As I got up, one piece of my chicken slid off the saucer and
fell to the floor. That was all right. I just wiped it off good
with the tail of my underskirt.
When I had finished chewing up every last piece of skin and
soft gristle sticking to the bones, I set my saucer on the floor
and darted over to the bureau by Mama's bed. But its looking
glass had wavy streaks, so I ran across the hall to the big
dresser in the front room. After a few minutes I decided I'd have
to go back in the kitchen to Mama.
"Mama, them chicken bones ain't no good! I got to the looking
glass, and it was- It was- It-"
"It was what, hon?"
"My same face!"
"Well, don't cry! You look fine. Sometimes it takes a long
time for a girl to get extra pretty. Some need lots of chicken
feet."
"I wish every chicken had a hundred feet!"
Papa called me to come over to the kitchen bench where he was
sitting.
"Come on, sugar." He took out his pocket handkerchief to wipe
my sticky fingers. Then he lifted me up in his arms. "You look
real beautiful to me.
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