The Help

by Kathryn Stockett

She one a those grown ladies that still dress like a little girl with big bows and matching hats and such.

I can’t believe so many peoples is there—two-hundred-fifty thousand. And the ringer is, sixty thousand a them is white.

I look deep into her rich brown eyes and she look into mine. Law, she got old-soul eyes, like she done lived a thousand years.

And then she say it, just like I need her to. “You is kind,” she say, “you is smart. You is important.”