It's Come At Last", She Thought, "the

Oh, Magic Hour, When A Child First Knows She Can Read Printed Words.

Who Wants To Die? Everything Struggles To Live. Look At That Tree Growing Up There Out Of That Grating. It Gets No Sun, And Water Only When It Rains. It's Growing Out Of Sour Earth. And It's Strong Because Its Hard Struggle To Live Is Making It Strong. My Children Will Be Strong That Way.

Intolerance Is A Thing That Causes War, Pogroms, Crucifixions, Lynchings, And Makes People Cruel To Little Children And Each Other. It Is Responsible For Most Of The Viciousness, Violence, Terror, And Heart And Soul Breaking Of The World.

Someday You'll Remember What I Said And You'll Thank Me For It." Francie Wished Adults Would Stop Telling Her That. Already The Load Of Thanks In The Future Was Weighing Her Down. She Figured She'd Have To Spend The Best Years Of Her Womanhood Hunting Up People To Tell Them That They Were Right And To Thank Them.

She Went Out And Took A Last Long Look At The Shabby Little Library. She Knew She Would Never See It Again. Eyes Changed After They Looked At New Things. If In The Years To Be She Were To Come Back, Her New Eyes Might Make Everything Seem Different From The Way She Saw It Now. The Way It Was Now Was The Way She Wanted To Remember It.