"We got a old nigger girl come by our place. She don't know nothing. Sews stuff for Mrs. Buddy— real fine lace but can't barely stick two words together. She don't know nothing, just like you.
You don't know a thing. End up dead, that's what. Not me. I'm a get to Boston and get myself somevelvet. Carmine. You don't even know about that, do you? Now you never will. Bet you nevereven sleep with the sun in your face. I did it a couple of times. Most times I'm feeding stock beforelight and don't get to sleep till way after dark comes. But I was in the back of the wagon once andfell asleep. Sleeping with the sun in your face is the best old feeling. Two times I did it. Once whenI was little. Didn't nobody bother me then. Next time, in back of the wagon, it happened again anddoggone if the chickens didn't get loose. Mr. Buddy whipped my tail.
Kentucky ain't no good placeto be in. Boston's the place to be in. That's where my mother was before she was give to Mr. Buddy. Joe Nathan said Mr. Buddy is my daddy but I don't believe that, you?"
Sethe told her she didn't believe Mr. Buddy was her daddy.
"You know your daddy, do you?"
"No," said Sethe.
"Neither me. All I know is it ain't him." She stood up then, having finished her repair work, andweaving about the lean-to, her slow-moving eyes pale in the sun that lit her hair,
she sang: "'Whenthe busy day is done And my weary little one Rocketh gently to and fro; When the night windssoftly blow, And the crickets in the glen Chirp and chirp and chirp again; Where "pon the hauntedgreen Fairies dance around their queen, Then from yonder misty skies Cometh Lady Button Eyes."
Suddenly she stopped weaving and rocking and sat down, her skinny arms wrapped around herknees, her good good hands cupping her elbows. Her slow-moving eyes stopped and peered intothe dirt at her feet. "That's my mama's song. She taught me it."