ACROSS THE FRUITED PLAIN

by

FLORENCE CRANNELL MEANS

With Illustrations by Janet Smalley

[Cover Illustration: Cars][Cover Illustration: Hoeing][Cover Illustration: Picking][Cover Illustration: Weeding]

New York : Friendship Press, c1940

Plans and procedures for using _Across The Fruited Plain_ will befound in "A Junior Teacher's Guide on the Migrants, " by E. MaeYoung. Photographs of migrant homes and migrant Centers will befound in the picture story book _Jack Of The Bean Fields_, by NinaMillen. 

This book is dedicated to a whole troop of children "across thefruited plain": Tomoko, Willie May, Fei-Kin, Nawamana, Candelariaand Isabell, and to the newest child of all--our little MaryMargaret. 

[Illustration: Cissy and Tommy at the Center]

CONTENTS

Foreword1: The House Of Beecham2: The Cranberry Bog3: Shucking Oysters4: Peekaneeka?5: Cissy From The Onion Marshes6: At The Edge Of A Mexican Village7: The Boy Who Didn't Know God8: The Hopyards9: Seth Thomas Strikes Twelve

FOREWORD

Dear Mary and Bonnie and Jack and the rest of my readers:

Maybe you've heard about the migrants lately, or have seenpictures of them in the magazines. But have you thought that manyof them are families much like yours and mine, travelinguncomfortably in rattly old jalopies while they go from one cropto another, and living crowded in rickety shacks when they stopfor work?

There have always been wandering farm laborers because so manycrops need but a few workers part of the year and a great many atharvest. A two-thousand-acre peach orchard needs only thirtyworkers most of the year, and one thousand seven hundred atpicking time. Lately, though, there have been more migrants thanever. One reason is that while in the past we used to eat freshpeas, beans, strawberries, and the like only in summer, now wewant fresh fruits and vegetables all year round. To supply ourwants, great quantities of fresh fruit and vegetables must beraised in the warm climates where they will grow. 

Another reason is that more farm machinery is used now, and onetractor will do as much work as several families of farmlaborers. So the extra families have taken to migrating orwandering about the country wherever they hope to find work. 

A further cause of the wandering is the long drought which turnedpart of our Southwestern country where there had been goodfarming into a dry desert that wouldn't grow crops any more. Thepeople from the Dust Bowl, as the district is called, had tomigrate, or starve. A great many of them went to the near-bystate Of California, which grows much fruit and vegetables. Thereare perhaps two hundred thousand people migrating to Californiaalone each year. 

Of course there isn't nearly enough work for them all, and therearen't good living places for those who have work. That meansthat the children--like you--don't have the rights of youngAmerican citizens--like you. A great many of them can't go toschool, and are growing up ignorant; and they don't have church, with all it means to us. They don't have proper homes or food, sothey haven't good health; and because they are not in their homestate or county, they cannot get medical and hospital care. 

You may think we have nothing to do with them when you sometimespass a jalopy packed inside with a whole family, from grandma tobaby, and outside with bedding and what-not. 

But we have something to do with them many times a day. Everytime we sit down at our table we have something to do with them. Our sugar may come from these children's work; our oranges, too, and our peas, lettuce, melons, berries, cranberries, walnuts . . . !Every time we put on a cotton dress, we accept something fromthem. 

For years no one thought much of trying to help these wanderers. No one seemed to notice the unfairness of letting some childrenhave all the blessings of our country and others have none. Byand by, the counties and states and Federal government tried tohelp the migrant families. In a few places the government has setup comfortable camps and part-time farms such as this storydescribes. The church has tried to do something, also. 

About twenty years ago, the Council of Women for Home Missions, made up of groups of women from the different churches, began tomake plans for helping. They opened some friendly rooms wherethey took care of the children who were left alone while theirparents worked. The rooms were often no more than a made-overbarn, but in these "Christian Centers, " as they were called, thechildren were given cleanliness, food, happiness and the care ofa nurse, and were taught something about a loving Father God. Thechildren who worked in the fields and the older people were alsohelped. From the seven with which a beginning was made, thenumber of Centers has grown to nearly sixty. 

There is a great deal more to do in starting more Centers, and inequipping those we have, and we can do part of it. With ourchurch school classes, we can give CleanUp and Kindergarten Kitslike Cissy's and Jimmie's and our leaders will tell us otherthings we can do, such as collecting bedding and clothing andtoys and money. Best of all, we can give our friendship to thesehomeless people. 

For they're just children like you. When you grow up, perhaps youmay help our country become a place where no single child need behomeless. 

Florence Crannell MeansDenver, Colorado

ACROSS THE FRUITED PLAIN

[Illustration: Beechams in Reo]

1: THE HOUSE OF BEECHAM

"Oh, Rose-Ellen!" Grandma called. 

Rose-Ellen slowly put down her library book and skipped into thekitchen. Grandma peppered the fried potatoes, sliced somewrinkled tomatoes into nests of wilting lettuce, and wiped herdripping face with the hem of her clean gingham apron. Thekitchen was even hotter than the half-darkened sitting room wherecrippled Jimmie sprawled on the floor listlessly wheeling a toyautomobile, the pale little baby on a quilt beside him. 

Grandma squinted through the door at the old Seth Thomas dock inthe sitting room. "Half after six! Rose-Ellen, you run down tothe shop and tell Grandpa supper's spoiling. Why he's got to hanground that shop till supper's spoilt when he could fix up all theshoes he's got in two-three hours, I don't understand. 'Twould bedifferent if he had anything to do. . . . "

Rose-Ellen said, "O. K. , Gramma!" and ran through the hall. She'drather get away before Grandma talked any more about the shop. Day after day she had heard about it. Grandma talked to her, though she was only ten, because she and Grandma were the onlywomen in the family, since last winter when Mother died. 

As Rose-Ellen let the front door slam behind her, she saw Daddycoming slowly up the street. The way his broad shoulders droopedand the way he took off his hat and pushed back his thick, darkhair told her as plainly as words that he hadn't found work thatday. Even though you were a child, you got so tired--so tired--ofthe grown folks' worrying about where the next quart of milkwould come from. So Rose-Ellen patted him on the arm as theypassed, saying, "Hi, Daddy, I'm after Grampa!" and hop-skipped ontoward the old cobbler shop. Before Rose-Ellen was born, whenDaddy was a boy, even, Grandpa had had his shop at that corner ofthe city street. 

There he was, standing behind the counter in the shadowy shop, his shoulders drooping like Daddy's. He was a big, kind-lookingold man, his gray hair waving round a bald dome, his eyes brightblue. He was looking at a newspaper. It was a crumpled oldpaper that had been wrapped around someone's shoes; the Beechamsdidn't spend pennies for newspapers nowadays. 

The long brushes were quiet from their whirling. On the rack offinished shoes two pairs awaited their owners; on the other rackwere a few that had evidently just come in. Yet Grandpa lookedas tired as if he had mended a hundred pairs. 

He looked up when the bell tinkled. "Oh, Ellen-girl! Anythingwrong?"

"Only Gramma says please come to supper. Everything's gettingspoiled. "

Grandpa glanced at his old clock. It said half-past five. "I keeptinkering with it, but it's seen its best days. Like me. "

He took off his denim apron, rolled down his sleeves, put on hishat and coat, and locked the door behind them. But not before hehad looked wistfully around the little place, with its smell ofbeeswax, leather and dye, where he had worked so long. Its wallswere papered with his favorite calendars: country scenes thatreminded him of his farm boyhood; roly-poly babies in bathtubs; apretty girl who looked, he said, like Grandma--a funny idea toRose-Ellen. Patched linoleum, doorstep hollowed by thousands offeet--Grandpa looked at everything as if it were new and bright, and as if he loved it. 

Starting home, he took Rose-Ellen's small damp hand in his bigdamp one. The sun blinded them as they walked westward, and theheat struck at them fiercely from pavement and wall, as if itwere fighting them. Rose-Ellen was strong and didn't mind. Sheheld her head straight to make her thick brown curls hit againsther backbone. She knew she was pretty, with her round face anddark-lashed hazel eyes; and that nobody would think her starchyshort pink dress was old, because Grandma had mended it sonicely. Grandma had darned the short socks that turned down toher stout slippers, too; and Grandpa had mended the slippers tillthe tops would hardly hold another pair of soles. 

"Hi, Rosie!" called Julie Albi, who lived next door. "C'm'out andplay after supper?"

"Next door" was the right way to say it. This Philadelphia streetwas like two block-long houses, facing each other across a stripof pavement, each with many pairs of twin front doors, each pairwith two scrubbed stone steps down to the sidewalk, and two baywindows bulging out upstairs, so that they seemed nearly to touchthe ones across the narrow street. Rose-Ellen and Julie sharedtwin doors and steps; and inside only a thin wall separated them. 

At the door Dick overtook Grandpa and Rose-Ellen. Dick wastwelve. Sometimes Rose-Ellen considered him nothing but anuisance, and sometimes she was proud of his tallness, his curlyfair hair and bright blue eyes. He dashed in ahead when Grandpaturned the key, but Grandpa lingered. 

Rose-Ellen said, "Hurry, Grampa, everything's getting cold. " Butshe understood. He was thinking that their dear old house was nolonger theirs. Something strange had happened to it, called "soldfor taxes, " and they were allowed to live in it only this summer. 

Grandma blamed the shop. It had brought in the money to buy thehouse in the first place and had kept it up until a few yearsago. It had put Daddy through a year in college. Now it wasfailing. Once, it seemed, people bought good shoes and had themmended many times. Then came days when many people were poor. They had to buy shoes too cheap to be mended; so when the soleswore out, the people threw the shoes away and bought more cheapones. No longer were Grandpa's shoe racks crowded. No longer wasthere money even for taxes. All Grandpa took in was barely enoughfor food and shop rent. But what else besides mending shoes andfarming did he know how to do? And who would hire an old man whenjobs were so few?

