“Never,” answered Roxy with a ruthful smile; “but, Phyllis, in school I listen.  I have to.  Just school hours are all I have; but I learn lessons while they are being recited, and write exercises and things in that one free hour I have at ten o’clock.  If nothing like mumps or whooping-cough happens to Lovey this winter or next, I believe I will be ready to go to college with you and Belle and Mamie Sue and Tony and Pink.  I’ve asked Miss Prissy to be sure and pray away those mumps and whooping-cough.  I could manage measles.”

“But you are just one girl, Roxanne, with the usual number of hands and feet and eyes and things,” I said, with an intention of bringing things to the point of the embarrassing hunger.  But my point was reached in the conversation by Roxanne herself without my being quite ready for it.

“Yes, I know that, but for a little while I have got to be several,” she answered with a laugh.  “Douglass has succeeded in the experiments out there in the back yard, but he can’t be certain of the process until he tries it on a whole oven full of ore some night out at the furnaces.  He just works every minute he can get, all night sometimes, and that is why I mend and darn and save and save—­it costs so much for him to get the things he needs out in his shop.  Of course, I never let Lovey or Uncle Pomp get really hungry, but Douglass and I do—­that is—­” Roxanne stopped, for the pain would come out on my face.  “Oh, Phyllis, not really hungry,” she said mercifully, “but just tired of corn-bread and molasses.  Douglass kisses me and I kiss him good-by in the morning and we pretend it is butter on his bread, like the poet said.  Please don’t feel bad about it, Phyllis.  It was cruel for me to tell it when I am as happy as I can be.”

“Well, you’ll never be hungry again while I have two feet and hands to ‘tote’ food to you, as Uncle Pompey calls it,” I answered with a masterly control of that troublesome lump in my throat that I had discovered for the first time since I began to love Roxanne Byrd.

“I couldn’t let you do that—­bring me food, Phyllis,” said Roxanne gently; and her little head with its raven black, heavy curls again rose to the stately pose of the Byrd great-grandmother.

“I don’t see why not,” I answered bluntly.

“Taking food and clothes would be charity, and I couldn’t do that.  I couldn’t even let Miss Prissy give Lovelace Peyton any aprons, only I did take some scraps of her pink gingham dress to piece him with—­that’s why he looks like such a rainbow with his pink on blue.  Please don’t be mad with me, Phyllis.  I don’t mind at all doing without grand things to eat, but I can’t—­can’t do without your—­your love,” and Roxanne hid her head on my shoulder, much to my surprise.

“You’d better have my cookies and roast chicken,” I muttered as I shook her back into her own place again.