated,becauseitseemedalmostunkindtofinish.

           “Youthoughtthatifshehadjustlostonechildsheoughttotakemorecareoftheother,”heendedforme.Therewasadeepthoughtfulnessinhislook,asifhewerewatchingme.Iwonderedwhy.

           “IwishIhadpaidmoreattentiontothelittlecreature,”hesaid,verygently.“Diditcry?”

           “No,”Ianswered.“Itonlyclungtoherandpattedherblacksleeveandkissedit,asifitwantedtocomforther.

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