Even young Daddy had lost his job as a photograph finisher, andhad brought his wife and three children home to live with Grandpaand Grandma. There Baby Sally was born; and there, before thebaby was a month old, Mother had died. Soon after, the old househad been sold for taxes. 

Grandma went about her work with the strong lines of her squareface fixed in sadness. She was forever begging Grandpa to give upthe shop, but Grandpa smashed his fist down on the table and saidit was like giving up his life. . . . And day after day Daddy huntedwork and was cross because he could find none. 

For Dick and Rose-Ellen the summer had not been very differentfrom usual. Dick blacked boots on Saturdays to earn a few dimes;Rose-Ellen helped Grandma with the "chores. " They had long hoursof play besides. 

But the hot summer had been hard for nine-year-old Jimmie and thebaby. They drooped like flowers in baked ground. Since Jimmie'sinfantile paralysis, three years before, he had been able to walkvery little, and school had seemed out of the question. Unable toread or to run and play, he had a dull time. 

Grandpa and Rose-Ellen went through the clean, shabby hall to thekitchen, where Grandma was rocking in the old rocker, Sallywhimpering on her lap. 

"Well, for the land's sakes, " said Grandma, "did you make up yourmind to come home at last? Mind Baby, Rose-Ellen, while I dishup. "

After supper, Daddy sat hopelessly studying the "Help Wanted"column in last Sunday's paper, borrowed from the Albis. Jimmielooked at the funnies, and Grandma and Rose-Ellen did the dishes. Julie Albi, who had come to play, sat waiting with heels hookedover a chair-rung. 

The shabby kitchen was pleasant, with rag rugs on the paintedfloor and crisp, worn curtains. The table and chairs werecream-color, and the table wore an embroidered flour-sack cover. Grandpa pottered with a loose door-latch until Grandma wrungthe suds from her hands and cried fiercely, "What's the usedoing such things, Grampa? You know good and well we can'tstay on here. Everything's being taken away from us, even ourchildren. . . . "

[Illustration: Grandpa pottering]

"Miss Piper come to see you, too?" Grandpa groaned. 

"Taken away? Us?" gasped Rose-Ellen. 

"What's all this?" Daddy demanded. He stood in the doorwaystaring at Grandpa and Grandma, and his bright dark eyes lookedalmost as unbelieving as they had when Mother slipped away fromhim. "You can't mean they want to take away our children?"

Dick came to the door with half of Jimmie's funnies, his mouthopen; and Jimmie hobbled in, bent almost double, thin hand oncrippled knee. Julie slipped politely away. 

Then the news came out. The woman from the "Family Society" hadcalled that day and had advised Grandma to put the children intoa Home. When Grandma would not listen, the woman went on to theshop and talked with Grandpa. 

"Her telling us they wasn't getting enough milk and vegetables!"Grandma scolded, wiping her eyes with one hand and smoothing backRose-Ellen's curls with the other. "Saying Jimmie'd ought to bewhere he'd get sunshine without roasting. Good as telling me wedon't know how to raise children, and her without a young-one toher name. "

Grandpa blew his nose. "Well, it takes money to give the kids thevittles they ought to have. "

"I won't go away from my own house!" howled Jimmie. 

Rose-Ellen and Dick blinked at each other. It was one thing toscrap a little and quite another to be entirely apart. And thebaby. . . . 

"Would Miss Piper take . . . Sally?" Rose-Ellen quavered. 

Grandma nodded, lips tight. 

"They shan't!" Rose-Ellen whispered. 

"Nonsense!" Daddy said hoarsely, his hands tightening on Jimmie'sshoulder and Rose-Ellen's. "It's better for families to sticktogether, even if they don't get everything they need. Ma, youthink it's better, don't you?"

He looked anxiously at his parents and they looked pityingly athim, as if he were a boy again, and before they knew it the wholefamily were crying together, Grandpa and Daddy pretending theyhad colds. 

Then came a knock at the door, and Grandma mopped her eyes withher apron and answered. Julie's mother stood there, a comfortablebrown woman with shining black hair and gold earrings, theyoungest Albi enthroned on her arm. Mrs. Albi's eyebrows hadrisen to the middle of her forehead, and she patted Grandma'sshoulder plumply. 

[Illustration: Mrs. Albi]

"Now, now, now, now!" she comforted in a big voice. "All will bewell, praise God. Julie, she tell me. All will be well. "

"How on earth can all be well?" Grandma protested. "I don't seeno prospects. "

"This summer as you know, " said Mrs. Albi, "we went into Jersey. For two months we all pick the berries. Enough we earn to put-itfood into our mouth. And the keeds! They go white and skinny, andthey come home, like you see it, brown and fat. " Her voice roseand she waved the baby dramatically. "Not so good the houses, Iwould not lie to you. But we make like we have the peekaneeka. Bynight the cool fresh air blow on us and by day the warm freshair. And vegetables and fruit so cheap, so cheap. "

"But what good will that do us, Mis' Albi?" Grandma asked flatly. "It's close onto September and berries is out. "

"The cranberry bog!" Mrs. Albi shouted triumphantly. "Only todaythe _padrone_, he come to my people asking who will pick thecranberry. And that Jersey air, it will bring the fat and the redto these Jimmie's cheeks and to the _bambina_'s!" Mrs. Albi wheezedas she ran out of breath. 

The Beechams stared at her. Many Italians and Americans went tothe farms to pick berries and beans. The Beechams had neverthought of doing so, since Grandpa had his cobbling and Daddy hisphotograph finishing. 

"Well, why shouldn't we?" Daddy fired the question into thestillness. 

"But school?" asked Rose-Ellen, who liked school. 

Mrs. Albi waved a work-worn palm. "You smart, Rosie. You ketch upall right. "

"That's okeydoke with me!" Dick exclaimed, yanking his sister'scurls. "You can have your old school. "

Sally woke with a cry like a kitten's mew and Rose-Ellen luggedher out, balanced on her hip. Mrs. Albi's Michael was the sameage, but he would have made two of Sally. Above Sally's smallwhite face her pale hair stood up thinly; her big gray eyes andlittle pale mouth were solemn. 

"Why, " Grandma said doubtfully, "we . . . Why, if Grandpa would giveup his shop--just for the cranberry season. We got no place elseto go. "

Grandpa sighed. "Looks like the shop's give me up already. Wecould think about it. "

"All together!" whooped Dick. "And not any school!"

"Now, hold your horses, " Grandma cautioned. "Beechams don't runoff nobody knows where, without anyway sleeping over it. "

But though they "slept over" the problem and talked it over ashard as they could, going to the cranberry bogs was the bestanswer they could find for the difficulty. It seemed the only wayfor them to stay together. 

"Something will surely turn up in a month or two, " Daddy said. "And without my kids"--he spread his big hands--"I haven't athing to show for my thirty-two years. "

"The thing is, " Grandpa summed it up, "when we get out of thishouse we've got to pay rent, and I'm not making enough for rentand food, too. No place to live, or else nothing to eat. "

Finally it was decided that they should go. 

Now there was much to do. They set aside a few of their mostprecious belongings to be stored, like Grandma's grandma'spainted dower chest, full of treasures, and Grandpa's tall deskand Rose-Ellen's dearest doll. Next they chose the things theymust use during their stay in Jersey. Finally they called in thesecond-hand man around the corner to buy the things that wereleft. 

Poor Grandma! She clenched her hands under her patched apron whenthe man shoved her beloved furniture around and glancedcontemptuously at the clean old sewing machine that had made themso many nice clothes. "One dollar for the machine, lady. "

Rose-Ellen tucked her hand into Grandma's as they looked at thefew boxes and pieces of furniture they were leaving behind, standing on stilts in Mrs. Albi's basement to keep dry. 

"It's so funny, " Rose-Ellen stammered; "almost as if that was allthat was left of our home. "

"Funny as a tombstone, " said Grandma. Then she went and grabbedthe old Seth Thomas clock and hugged it to her. "This seems thelivingest thing. It goes where I go. "

At last, everything was disposed of, and the padrone's agent'sbig truck pulled up to their curb. Two feather beds, a trunk, pots, pans, dishes and the Beechams were piled into the spaceleft by some twenty-five other people. The truck roared away, with the neighbors shouting good-by from steps and windows. 

Grandma kept her eyes straight ahead so as not to see her houseagain. Grandpa shifted Jimmie around to make his lame leg morecomfortable, just as they passed the cobbler's shop with "TO LET"in the window. Grandpa did not lift his eyes. 

"I hope Mrs. Albi will sprinkle them Bronze Beauty chrysanthemumsso they won't all die off, " Grandma said in a choked voice. 

2: THE CRANBERRY BOG

The truck rumbled through clustering cities, green country andwhite villages. All the children stared in fascination untilJimmie grew too tired and huddled down against Grandma's knees, whining because he ached and the sun was hot and the truck wascrowded. 

Grandpa kept pointing out new things-holly trees; muskrat housesrising in small stick-stacks from the ponds; farms that madetheir own rain, with rows and rows of pipes running along sixfeet in air, to shower water on the vegetables below. 

It was late afternoon, and dark because of the clouds, when thetruck reached the bogs. These bogs weren't at all what Rose-Ellenand Dick had expected, but only wet-looking fields of low bushes. There was no chance to look at them now, for everyone washurrying to get settled. 

The _padrone_ led them to a one-room shed built of rough boardsand helped dump their belongings inside. Grandma stood at thedoor, hands on hips, and said, "Well, good land of love! Ifanybody'd told me I'd live in a shack!"

Rose-Ellen danced around her, shrieking joyously, "Peekaneeka, Gramma! Peekaneeka!"

Grandma's face creased in an unwilling smile and she said, "You'll get enough peekaneeka before you're done, or I miss myguess. "

"Got here just in time, just in time!" chanted Dick andRose-Ellen, as a sudden storm pounded the roof with rain andsplit the air with thunder and lightning. 

"My land!" cried Grandma. "S'pose this roof will leak on thebaby and Seth Thomas?"

For an hour the Beechams dashed around setting up campkeeping. For supper they finished the enormous lunch Grandma had brought. After that came bedtime. 

