Lewis hurried to his little room.  He took out all his boyish treasures and laid them on the bed.  How silly they looked, how childish!  He swept them away, and spread a large red handkerchief in their place.  He heard Natalie come in and call for him, but he did not answer.  In the handkerchief he packed his scanty wardrobe.  As he knotted the corners together he heard Mrs. Leighton and mammy chatting lightly with Natalie, helping her to dress.

Lewis, heavy-hearted, looked about his ugly little room, so bare, but as friendly as a plain face endeared by years of kindness.  From among his discarded treasures he chose the model in clay of a kid, jumping, the best he had ever made.  He tucked it into his bundle; then he picked up the bundle, and walked out into the great room, kitchen, sitting and dining room combined.

Mrs. Leighton and mammy were seated at the table.  Beside them stood Natalie.  They turned and looked at Lewis, surprised.  Lewis stared at Natalie.  She wore a dress he had seen but twice before and then on great occasions.  It had been a birthday present from her parents.  It was a red, pleated dress.  Accordion silk, the women called it.

About Natalie’s shoulders was a white, filmy scarf.  For the first time in her life her hair was loosely piled upon her head.  Through it and over it ran a bright ribbon.  The gloss of the satin ribbon was as naught beside the gloss of her shining hair.  Her neck, and her arms from the elbows, were bare.  Her neck was very thin.  One could almost see the bones.

“Where are you going, Lewis?” said Mrs. Leighton, listlessly.

Lewis felt the tears rise to his eyes.  He was ashamed of them.

“Do not speak to me,” he said roughly.  “You are a wicked woman.  You have sold Natalie.”  Then he turned fiercely on mammy.  “And you,” he said—­“you have dressed her for the market.  You are a bad nigger.”

Mrs. Leighton gasped and then began to cry softly.  Mammy’s eyes stared at Lewis.

“Bad niggah, young Marster?” she mumbled vaguely.

Natalie grasped the table and leaned forward.  “Lew!” she cried.  “Why, Lew!”

Lewis struck a tear from his cheek, turned, and fled.  He went to the rough lean-to that served as a stable and began to saddle his pony.

In all the heavens there was not a cloud.  It was what the natives, too often scourged by drought, called an ugly night.  The full moon rose visibly into the pale bowl of blue.  Above her tropic glare the satellite stars shone wanly and far away.

As Lewis was about to mount, Natalie came running from the house.  She held her new dress above her knees.  Her white scarf streamed out like two wings behind her.

“Lew!” she called.  “Wait!  What are you doing?”

Lewis waited for her.  She came close to him and laid her hand upon his arm.  Her brown eyes, shot with gold, were bigger than ever.  They looked their question into his face.