一双新鞋（4）

    “come in out of the sun. sit on the porch,” i said, surprised at the frankness of my command. “i’ll get you something to eat.” emotions had a etting mixed up these difficult days and i couldn’t trust mine, just as i couldn’t bear the shame-faced look of gratitude in his eyes. as i climbed the steps to the house, i became angry at myself, at my helplessness, at my empty cupboards, at the unrelenting drought, at the  country.

    i sliced a loaf of bread h my frenzied actions  of guilt at offering him so little. arden, rinsing his shirt in one of the pails. i beckoned to him, left him my scanty offering, and returned indoors.

    despite the draht. my flo to me in  my sgled to my feet and found alice sitting at the kitchen table, her head and shoulders bo next irls ht confirmation that i understood her statement. “that means stockings and a decent pair of shoes, mama, and look at me!” she thrust out her feet in their dusty running shoes.

    instinctively, i glanced at the old felt slippers i  sent my young one to find .

    “honey,  !”

    it an to prepare our meager supper that i remembered the young man, and i  at the old  him on his  man.

    all that arden in the cool of the mornings,  the plants to gro ritual of mine became my morning prayer. as i stooped in the garden  man one and had asked for so little.</p>

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