Rose-Ellen lay across the foot of Grandpa and Grandma'sgoosefeather bed, spread on the floor. After the rain stopped, fresh air flowed through the light walls. 

Cranberry-picking did not start next morning till ground andbushes had dried a little. Grandpa and Daddy had time first toknock together stools and a table, and to find on a dumpheap alittle old stove, which they propped up and mended so Grandmacould cook on it. 

"The land's sakes, " Grandma grumbled, "a hobo contraption likethat!"

While they washed the breakfast dishes and straightened the oneroom, the grown-ups discussed whether the children should work inthe bog. 

Their Italian neighbor in the next shack had said, "No can makada living unless da keeds dey work, too. Dey can work. Myyoungest, he four year and he work good. "

"Likely we could take Baby along, and Jimmie could watch herwhile we pick, " Grandma said dubiously. "But my fingers are allthumbs when I've got them children on my mind. --Somebody's at thedoor. "

A tall young girl with short yellow curls stood tapping at theopen door. Grandma looked at her approvingly, her blouse was socrisply white. 

"Good morning, " said the girl. "I've come from the Center, wherewe have a day nursery for the little folks. " She smiled down atJimmie and Sally. "Wouldn't you like us to take care of yourswhile the grown-ups are working?" She made the older childrenfeel grown-up by the polite way she looked at them. 

"I've heard of the Centers, " Grandma said, leaning on her broom. "But I never did get much notion what you did with the young-onesthere. "

"Well, all sorts of things, " said the girl. "They sing and makethings and learn Bible verses. And in the afternoon they have anap-time. It's loads of fun for them. "

"They take their lunch along?" Grandma inquired. 

"Oh, no! A good hot lunch is part of the program. "

"But, then, how much does it cost?"

"A nickel apiece a day. "

"Come, come, young lady, that don't make sense, " Grandpaobjected. "You'd lose money lickety-split. "

The girl laughed. "We aren't doing it for money. We get moneyand supplies from groups of women in all the different churches. The owner of the bog helps, too. But we'll have to hurry, oryour row boss will be tooting his whistle. " Her eyes wereadmiring children and shack as she talked. Though not likeGrandma's lost house, this camp was already clean and orderly. 

[Illustration: On the way to the Center]

So the three went to the Center, the girl carrying Sally, andJimmie hobbling along in sulky silence. 

Jimmie had stayed so much at home that he didn't know how tobehave with strangers. Because he didn't want anyone to guessthat he was bashful, he frowned fiercely. Because he didn't wantanyone to think him "sissy, " he had his wavy hair clipped till hishead looked like a golf ball. He was a queer, unhappy boy. 

He was unhappier when they reached the big, bright, shabby housethat was the Center. Could it be safe to let Sally mingle withthe ragged, dirty children who were flocking in, he wondered?

His anxiety soon vanished. The babies were bathed and the biggerchildren sent to rows of wash-basins. In a jiffy, clean babieslay taking their bottles in clean baskets and clean children weredressed in clean play-suits. 

Besides the yellow-haired girl (her name was Miss Abbott, butJimmie never called her anything but "Her" and "She"), there weretwo girls and an older woman, all busy. When clean-up time waspast and the babies asleep, the older ones had a worship servicewith songs and stories. 

After worship came play. Outdoors were sandpiles and swings. Indoors were books and games. Jimmie longed for storybooks andreading class; but how could he tell Her that he was nine yearsold and couldn't read? He huddled in a corner, scowling, andturned pages as if he were reading. 

Meanwhile the rest of the family had answered the whistle of therow boss, and were being introduced to the cranberries. Dick andRose-Ellen were excited and happy, for it was the first fruitthey had ever picked. Though the wet bushes gave them showerbaths, the sun soon dried them. Since the ground was deep inmud, they had gone barefoot, on the advice of Pauline Isabel, thecolored girl in a neighboring shack. The cool mud squshed upbetween their toes and plastered their legs pleasantly. 

The grown folks had been given wooden hands for picking--scoopswith finger-like cleats! At first they were awkward at strippingthe branches, but soon the berries began to drop briskly into thescoops. The children, who could get at the lower branches moreeasily, picked by hand; and before noon all the Beecham fingerswere sore from the prickly stems and leaves. In the afternoonthey had less trouble, for an Italian family near by showed themhow to wrap their fingers with adhesive tape. 

But picking wasn't play. The Beechams trudged back to theirshack that night, sunburned and dirty and too stiff to straightentheir backs, longing for nothing but to drop down on their beds. 

"Good land of love!" Grandma scolded. "Lie down all dirty on myclean beds? I hope I ain't raised me up a mess of pigs. Youyoung-ones, you fetch a pail of water from the pump, and we'llsee how clean we can get. My land, what wouldn't I give for abathtub and a sink! And a gas stove!"

"Peekaneeka, Gramma!" Dick reminded her, squeezing her. 

"Picnic my foot! I'm too old for such goings-on. "

[Illustration: Lying down on the beds]

Though Grandma's rheumatism had doubled her up like a jack-knife, she scrubbed herself with energy and soon had potatoes boiling, pork sizzling, and tea brewing on the rickety stove. Daddybrought Jimmie and Sally from the Center. After supper they felta little better. 

Jimmie wouldn't tell about the Center, but from inside his blousehe hauled a red oilcloth bag, and emptied it out on the table. There were scissors, crayons, paste, pencil, and squares ofcolored paper. And there was a note which Jimmie smoothed outand handed to Daddy. 

"From Jimmie Brown, " he read, "Bethel Church, Cleveland. "

"We-we were s'posed to write thank-you letters!" Jimmie burst outmiserably. "She sat us all down to a table and gave us pens andpaper. "

"And what did you do, Son?" Daddy asked, smoothing the bristlylittle head. "I said could I take mine home, " Jimmie mumbled, fishing a tight-folded sheet of paper from his pocket. 

"I'll write it for you, " Rose-Ellen offered. She sat down andbegan the letter, with Jimmie telling her what he wanted to say. 

"But the real honest thing to do will be to tell her you didn'twrite it yourself, " Grandma said pityingly. 

"They have stories and games at night, " Jimmie said, changing thesubject. "She said to bring Dick and Rose-Ellen. "

Dick and Rose-Ellen were too tired for stories and games thatnight. They tumbled into bed as soon as supper was done, and hadto be dragged awake for breakfast. Not till a week's picking hadhardened their muscles did they go to the Center. 

When they did go--Jimmie limping along with his clipped headtucked sulkily between his shoulders as if he were not reallyproud to take them-they found the place alive with fun. Besidesthe three girls and the woman, there was a young man from anear-by university. He was organizing ping-pong games and indoorbaseball for the boys and girls and even volleyball for somegrown men who had come. Everyone was busy and everyone happy. 

"It's slick here, some ways, " Dick said that night. 

"For a few weeks, " Daddy agreed. 

"If it wasn't for the misery in my back, it wouldn't be bad, "Grandma murmured. "But an old body'd rather settle down in herown place. Who'd ever've thought I'd leave my solid oak diningset after I was sixty! But I'd like the country fine if we had areal house to live in. "

"I'm learning to do spatter prints--for Christmas, " saidRose-Ellen, brushing her hair before going to bed. 

"Jimmie, why on earth don't you take this chance to learnreading?" Daddy coaxed. 

"Daddy, you won't tell Her I can't read?" Jimmie begged. 

Yet, as October passed, something happened to change Jimmie'smind. 

As October passed, too, the Beechams grew skillful at picking. They couldn't earn much, for it took a lot of cranberries to filla peck measure-two gallons-especially this year, when the berrieswere small; and the pickers got only fifteen cents a peck. Thebogs had to be flooded every night to keep the fruit fromfreezing; so every morning the mud was icy and so were theshower-baths from the wet bushes. But except for Grandma, theydidn't find it hard work now. 

"It's sure bad on the rheumatiz, " said Grandma one morning, asshe bent stiffly to wash clothes in the tub that had been filledand heated with such effort. "If we was home, we'd be lightinglittle kindling fires in the furnace night and morning. And hotwater just by lighting the gas! Land, I never knew my own luck. "

"But I like it here!" Jimmie burst out eagerly. "Do you knowsomething? I'm going to learn to read! I colored my picturesthe neatest of anyone in the class, and She put them all on thewall. So then I didn't mind telling her how I never learned toread and write and how Rose-Ellen wrote my letter to Jimmie Brownin Cleveland. "

He beamed so proudly that Grandpa, wringing a sheet for Grandma, looked sorrowfully at him over his glasses. "It's a pity youdidn't tell her sooner, young-one, " he said. "The cranberrieswill be over in a few more days, and we'll be going back. "

"Back to Philadelphia?" Rose-Ellen demanded. "Where? Not to aHome? I won't! I'd rather go on and shuck oysters like PaulineIsabel and her folks. I'd rather go on where they're cuttingmarsh hay. I'd rather--"

"Well, now, " Grandpa's words were slow, "what about it, kids?What about it, Grandma? Do we go back to the city and-and partcompany till times are better? Or go on into oysters together?"

The tears stole down Jimmie's cheeks, but he didn't say anything. Daddy didn't say anything, either. He picked Sally up and huggedher so hard that she grunted and then put her tiny hands on hischeeks and peered into his eyes, chirping at him like a littlebird. 

"I calculate we'll go on into oysters, " said Grandpa. 

3: SHUCKING OYSTERS

This picnic way of living had one advantage; it made moving easy. One day the Beechams were picking; the next day they had joinedwith two other families and hired a truck to take them and theirbelongings to Oystershell, on the inlet of the bay near by. 

Pauline Isabel's family were going to a Negro oystershuckingvillage almost in sight of Oystershell. "It's sure nice there!"Pauline assured them happily. "I belong to a girls' club thatmeets every day after school; in the Meth'dis' church. We got asure good school, too, good as any white school, up the road apiece. "

The Beechams said good-by to Pauline's family, who had becometheir friends. Then they said good-by to Miss Abbott. That washard for Jimmie. He butted his shaven little head against Herand then limped away as fast as he could. 

