lived, never complaining, never envying anybody and always singing or whistling. In his whole life he never accomplished anything except to make happy everyone about him. Perhaps this in itself was somewhat of an accomplishment. The singers of earth, the ones who make the music, may be as important as the workers.
Thus, calmly, without heat or hurry the life of Linda Dixon might have continued to flow onward had it not been for the arrival of Benda Joel who came from Chicago. He had journeyed down to the low country to visit his aunt whose shack was a short distance from that of Linda Dixon.
Benda Joel was well educated, a college student who had but recently graduated from one of the larger mid-west colleges. This was the first vacation he had had in years, a summer spent among the Gullah negroes of whom his mother had been one. It was good to be able to take time to rest, to loll about under trees, reading snatches of books and planning
his career. He had worked very hard. And
