Usually he was out of bed by five. There was never much for him to do, except to see that the darkies got started to the fields on time. Some mornings he walked down the road as far as the bridge, and turned around and came back; by seven, at the latest, he was ready to sit on the front porch and put his feet on the railing. This morning the sun was two hours high when he opened his eyes. He lay on his side wondering why he had slept so late. It was not long before he remembered what had happened in the next room. Clay jumped out of bed, hurrying into his pants and shirt, and went to the kitchen. Sugar was not there, but Dene had breakfast ready. He sat down at the table and ate quickly. When he had finished, he spoke to Dene for the first time that morning. She had already eaten, and she was clearing the table. “Where’s Semon Dye?” he asked her, pushing back his chair. “You haven’t seen him this morning?” Dene made a trip to the stove and back before she answered him. “He hasn’t been out here.