The ride to Oystershell was exciting. Autumn had changed thelook of the land. "God has taken all the red and yellow he'sgot, and just splashed it on in gobs, " said Rose-Ellen as theytraveled toward the seashore. 

"What I like, " Dick broke in, "is to see the men getting in thesalt hay with their horses on sleds. "

The marshes were too soft to hold up anything so small as a hoof, so when farmers used horses there, they fastened broad woodenshoes on the horses' feet. Nowadays, though, horses were givingplace to tractors. 

The air had an increasingly queer smell, like iodized salt inboiling potatoes. The Beechams were nearing the salt-waterinlets of the bay, where the tides rose and fell like theocean-of which the inlets were part. 

The tide was high when they drove down from Phillipsville to thesettlement of Oystershell. The rows of wooden houses, theoyster-sheds and the company store seemed to be wading on stilts, and most people wore rubber boots. 

Grandma said, "If the bog was bad for my rheumatiz, what's thisgoing to be?"

A man showed the Beechams a vacant house in the long rows. "Notmuch to look at, " he acknowledged, "but the rent ain't much, either. The roofs are tight and a few have running water, caseyou want it bad enough to pay extra. "

"To think a rusty pipe and one faucet in my kitchen would ever bea luxury!" Grandma muttered. "But, my land, even the humpywall-paper looks good now. "

It was gay, clean paper, though pasted directly on the boards. The house had a kitchen-dining-sitting room and one bedroom, withwalls so thin they let through every word of the next-door radio. 

"That's going to be a peekaneeka, sure, " Grandma said grimly. 

Children were not allowed to work in the oysters, but Grandma wasgoing to try. The children could tell she was nervous about it, by the way her foot jerked up and down when she gave Sally herbottle that night; but she said she expected she wasn't too dumbto do what other folks could. 

The children were still asleep when the grown-ups went to work inthe six o'clock darkness of that November Saturday. When theywoke, mush simmered on the cookstove and a bottle of milk stoodon the table. It took time to feed Sally and wash dishes andmake beds; and then Dick and Rose-Ellen ran over to the nearestlong oyster-house and peeked through a hole in the wall. 

Down each side, raised above the fishy wet floor, ran a row ofbooths, each with a desk and step, made of rough boards. On eachstep stood a man or woman, in boots and heavy clothes, facing thedesk. Only instead of pen and paper, these people had buckets, oysters, knives. As fast as they could, they were opening thebig, horny oyster shells and emptying the oysters into thebuckets. 

Next time, Dick stayed with Sally, and Rose-Ellen and Jimmiepeeked. They were startled when a big hand dropped on each oftheir heads. 

"You kids skedaddle, " ordered a big man. "If you want to seethings, come back at four. "

By four o'clock the grown folks were home, tired and smelling offish; Dick and Rose-Ellen were prancing on tiptoe to go, andeven Jimmie was ready. 

"This is what he is like, " said Rose-Ellen, "the man who saidwe could. " She stuck in her chin and threw out her chest andtried to stride. 

"That's the Big Boss, all right, " Daddy said, laughing. "Guessit's O. K. But mind your _p_'s and _q_'s. "

"And stick together. Specially in a strange place. " Grandmawearily picked up the baby. 

The Big Boss saw them as soon as they tiptoed into theoyster-house. "Ez, " he called, "here's some nice kids. Show 'emaround, will you?"

Ez was opening clams with a penknife, and spilling them into hismouth. "Want some?" he asked. 

The children shook their heads vigorously. 

He closed his knife and dropped it into his pocket. 

"Well, now first you want to see the dredges come in from thebay. " He took them through the open front of the shed to thedocks outside. The boats had gone out at three o'clock in themorning, he said, in the deep dark. They were coming in nowheavily, loaded high with horny oysters, and Ez pointed out therake-set iron nets with which the shellfish were dragged fromtheir beds. "Got 'em out of bed good and early!"

"I'd hate to have to eat 'em all, " Jimmie said suddenly in hishusky little voice. 

Everyone laughed, for the big rough shells were traveling intothe oyster-house by thousands, on moving belts. Some shellslooked as if they were carrying sponges in their mouths, but Ezsaid it was a kind of moss that grew there. Already the pile ofunopened oysters in the shed was higher than a man. The shuckersneeded a million to work on next day, Ez said. 

[Illustration: Watching the dredges]

When the children had watched awhile, and the boatmen had askedtheir names, and how old they were and where they came from, Eztook them inside the shed to show them the handling of the newlyshucked oysters. First the oysters were dumped into somethingthat looked like Mrs. Albi's electric washer, and washed andwashed. Then they were emptied into a flume, a narrow troughalong which they were swept into bright cans that held almost agallon each. The cans were stored in ice-packed barrels, andearly next morning would go out in trains and trucks to all partsof the country. 

"How many pearls have they found in all these oysters?" Dickdemanded in a businesslike voice. "Not any!" Ez said. 

"Why can't you eat oysters in months that don't have R in them?"asked Rose-Ellen. 

"You could, if there wasn't a law against selling them. It'sonly a notion, like not turning your dress if you put it on wrongside out. Summer's when oysters lay eggs. You don't stop eatinghens because they lay eggs, do you? But now scram, kids. I gotwork to do. "

They left, skipping past the mountains of empty shells outside. 

Next day the children went to church school alone. The grownfolks were too tired. And on Monday Dick and Rose-Ellen went upthe road to the school in the little village. 

It was strange to be in school again, and with new schoolmatesand teachers and even new books, since this was a differentstate. Rose-Ellen's grade, the fifth, had got farther in longdivision than her class at home, and she couldn't understand whatthey were doing. Dick had trouble, too, for the seventh gradewas well started on United States history, and he couldn't catchup. But that was not the worst of it. The two children couldnot seem to fit in with their schoolmates. The village girlsgathered in groups by themselves and acted as if the oyster-shuckers'children were not there at all; and the boys did not give Dick evena chance to show what a good pitcher he was. Both Rose-Ellenand Dick had been leaders in the city school, and now they feltso lonesome that Rose-Ellen often cried when she got home. 

It was too long a walk for Jimmie, who begged not to go anyway. Besides, he was needed at home to mind Sally. 

Of course the grown folks wanted to earn all they could. The paywas thirty cents a gallon; and just as it took a lot ofcranberries to make a peck, it took a lot of these middle-sizedoysters to make a gallon. To keep the oysters fresh, the shedswere left so cold that the workers must often dip their numbhands into pails of hot water. All this was hard on Grandma'srheumatism; but painful as the work was, she did not give it upuntil something happened that forced her to. 

It was late November, and the fire in the shack must be keptgoing all day to make the rooms warm enough for Sally. She wascreeping now, and during the long hours when the grown folks wereworking and the older children at school, she had to stay in achair with a gate across the front which her father had fixed outof an old kitchen armchair. Grandma cushioned it with rags, butit grew hard and tiresome, and sometimes Jimmie could not keepher contented there. 

One day Sally cried until he wriggled her out of her nest andspread a quilt for her in a corner of the room as Grandma did. There he sat, fencing her in with his legs while he drew picturesof oyster-houses. He was so busy drawing roofs that he hadforgot all about Sally until he was startled by her scream. Hejerked around in terror. Sally had clambered over the fence ofhis legs and crept under the stove after her ball. Perhaps aspark had snapped through the half-open slide in the stove door;however it had happened, the flames were running up her littlecotton dress. 

Poor Baby Sally! Jimmie had never felt so helpless. Hardlyknowing why he did it, he dragged the wool quilt off Grandma'sbed and scooted across the floor in a flash. While Sallyscreamed with fright, he wrapped the thick folds tightly aroundher and hugged her close. 

[Illustration: Jimmie saving Sally]

When the grown folks came from work, just ahead of the schoolchildren, they found Jimmie and Sally white and shaky but safe. The woolen quilt had smothered out the flames before Sally washurt at all; and Jimmie had only a pair of blistered hands. 

"If I hadn't put a wool petticoat on her, and wool stockings, "Grandma kept saying, while she sat and rocked the whimperingbaby. "And if our Jimmie hadn't been so smart as to think of thebedclothes. . . . 

"Not all children have been so lucky, " Daddy said in ashaky voice, crouching beside Grandma and touching Sally's downyhead. 

"But I hadn't ought to have left her with poor Jimmie, "Grandma mourned. "If only they had a Center, like at the bogs. Idon't believe I can bear it to stay here any longer after this. Maybe we best go back to the city and put them in a Home. "

Daddy objected. "We'll not leave the kids alone again, ofcourse; but we're making a fair living and the Boss says there'llbe work through April, and then Pa and I can go out and plantseed oysters if we want. "

"Where's the good of a fair living if it's the death of you?"Grandma's tone was tart. "No, sir, I ain't going to stay, tiedin bowknots with rheumatiz, and these poor young-ones. . . . "

Grandpa made a last effort, though he knew it was of little usewhen Grandma was set. "I bet we could go to work on one of thesetruck farms, come summer. "

Grandma only rocked her straight chair, jerking one foot up anddown. 

"One of these _padrones_, " Daddy said slowly, "is trying to getfamilies to work in Florida. In winter fruits. "

Grandma brightened. "Floridy might do us a sight of good, and Ialways did hanker after palm trees. But how could we get there?"

"They send you down in a truck, " said Daddy. "Charge you so mucha head and feed and lodge you into the bargain. I figure we'vegot just about enough to make it. "

South into summer!

"That really would be a peekaneeka!" crowed Rose-Ellen. 

4: PEEKANEEKA?

That trip to Florida surprised the Beechams, but not happily. 

First, the driver shook his head at featherbeds, dishes, trunk. "I take three grown folks, three kids, one baby, twenty-eightdollars, " he growled. "No furniture. "

Argument did no good. Hastily the family sorted out their mostneeded clothing and made it into small bundles. The driverscowled at even those. 

"My featherbeds!" cried Grandma, weeping for once. 

