In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. She looked at him mournfully. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. “I wanted to go to an art-student ball of which he disapproved. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. ” “Who says I don’t? Didn’t you used to live in Arkansas?” “Alabama. “Those were good.
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