. ~rOO~#Ö	.	12

Cc3RDELIA THOMAS
Ex-Slave ~ Age 80.	~ .


	Â long, hot walk over‘ rough, hilly roads brought the visitor to Cordelia‘s place just after the noon hour of a sweltering ~Tu1y d~ay, and the shade of the tall water oaks near the.little eabinwas a most welcome sight. The house stood. only a few feet from a spur of railroad track but the small yard was enclosed by a‘ luxurious green hedge. Roaes predominated among the many varieties of flowers in evidence on the otherwise drab prerriises.

	A dilapidated porch across the front of, the residence had no roof and. the floorboards were so badly rotted that it did not seem quite safe to walk from the steps to the front door where ~orde1ia stood waiting. “Come right in, Missy,“ she invited, “but be keerful not tô fall through dat old porch floor.“‘ The tall, thin Negress was clad in a f8ded but scrupulously clean blue dress, a white apron, and a snowy headeloth crowned by a shabby black hat. Black brogans completed her costume. Gordelia led the way to the rear of a~narrow hall. “tïs will be cooler back here,“ she explained. Sunlight poured through gaping holes in the roof, and the coarse biown wra~oing paper pasted on the walls was splattered and streaked by rain. The open door of Cordelia‘s bedroom revealed a wooden bed, a marble-topped bureau, and a washstand of the Victorian period. A rocker, two straight cnairs, a small table, arid a trunk completed the furnishings of