Hurriedly she sold the beds for a dollar to her next-doorneighbor. The clock she would not leave and it took turns withthe baby sitting on grown-up laps. 

At each stop the springless truck seats were crowded tighter withpeople, till there was hardly room for the passengers' feet. Thecrowding did help warm the unheated truck; but Grandma's facegrew gray with pain as cold and cramp made her "rheumatiz tuneup. "

And there was no place at all to take care of a baby. 

When they had traveled two hours they wondered how they couldbear thirteen hundred miles, cold, aching, wedged motionless. All they could look forward to was lunchtime, when they couldstretch themselves and ease their gnawing stomachs; but the sunclimbed high and the truck still banged along without stopping. 

The children could hear a man in front angrily asking the driver, "When we get-it--the dinner?"

The driver faced ahead as if he were deaf. 

"When we get-it--the grub?" roared the man, pounding the driver'sshoulder. 

"If we stop once an hour, we don't get there in time for yourjobs, " the driver growled, and drove on. 

Not till dark did they stop to eat. Grandpa, clambering downstiffly, had to lift Grandma and Sally out. Daddy took Jimmie, sobbing with weariness. Dick and Rose-Ellen tumbled out, feetasleep and bodies aching. When they stumbled into the roadsidehamburger stand, the lights blurred before their eyes, and thehot steamy air with its cooking smells made Rose-Ellen so dizzythat she could hardly eat the hamburger and potato chips andcoffee slammed down before her on the sloppy counter. Jimmiewent to sleep with his head in his plate and had to be wakened tofinish. 

Still, the food did help them, and when they were wedged intotheir seats again, they could begin to look forward to thenight's rest. Grandpa said likely they wouldn't drive much afterten, and Grandma said, "Land of love, ten? Does he think abody's made of leather?"

On and on they went, toppling sleepily against each other, achingso hard that the ache wakened them, hearing dimly the same angryman arguing with the driver. "When we stop to sleep, hah? I askyou, when we stop to sleep?"

They didn't stop at all. 

Rose-Ellen was forever wishing she could wake up enough to pullup the extra quilt which always used to be neatly rolled at thefoot of her bed. Once, through uneasy dreams, she felt Daddyshaking her gently, and while she tried to pull away and backinto sleep, Grandpa's determinedly cheerful voice said, "Alwaysdid want to see Washington, D. C. , and here we are. Look quickand you'll see the United States Capitol. "

From the rumbling truck, Rose-Ellen and Dick focusedsleep-blurred eyes with a mighty effort and saw the great domeand spreading wings, flooded with light. 

"Puts me in mind of a mother eagle brooding her young, " Grandpamuttered. 

"Land of love, enough sight of them eaglets is out from under herwings, finding slim pickin's, " Grandma snapped. 

"Looks like white wax candles. " Rose-Ellen yawned widely and wentto sleep again. 

When gray morning dawned, she did not know which was worse-thesleepiness or the hunger. The angry man demanded over and over, "When we stop for breakfast?"

They didn't stop. 

Grandma had canned milk and boiled water along, and with all theBeechams working together, they got the baby's bottles filled. Poor Sally couldn't understand the cold milk, but she was sohungry she finally drank it, staring reproachfully at her bottle. 

Not till he had engine trouble did the driver halt. Fortunatelythe garage where he stopped had candy and pop for sale. Grandpahad his family choose each a chocolate bar and a bottle. Hewanted to get more, for fear they would not stop for the noonmeal, but in five minutes all the supplies were sold. 

Rose-Ellen tried to make her chocolate almond bar last; shechewed every bite till it slid down her throat; and then, alas, she was so sick that it didn't stay down. 

Grandpa and Daddy talked with others about making the driver givethem rest and food; but there was nothing they could do: thepadrone, back in Philadelphia, already had their money for thetrip. 

The children walked about while they waited. It was not cold, but the dampness chilled them. It was queer country, the highwayrunning between swamps of black water, where gray trees stoodveiled in gray moss. Gray cabins sat every-which-way in theclearing, heavy shutters swinging at their glassless windows. 

A pale, thin girl talked to Rose-Ellen. She was Polish, and hername was Rose, too. When Rose-Ellen asked her if she had everheard of such a dreadful trip, she shrugged and said she was usedto going without sleep. 

Last year, in asparagus, she and her parents and two brotherscared for twenty-two acres, and when it grew hot "dat grass, oooop she go and we work all night for git ahead of her. "Asparagus, even Rose-Ellen knew could grow past using in a day. 

The Polish Rose said that they got up at four in the morning andwere in the fields at half-past; and sometimes worked till nearmidnight. 

"Mornings, " she said, "I think I die, so bad I want the sleep. And then the boss, he no give us half our wages. Now most a yearit has been. "

Curiously Rose-Ellen asked her about school. 

"No money, no time, no clo'es, " said Polish Rose. 

The truck-driver shouted to his people to pile in and the truckwent on. By noon the Beechams were seeing their first palm treesand winter flowers. Grandpa and Daddy tried to tell the childrenabout the things they were passing, but the children were toosleepy and sickish to care. Grandma's mouth was a thin line ofpain and the baby wailed until people looked around crossly, though there were other crying babies. 

The truck reached its destination late on the second evening andpiled out its passengers at a grapefruit camp. Rose-Ellen hadbeen picturing a village of huts like those at the bogs, orbright-papered shacks like the oystershuckers'. Though thefeatherbeds were gone, it would be delicious to lie on the floor, uncrowded, and sheltered from the night. 

But no such shelter awaited them. Instead, they were pointed toa sort of hobo camp with lights glimmering through torn canvas. A heavy odor scented the darkness. 

Grandpa said, "They can't expect decent folks . . . !"

Grandma said, "We've got to stretch out somewheres. Even under atree. This baby. . . . "

Sally was crying a miserable little cry, and an Italian woman whoreminded Rose-Ellen of Mrs. Albi peered out of a patched tent andsaid, "Iss a _bambina_! Oooh, the little so-white _bambina_! Lookyou here, quick! The people next door have leave these tent. Youmove in before some other bodies. "

"These tent" was a top and three walls of dirty canvas. "Ifyou'd told me a Beecham would lay down in a filthy place likethis. . . . " Grandma declared. Rose-Ellen did not hear the end ofthe sentence. She was asleep on the earth floor. 

Next day when the men and Dick were hired to pick grapefruit, Grandpa asked the boss about better living quarters. 

"He said there wasn't any, " Grandpa reported later. 

"My land of love, you mean we've got to stay here?" Grandmagroaned. 

Grimly she set to work. The Italian neighbor had brought her apot of stew and some coffee, but now Grandma and Rose-Ellen mustgo to the store for provisions. They brushed their clothes, allwrinkles from the long trip, and demanding the iron Grandma didnot have. They combed their hair and washed. They set out, leaving the baby with Jimmie. 

"Shall I send these?" the grocer asked respectfully, when theyhad given their order. "You're new here, aren't you?" Mussed asthey were, the Beechams still looked respectable. 

Grandma flushed. She hated to have anyone see that flappingcanvas room, but the heap of supplies was heavy. "Please. We'reworking in the grapefruit, " she said. 

The grocer's face lost its smile. "Oh, we don't deliver to thecamps, " he snapped. "And it's strictly cash. "

Grandma handed him the coins, and she and Rose-Ellen silentlypiled their purchases into the tub they had bought. They had toset it down many times on their way back. 

[Illustration: Bringing back the groceries]

Next Grandma made a twig broom and they swept the dirty ground. Mrs. Rugieri, next door, showed Grandma her beds, made ofautomobile seats put together on the ground. That night theBeecham men went to the nearest dumps and found enough seats tomake a bed for Grandpa and Grandma and the baby. Fortunately itwas not cold; coats were covering enough. 

On the dump Daddy found also an old tub, from which he made astove, cutting holes in it, turning it upside down, and fasteningin a stovepipe. 

"I don't feel to blame folks so much as I used to for beingdirty, " Grandma admitted, when they had done their best to makethe shelter a home. "But all the same, I want for you young-onesto keep away from them. I saw a baby that looked as if it hadmeasles. "

"If only there was a Center, " Rose-Ellen complained, "or if theyeven had room for us in school. I feel as if I'd scream, stayingin this horrid tent so much. "

"I didn't know, " said Daddy, "that there was a place in our wholecountry where you couldn't live decent and send your kids toschool if you wanted to. "

It was pleasant in the grapefruit grove, where the rich greentrees made good-smelling aisles of clean earth, and the menpicked the pale round fruit ever so carefully, clipping it gentlyso as not to bruise the skin and cause decay. It hardly seemedto belong to the same world as the ill-smelling pickers' camp ofrags, boards, and tin. 

Dick lost his job after the first few days. He had been hiredbecause he was so tall and strong; but the foreman said he wasbruising too much fruit. At first Grandma said she was glad hewas fired, for he had been making himself sick eating fruit. Butshe was soon sorry that he had nothing to do. 

"And them young rapscallions you run with teach you words andways I never thought to see in a Beecham, " Grandma scolded. 

But if camp was hard for them all, it was hardest for Grandma andJimmie and Sally, who seemed always ailing. 

"We've got to grit our teeth and hang on, " said Grandma. 

Then came the Big Storm. 

All day the air had been heavy, still; weatherwise pickerswatched the white sky anxiously. In the middle of the night, Rose-Ellen woke to the shriek of wind and the crack of canvas. Then, with a splintering crash, the tent-poles collapsed and shewas buried under a mass of wet canvas. 

At first she could hear no voice through the howling wind andbattering rain. Then Sally's wail sounded, and Grandma's call:"Rose-Ellen! Jimmie! Dick! You all right?"

Until dawn the Beechams could only huddle together in the smallrefuge Daddy contrived against the dripping, pricking blackness. When day came, the rain still fell and the wind still blew; butfitfully, as if they, too, were tired out. The family scurriedaround putting up the tent and building a fire and drying thingsout before the men must go to the grove. Rose-Ellen and Dick andeven Jimmie felt less dismal when they steamed before the washtubstove and ate something hot. 

