A bright fire burned in the bottom of the little gulch. And Tom, with sticks and wire, had made supports from which two kettles hung and bubbled furiously, and good steam poured out under the lids. Rose of Sharon knelt on the ground out of range of the burning heat, and she had a long spoon in her hand. She saw Ma come out of the tent, and she stood up and went to her. “Ma,’’ she said. “I got to ask.’’ “Scared again?’’ Ma asked. “Why, you can’t get through nine months without sorrow.’’ “But will it—hurt the baby?’’ Ma said, “They used to be a sayin’, ‘A chile born outa sorrow’ll be a happy
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