Yet still Donald lingered. His brain was in a whirl. He wanted so much to do the right thing. But which was right? He had a mother who accepted him. This was one of the luckiest breaks ever. How many other boys could have told their parents the same thing? How many would have understood? Was he foolish to quarrel with such kindness? Was he being unreasonable in his attitude? But still he couldn't refuse to see Joe.

Behind Donald came the sound of a branch breaking, and the boy turned to find Joe approaching. Almost running he reached the Negro and they embraced. "I'm sorry Joe, I'm sorry."

९९

That's all right Don . . . I understand. I saw your mother leaving. Did she guess?"

"Not that you'd been, although she soon got back to the subject of . . ." Donald paused, "I can't say the word. I hate it."

Joe's strong arms went 'round the boy's shoulders. "You don't need say it, I've heard it enough already."

In the darkness of the trees they remained.

In the darkness of a living room in a council house some distance away, a woman waited. She had been crying. She sat alone in an empty house, only the sound of the clock disturbing the peace. Without Donald the house seemed dead. The woman's eyes turned towards the windows. A flash of lightning illuminated the deserted roadway. Her worried gaze searched the pavements. Deep inside her she knew that whatever happened she couldn't lose Donald. She'd been shocked, indeed horrified, when Donald had first informed her of his feelings. Yet she'd made the best of it. She knew that Donald was still the same boy, still her son. Now it was time for her to make another decision-just as important. She had to learn to accept a Negro.

Since a child she had always been scared of Negroes. They represented to her 'the bogey man,' the black man who would eat naughty little girls, and with the years her fears had turned to hate. People generally hate something they fear.

With another frightening crash of thunder outside, the front door opened and Donald rushed in. He was soaked. Standing in the doorway of the living room, dripping water onto the carpet, he said, "Sorry I'm late mother."

The woman rose, switched on the light and came towards her son. She put her arms around his wet body. "Forgive me, Donald. Forgive me for all the horrible things I said this afternoon."

"I forgive you, Mum," whispered Donald, tears running down his face, "but I've made a decision. I'll leave Joe if you insist, but I'll never leave you."

The woman suddenly broke into sobs, her whole body shook. "There's no need to, Donald. I too have made a decision. Rather than lose you I'll try to love your friend, any friend in fact, be he black, yellow or blue even."

"Thank you, Mum," whispered Donald. "Now let me go and change before I catch a cold."

The boy ran upstairs, pausing only to shout, "Can I 'phone Joe and tell him the good news?"

"Of course, Donald," replied his mother, "invite him to supper if you like." The rain lashed against the windows, washing away the past weeks of dirt on the panes. With the rain came the cool breeze, and inside the woman at the window came a strange feeling of tranquility. Her hatred was being washed

away.

From upstairs came the sound of singing. The house was alive again.

25