[Illustration: Putting up the tent]

Grandma and Sally felt less relief. Sally's cheeks were hot andred, and she turned her head from side to side, crying andcoughing. Grandma was saying, "My land, my land, I'd give fiveyears of my life to be in my own house with this sick littlemite!" when a smooth gray head thrust aside the tent flap and aneighborly voice said, "Oh, mercy me!"

Then without waiting for invitation, a crisp gingham dressfollowed the gray head in. "Is she bad sick? Have you-all hadthe doctor? I'm Mrs. King, from town. "

"And you really think we're humans?" Grandma demanded, her cheeksas red as Sally's. "If you do, you're the first since we struckthis place. You'll have to excuse me, " she apologized, as thechildren stared at her with astonished eyes. "Seems like we'velost our manners along with everything else. "

"I don't wonder. I don't wonder a bit. Our preacher telephonedthis morning that there was a heap of suffering here in the camp, or like enough we'd not have ought of it, and us church folks, too. Now I got my Ford out on the road; you tote the baby andwe'll take her to my doctor. "

Mrs. King's doctor gave Sally medicine and told Grandma aboutfeeding her orange juice and chopped vegetables and eggs as wellas milk. Grandma sighed as she wondered how she would get thesegood things for the sick baby. However, Sally did seem to besomewhat better when they returned. Mrs. King and Grandma weretalking over how to get supplies when the men came back to thetent. 

"Laid off, " said Grandpa wearily, not seeing the caller. "Storm'swrecked the crop so bad he's laying off the newest hired. Saysit's like to ruin him. "

Grandma sat still with the baby whining on her lap. "My land oflove, " she said, "what will we do now?"

5 CISSY FROM THE ONION MARSHES

"Well, I should think you'd be glad to get clear of this, " criedtheir visitor. "Florida camps ain't all so bad. "

"We've no money to move, ma'am, " Grandpa said bluntly. "It tooknear all we'd earned to get here, and now no job!"

"This Italian next door says they're advertising for, cottonpickers in Texas, " Daddy said, cradling Sally in one arm while heheld her little clawlike hand in his, feeling its fever. 

"We haven't got wings, to fly there, " Grandma objected. 

Mrs. King looked thoughtfully around the wretched shelter. A fewclothes hung from corner posts; a few tin dishes were piled in abox cupboard. The children were clean as children could be insuch a place. But the visitor's glance lingered longest on theclock. 

"Your clock and mine are like as two peas, " she observed. "Fortyyears ago I got mine, on my wedding day. "

"Mine was a wedding present, too. And my feather beds that I hadto let go at fifty cents apiece. . . . " Grandma quavered. 

"These are queer times. " Mrs. King shook her head. "I do wish Ihad the means to lend a hand like a real neighbor. There's this, though--my mister took in a big old auto on a debt, and he'llleave you have it for what the debt was--fifteen dollars, seemslike. "

"You reckon he will?" Grandpa demanded. 

"He better!" said Mrs. King. 

"Even fifteen dollars won't leave us scarcely enough to eat on, "Grandpa muttered. 

"But we've got to get to a place where there's work, " Daddyreminded him. 

They went to see the car, and found it a big, strong old Reo, with fairly good tires. So they bought it. 

Grandma had one piece of jewelry left, besides her wide goldwedding ring--a cameo brooch. She traded it for a nanny goat. On the ever useful dump the men found a wrecked trailer and theymended it so that it would hold the goat, which the childrennamed Carrie. Later, Grandma thought, they might get some layinghens, too. 

Two days after the Big Storm, they set out for the Texascottonfields. Mrs. King stuck a big box of lunch into the car, and an old tent which she said she couldn't use. 

"I hope I'll be forgiven for never paying heed to fruittramps--fruit workers--before, " she said soberly. "From now on Iaim to. Though I shan't find none like you-all, with a SethThomas clock and suchlike. "

[Illustration: Off to the cotton fields]

After the truck ride from Jersey even a fifteen-dollar automobilewas luxury, with its roomy seats and two folding seats that letdown between. 

Grandma joked, in her tart way, "I never looked to be touring thecountry in my own auto!"

Rose-Ellen jiggled in the back seat. "Peekaneeka, Gramma!" shesaid. 

When it rained, the children scurried to fasten the side curtainsand then huddled together to keep warm while they playedtick-tack-toe or guessing games. For meals they stopped wherethey could milk Carrie and build a small fire. At night they putup the tent, unless a farmer or a policeman ordered them to moveon. 

At first it seemed more of a peekaneeka than any of theiradventures thus far. They met and passed many old cars liketheir own, and the children counted the strange things that weretied on car or trailer tops while Grandma counted licenseplates-when Sally was not too fussy. There was always somethingnew to see, especially when they were passing through Louisiana. Daddy said Louisiana was the one state in the country that hadparishes instead of counties, and that that was because it hadbeen French in the early days. Almost everything else about itseemed as strange to the children--the Spanish moss hanging inlong streamers from the live oak trees; the bayous, or arms ofthe river, clogged with water hyacinths; the fields of sugarcane; and the Negro cabins, with their glassless windows andtheir big black kettles boiling in the back yards. 

"But the funniest thing I saw, " Rose-Ellen said later, "was a cowlying in the bayou, with purple water hyacinths draped all overher, as if it was on purpose. "

After a few days, though, even this peekaneeka grew wearisome tothe children; while Daddy and Grandpa grew more and more anxiousabout an angry spat-spat-spat from the Reo. So they were allglad to reach the cotton fields they had been steering toward. 

But there they did not find what they had hoped for. There weretoo many workers ahead of them and too little left to do. Tractors, it seemed, were taking the place of many men, onemachine driving out two to five families. 

Though the camp was a fairly comfortable one, it proved lonesomefor the children for there was no Center, and it did not seemworth while for them to start to school for so short a time. Itwas doubtful, anyway, whether the school had room for them. 

Grandma was too lame to work in the cotton. When she bent over, she could hardly straighten up again; so she stayed home withJimmie and the baby, and Dick and Rose-Ellen picked. Rose-Ellenfelt superior, because there were children her age picking intosmall sacks, like pillow-slips, and she used one of the regularlong bags, fastened to her belt and trailing on the groundbehind. 

At first cotton-picking was interesting, the fluffy bolls lookinglike artificial roses and the stray blossoms strangely shaped anddelicately pink. Sometimes a group of Negro pickers would chantin rich voices as they picked. "Da cotton want a-pickin' soba-ad!" But it was astonishing to the Beechams to find how manyaches they had and how few pounds of cotton when the day'spicking was weighed. 

Tired and achy as they were at night, though, they were glad tofind children in the next shack. 

"Queer ones, " Grandma called them. 

"It's their talk I can't get the hang of, " Grandpa added. "Itmay be English, but I have to listen sharp to make it out. "

Daddy trotted Sally on his foot and laughed. "It's English allright--English of Shakespeare's time, likely, that they've usedfor generations. They're Kentucky mountaineers, and as thefather says, 'a fur piece from home'. "

It was through the eldest girl that the children becameacquainted: the girl and her toothbrush. 

Rose-Ellen was brushing her teeth at the door, and Dick wassaying, "I ain't going to. Nobody brushes their teeth down here, "when suddenly the girl appeared, a toothbrush and jelly glass inher hand, and a younger brother and sister following her. 

"This is the way we brush our teeth, " sang the girl and while hertoe tapped the time, two brushes popped into two mouths andscrubbed up and down, up and down--"brush our teeth, brush ourteeth!"

She spied Rose-Ellen. "Did you-uns larn at the Center, too?" sheasked eagerly. "First off, we-uns allowed they was queer littlehair-brushes; but them teachers! Them teachers could make 'emfly fast as a sewing machine. We reckoned if them teachers wasso smart with such comical contraptions, like enough they knowedother queer doings. And they sure did. "

Thus began the friendship between the Beecham children and Cissy, Tom and Mary--with toddling Georgie and the baby thrown in. Cissy was beautiful, like Grandma's old cameo done in color, withheavy, loose curls of gold-brown hair. Long evening, visits sheand Rose-Ellen had, when they were not too tired from cotton-picking. Little by little Rose-Ellen learned the story of Cissy's past fewyears. Always she would remember it, spiced with the queer wordsCissy used. 

They had lived on a branch--a brook--in the Kentucky hills. Their house was log, said Cissy, with a fireplace where Maw hadher kettles and where the whole lot of them could sit when winternights were cold, and Paw could whittle and Maw weave a coverlet. 

"Nary one of us could read, " Cissy said dreamily, sitting on thepacking-box doorstep with elbows on knees and chin on palms. "But Paw could tell purty tales and Maw could sing song-balladsthat would make you weep. But they wasn't no good huntin' nomore, and the kittles was empty. So we come down to the coalmines, and when the mines shut down, we went on into the onions. "

These were great marshes, drained like cranberry bogs and plantedin onions. Whole families could work there, planting, weeding, pulling, packing. 

("I've learned a lot!" thought Rose-Ellen. "I used to ask thegrocer for a nickel's worth of dry onions, and I never did guesshow they came to be there. ")

The first year was dreary. Maw took the baby (Mary, then) andlaid her on a blanket at the end of the row she was working, withTom to watch her. Cissy worked along with the grown folks, orsome days stayed home and did the washing and minded Tom andMary. 

"I shore didn't know how to wash good as I do now. " She pattedher faded dress, pretty clean, though not like the clothes ofGrandma's washing. 

There was one thing about it, Cissy said; after a day in onions, with the sun shining hot on her sunbonnet and not much to eat, she didn't care if there wasn't any play or fun at night; she wasglad enough to drop down on the floor and go to sleep as soon asshe'd had corn pone and coffee. Sometimes she was sick from thesun beating down on her head and she had to crawl into the shadeof a crate and lie there. 

The second year was different. Next summer, early, when thecherries had set their green beads and the laylocks had quitblooming, there came two young ladies. They came of an evening, and talked to Paw and Maw as they sat on the doorsill with theirshoes kicked off and their bare toes resting themselves. 

