She crept on to the head of the narrow, steep stairs, and there her courage failed her. The dance music, coming in full and strong over the radio, had just begun, and she could hear the shuffle of feet on the bare floor of the living room. How had she thought for one minute that she could brave those alien eyes, intrude, uninvited, upon Pearl's party? Hadn't Pearl made it cruelly clear that she despised her, resented her, because of David's interest in her?
She had been leaning over the narrow pine banister, but she straightened then, a hand going to her heart, for it was David standing near her in the dark, and his voice was very kind.
At 11 o'clock that Saturday night Sally Ford blew out the flame in the small kerosene lamp--the electric light wires had not been brought to the garret--and then knelt beside the low cot bed to pray, as she had been taught to do in the orphanage.
After she had raced mechanically through her childish "Now-I-lay-me," she lifted her small face, that gleamed pearly-white in the faint moonlight, and, clasping her thin little hands tightly, spoke in a low, passionate voice directly to God, whom she imagined bending His majestic head to listen:
"Oh, thank you, God, for making David like me, and for letting me dance with him. And if dancing is a sin, please forgive me, God, for I didn't mean any harm. And please make Pearl not hate me so much just because David is sweet to me. She has so many friends and a father and mother and a grandmother and a nice home and so many pretty clothes, while I haven't anything. Make her feel kinder toward me, dear God, and I'll work so hard and be so good! And please, God, keep my heart and body pure, like Mrs. Stone says."
Lying in bed, covered only with the scant nightgown she had brought from the orphanage, Sally did not feel the oppressive heat nor the hardness and lumpiness of her cornshuck mattress. For she was reliving the hour she had spent in the Carson living room, sponsored by a stern-faced David who seemed determined to force Pearl and her giggling, chattering friends to accept the timid little orphan as an equal.
She felt again the pain in her heart at their veiled insults, their deliberate snubs, the concentrated fury that gleamed at her from Pearl's pale blue eyes. But again, as during that hour, the hurt was healed by the blessed fact of David's championship. She lay very still to recapture the bliss of David's arm about her waist, as he whirled her lightly in a fox trot, the music for which came so mysteriously from a little box with dials and a horn like a phonograph. She heard again his precious compliment, spoken loudly enough for Pearl to hear: "You're the best dancer I ever danced with, Sally. I'm going to ask you to the Junior Prom next year."