First Paw and Maw wouldn't talk to them because why would thesepretty young ladies come mixing around with strangers? Paw andMaw allowed they had something up their sleeves. But the ladiespatted Georgie, the baby then, and held him; and Cissy creptcloser and closer, because they smelled so nice. And then theyasked Maw if they couldn't take Cissy in their car and pay her asmuch as she earned picking. She was to help them invite thechildren to a place where they could be safe and happy whiletheir grown folks worked. 

Cissy couldn't hardly sense it; but Maw let her go, because shewas puny. The teachers got an old schoolhouse to use; and churchfolks came to paint the walls; and P. W. A. Workers made chairs andtables; and the church ladies made curtains. The teachers goticebox, stove, and piano from a second-hand store. 

Yet, at first, it was hard to get people to send their childreneven to this beautiful place. They'd rather risk locking them inat home, or keeping them at the end of the onion row. That firstmorning, the teachers gathered up only nine children. Those ninetold what it was like, and next day there were fifteen, and bythe end of the summer "upwards of forty-five. "

Cissy told about the Center as she might tell about fairyland. Across one wall were nails, with kits sent by children from thedifferent churches. The kits held tooth brushes, washcloths, combs. Above each nail was a picture by which the child couldknow his own toilet equipment. 

[Illustration: Cissy and Tommy at the Center]

"Mine was the purtiest little gal with shiny hair. But it wasn'tcolored, " she added, regretfully. "Tommie's was a yallerautomobile. "

"Why'd you have pictures?" asked Jimmie. 

"I were going on eleven, but I couldn't read, " Cissy confessed. 

Rose-Ellen patted Jimmie stealthily and didn't tell Cissy that hewas going on ten and couldn't read either. 

Cissy went on with her tale of the Center. There was toothbrushand wash-up drill. There were clean play-suits that churches hadsent from far cities. Every morning there was worship. Thechildren had helped make an altar--a box with a silk scarf acrossand a picture of Jesus above and a Bible and two candles. Theyall sang hymns and heard Bible stories and prayed. Oh, yes, Cissy said, back in the mountains they went to meetin'--whenthere was meetin'--but God wasn't the same in Kentucky, some way. The teachers' God loved them so good that it hurt him to havethem steal or lie or be any way dirty or mean. He had to lovethem a heap to send the Center people to help them the way hedid. 

After worship came play and study, outdoors and in, with theclean babies comfortably asleep in the clothesbaskets, theirstomachs full of milk from shiny bottles. The older ones sat downto the table and prayed, and drank milk through stems, and atecarrots and greens and "samwidges. " And after the table wascleared, they lay down on the floor and Teacher maybe played softmusic and they went to sleep. 

Once they had a real party. They were invited to a near-bychurch by some of the children of that church. The tables weretrimmed with flowers and frilled paper and there were cakes andJello. The children played games together at the end of theparty. 

The big girls, when rain kept them from working, learned to cookand sew and take care of babies; and even the little girlslearned a heap and made pretties they could keep, besides. Fromthe bottom of their clothes-box, Cissy brought a paper-wrappedscrapbook of Bible pictures she had cut and pasted. Tom had madea table out of a crate, but there wasn't room to fetch it. 

"I got so fat and strong, " boasted Cissy, punching her thin chestwith a bony fist. "For breakfast, Maw didn't have no time togive us young-uns nothing but maybe some Koolade to drink, and aslice of store bread; but at the Center us skinny ones got a hullbottle of milk to drink through a stem after worship. "

"Are you going back there?" Rose-Ellen asked. 

Cissy nodded, her hands folded tight between her knees. "Andmaybe stay all winter, and me and Tommie go to school. BecausePaw and Maw feel like the teachers was kinfolk, since whathappened to Georgie. "

"What happened to Georgie?"

Six children huddled on the doorstep now, shivering in the chillydark. "One Sunday night, " Cissy said, "Georgie took to yelling, and went all stiff and purple, and we couldn't make out whatailed him. Only that his throat hurt too bad to swallow; so Mawtied up his topknot so tight it near pulled it out: that was tolift his palate, because dropped palates make sore throats. 

"Georgie didn't get any better. When the teachers come Mondaymorning to tote us to the Center, they begged to take Georgie tothe doctor. Maw was might' nigh crazy by then, and she got intothe Ford without her head combed, Georgie in her lap. Maw saidshe never had ridden so fast. She thought her last-day was come, with the fences streaking past her lickety-split. And when theycome to the doctor he looked Georgie over and said, 'Could thischild have got hold of any lye?' And Maw said, real scairt, well, she did have a bottle of lye water, and somebody might haveset it on the floor. 

"So every day the rest of the summer them teachers toted Georgieto the Center and the doctor cured Georgie up till now he can eatpurty good. So that's how come we're shore going back to theonions next summer. "

6: AT THE EDGE OF A MEXICAN VILLAGE

Cotton-picking was over, and the Beechams tided themselves overwith odd jobs till spring came and they could move on to steadierwork. This time they were going up into Colorado to work in thebeets. 

"And high time!" said Grandma. "We've lived on mush and milk solong we're getting the color of mush ourselves; and our clothesare a caution to snakes. "

"But we'll be lucky if the brakebands of the auto last till weget over the mountains, " said Daddy. 

The spring drive up through Texas was pleasant, betweenblossoming yellow trees and yuccas like wax candles and pinkbouquets of peach trees and mocking birds' songs. 

The mountain pass between New Mexico and Colorado was beautiful, too, and exciting. In places it was a shelf shoved against themountain, and Jimmie said it tickled his stomach to look down onthe tops of other automobiles, traveling the loop of road belowthem. Even Carrie, riding haughtily in her trailer, let out ananguished bleat when she hung on the very edge of a curve. Andthe Reo groaned and puffed. 

Up through Colorado they chugged; past Pike's Peak; throughDenver, flat on the plain with a blue mountain wall to its west;on through the farmlands north of it to the sugar-beet town whichwas their goal. 

Beyond the town stood an adobe village for beetworkers on theLukes fields, where the Beechams were to work. 

"Mud houses, " Dick exclaimed, crumbling off a piece of mudplaster thick with straw. 

"Like the bricks the Israelites made in Egypt, " said Grandpa;"only Pharaoh wanted them to do without the straw. "

"It's a Mexican village, " observed Grandma. "I'd feel like a catin a strange garret here. And not a smidgin of shade. That shackoff there under the cottonwood tree looks cooler. "

"It's a chicken-coop!" squealed Rose-Ellen as they walked over toit. "Gramma wants to live in a chicken-coop!"

"It's empty. And it'd be a sight easier to clean than someplaces where humans have lived, " Grandma replied stoutly. 

So the Beechams got permission to live in the farmer's oldchicken-coop. It had two rooms, and the men pitched the tentbeside it for a bedroom. They had time to set up "chicken-housekeeping, "as Rose-Ellen called it, before the last of May, when beet workbegan. They made a pretty cheerful place of this new home;though, of course, it had no floor and no window glass, and sunand stars shone in through its roof, and the only running waterwas in the irrigation ditch. Even under the glisteningcottonwood tree it was a stifling cage on a hot day. 

They were all going to work, except Jimmie and Sally. It wouldtake all of them, new hands that they were, to care for thetwenty acres they were to work. Mr. Lukes said that childrenunder sixteen were not supposed to be employed, but of coursethey could always help their parents. Daddy said that was oneway to get around the Child Labor Law. 

So the Beechams were to thin the beets and hoe them and top them, beginning the last of May and finishing in October, and the paywould be twenty-six dollars an acre. The government made thefarmers pay that price, no matter how poor the crop was. 

"Five hundred and twenty dollars sounds like real money!" Daddyrejoiced. 

"Near five months, though, " Grandma reckoned, "and with priceslike they are, we're lucky to feed seven hungry folks on sixtydollars a month. And we're walking ragbags, with our feet on theground. And them brakebands--and new tires. "

"Five times sixty is three hundred, " Rose-Ellen figured. 

"You'll find it won't leave more than enough to get us on to thenext work place, " Grandpa muttered. 

It was lucky the chicken-coop was in sight of their acres. Before she left home in the early morning, Grandma saw to it thatthere was no fire in the old-new washtub stove, and that Sally'sknitted string harness was on, so that she could not reach theirrigation ditch, and that Carrie was tethered. 

The beets, planted two months ago, had come up in even greenrows. Now they must be thinned. With short-handled hoes thegrown people chopped out foot-long strips of plants. Dick andRose-Ellen followed on hands and knees, and pulled the extraplants from the clumps so that a single strong plant was leftevery twelve inches. 

The sun rose higher and hotter in the big blue bowl of sky. Rose-Ellen's ragged dress clung to her, wet with sweat, and herarms and face prickled with heat. Grandma looked at her fromunder the apron she had flung over her head. 

"Run and stretch out under the cottonwood awhile, " she said. "Nouse for to get sunstroke. "

Rose-Ellen went silently, thankfully. It was cooler in the shadeof the tree. She looked up through the fluttering green leavesat the floating clouds shining in the sun. Jimmie hobbled aroundher, driving Sally with her knitted reins, but they did not keeptheir sister awake. The sun was almost noon-high when she openedher eyes, and she hurried guiltily back to the beets. 

She had never seen such a big field, its green and brown stripeswaving up and down to the skyline. It made her ache to thinkthat five Beechams must take out these extra thousands ofthree-inch plants; and after that, hoe them; and after that. . . . 

Her knees were so sore that night that Grandpa bought heroveralls. He got her and Dick big straw hats, too, though it wastoo late to keep their faces from blistering. All the Beechamsbut Grandma wore overalls. She couldn't bring herself to it. Thatnight she made herself a sunbonnet out of an old shirt, sittingclose to a candle stuck in a pop bottle. 

[Illustration: Rose-Ellen and Dick]

"I clean forgot to look over the beans and put them to soak, " shesaid wearily, from her bed. 

Rose-Ellen scooped herself farther into her layer of straw. Sheought to offer to get up and look over those beans, but shesimply couldn't make herself. 

"It seems like I can't stay up another ten minutes, " Grandmaexcused herself, "after the field work and redding up and such. But we're getting like all the rest of them, buying the groceriesthat we can fix easiest, even though they cost twice as much andain't half as nourishing. And when you can't trade at but oneplace it's always dearer. . . . "

Mr. Lukes had guaranteed their account at the store, because ofthe pay due them at the end of the season. So they went onbuying there, even though its prices were high and its goods ofpoor quality, because they did not have money to spend anywhereelse. 

When the thinning was done, they must begin all over again, working with the short-handled hoes, cutting out any extraplants, loosening the ground. By that time they were more used tothe work; and in July came a rest time, when all they needed todo was to turn the waters of the big ditch into the littleditches that crinkled between the rows. It was lucky there wasirrigation water, or the growing plants would have died in theheat, since there had been little rain. 

Rose-Ellen loved to watch the water moving through the fields asif it were alive, catching the rosy gold of sunset in its zigzagmirrors. She missed the Eastern fireflies at night; otherwisethe evenings were a delight. Colorado sunsets covered the westwith glory, and then came quick coolness. Dry as it was, thecottonwood leaves made a sound like refreshing rain, and thecicadas hummed comfortably. All the Beechams stayed outside tillfar into the night, for the chicken-house was miserably hot atthe end of every day. 

"The Garcias' and Martinezes' houses are better if they are mudand haven't any shade, " Rose-Ellen told Grandma. "The walls areso thick that inside they're like cool caves. "

She and Dick had made friends in the Mexican village with VicenteGarcia and her brother Joe, and with Nico Martinez, next door tothe Garcias', and her brothers. Even when they all picked beansin the morning, during the vacation from sugar beets, there werethese long, cool evenings for play. 

Grandma complained. "I don't know what else to blame for Dick'suntidy ways. Hair sticking up five ways for Christmas, andfingernails in mourning and the manners of a heathen. I'm afraidthat sore on his hand may be something catching. Those Garciasand Martinezes of yours . . . !"

"The Garcias maybe, but not the Martinezes, " Rose-Ellen objected. "Gramma, you go to their houses sometime and see. "

One evening Grandma did. Jimmie had come excitedly leading homethe quaintest of all the babies of the Mexican village, VicenteGarcia's little sister. He had found her balancing on herstomach on the bank of the ditch. Three years old, she was, andslim and straight, with enormous eyes and a great tangle ofsunburned brown curls. Her dress made her quainter still, for itwas low-necked and sleeveless, and came to her tiny ankles sothat she looked like a child from an old-fashioned picture. 

Grandma and Rose-Ellen and Jimmie walked home with her, andGrandma's eyes widened at sight of the two-roomed Garcia house. Ten people lived and slept, ate and cooked there, and it lookedas if it had never met a broom or soapsuds. 

The Martinez home was different, perfectly neat, even to thescrubbed oilcloth on the table. Afterwards Grandma said thebottoms of the pans weren't scoured, but she couldn't feel toblame Mrs. Martinez, with five young ones besides the new baby tolook after. When the Beechams went home, Mrs. Martinez gave thema covered dish of _enchiladas_. 

Even Grandma ate those enchiladas without hesitation, though theywere so peppery that she had to cool her mouth with frequentswallows of water. They were made of tidily rolled _tortillas_(Mexican corn-cakes, paper-thin), stuffed with meat and onion andinvitingly decorated with minced cheese and onion tops. Theylooked, smelled and tasted delicious. 

In turn, Grandma sent biscuits, baked in the Dutch oven Grandpahad bought her. Grandma had always been proud of her biscuits. 

In July the Mexican children took Dick and Rose-Ellen to thevacation school held every summer in one of the town churches. The Beechams were not surprised at Nico's dressed-up daintinesswhen she called for them. Grandma said she was perfect, from theribbon bows on her shining hair to the socks that matched hersmart print dress. But it was surprising to see Vicente comefrom the cluttered, dirty Garcia rooms, almost as clean and sweetas Nico, though with nails more violently red. 

The Beechams found it a problem to dress at all in theirchicken-apartment. Dick tried to get ready in one room andRose-Ellen in the other, and everything she wanted was in hisroom and everything he wanted in hers. Their small belongingshad to be packed in boxes, and all the boxes emptied out to findthem. Clean clothes--still unironed, of course--had to be hungup, and they could not be covered well enough so flies andmoth-millers did not speck them. 

"I do admire your Mexican friends, " Grandma admitted grudgingly, "keeping so nice in such a hullabaloo. "

"They are admire-able in lots of ways, " Rose-Ellen answered. "Inever knew anyone I liked much better than Nico. And theMexicans are the very best in all the art work at the vacationschool. I think the Japanese learn quickest. "

"Do folks treat 'em nice?" asked Grandma. 

"In the school, " Rose-Ellen told her. "But outside school theyact like even Nico had smallpox. They make me sick!"

Rose-Ellen spoke both indignantly and sorrowfully. That very daythe three girls had come out of the church together, and hadpaused to look over the neat picket fence of the yard next thechurch. It seemed a sweet little yard, smelling of newly cutgrass and flowers. Trees rose high above the small house, andinside the fence were tall spires of delphinium, bluer than thesky. 

[Illustration: Looking over the fence]

"The flowers iss so pretty, " said Nico. 

"And on the porch behind of the vines is a chicken in a goldcage, " cried Vicente. 

Rose-Ellen folded her lips over a giggle, for the chicken was acanary. 

Just then a head popped up behind a red rosebush. The lady of thehouse was gathering flowers, and she held out a bunch toRose-Ellen. 

"Don't prick yourself, " she warned. "Are you the one they callRose-Ellen?"

"Yes, ma'am, " said Rose-Ellen, burying her nose in the flowers. 

"I had a little sister named Rose-Ellen, " the woman said gently. "You come play on the grass sometime, and we'll pick flowers foryour mother. "

"And can Nico and Vicente come, too?" Rose-Ellen asked. "They'remy best friends. "

The woman looked at Nico and Vicente with cold eyes. "I can't ask_all_ the children, " she answered. 

"Thank you, ma'am, " Rose-Ellen stammered. When they were out ofsight down the road, she threw the roses into the dust. Nicosnatched them up again. 

"I wouldn't go there--I wouldn't go there for ten dollars, "Rose-Ellen declared. Vicente looked at her with wise deep eyes. "I could 'a' told you, " she said, shrugging. "American ladies, they mostly don't like Mexican kids. I don't know why. "

October came. It was the time for the topping of the beets. TheMartinez family went back to Denver for school. The Garciasstayed; their children would go into the special room when theyreturned, to have English lessons and to catch up in otherstudies--or rather, to try to catch up. 

"But me, always I am two years in back of myself, " Vicenteregretted one day, "even with specials room. Early out of schooland late into it, for me that makes too hard. "

Now Farmer Lukes went through the Beechams' acres, lifting thebeets loose by machine. Rose-Ellen could not believe they werebeets-great dirt-colored clods, they looked. Not at all like thebeets she knew. 

Topping was a new job. With a long hooked knife the beet waslifted and laid across the arm, and then, with a slash or two, freed of its top. The children followed, gathering the beetsinto great piles for Mr. Lukes's wagon to collect. 

Vicente and Joe did not make piles; they topped; and Joe boastedthat he was faster than his father as he slashed away with thetopping knife. 

"It looks like you'd cut yourself, holding it on your knee likeyou do!" Grandma cried as she watched him one day. 

"Not me!" bragged Joe. "Other kids does. " The beet tops fellaway under his flashing knife. 

From the beet-dump the beets were taken to the sugar factory afew miles away, where they were made into shining white beetsugar. ("And that's another thing I never even guessed!" thoughtRose-Ellen. "What hard work it takes to fill our sugar bowls!")

Sometimes at night now a skim of ice formed on the water bucketin the chicken-house. Goldenrod and asters were puffs of white;the harvest moon shone big and red at the skyline, across milesof rolling farmland; crickets fiddled sleepily and long-tailedmagpies chattered. One clear, frosty night Grandpa said, "Hark!the ducks are flying south. Maybe we best follow. "

7: THE BOY WHO DIDN'T KNOW GOD

Handbills blew around the adobe village, announcing that fivehundred cotton-pickers were wanted at once in Arizona. The Reo, full of Beechams and trailing Carrie, headed south. 

The surprisingly large grocery bill had been paid, a few clothesbought, Daddy's ulcerated tooth pulled, and the Reo's patchedtires replaced with better used ones. The result was that theBeecham pocketbooks were as flat as pancakes. 

"Yet we've worked like horses, " Daddy said heavily. "And, worsethan that, we've let Gramma and the kids work as I never thoughtBeechams would. "

"But we can't blame Farmer Lukes, " said Grandpa. "With all theplanting and digging and hauling he's done, he says he hasn't acent to show for it, once he's paid for his seed. It's too deepfor me. "

Down across Colorado, where the names were Spanish, Daddy said, because it used to be part of Mexico. Down across New Mexico, where the air smelled of cedar; where scattered adobe houses hadbright blue doors and strings of scarlet chili peppers fringingtheir roofs; where Indians sat under brush shelters by thehighway and held up pottery for sale. Down into Arizona, whereGrandma had to admit that the colors she'd seen on the picturepostcards of it were not too bright. Here were red rocks, pink, blue-gray, white, yellow, purple; and the morning and evening sunset their colors afire and made them flower gardens of flame. Here the Indian women wore flounced skirts and velvet tunics andsilver jewelry. They herded flocks of sheep and goats and livedin houses like inverted brown bowls. 

"We've had worse homes, this year, " Grandma said. "I'd neverhold up my head if they knew back home. " Along the road with theReo ran an endless parade of old cars and trailers. There weresnub-nosed Model T's, packed till they bulged; monstrous Packardswith doors tied shut; yellow roadsters that had been smart tenyears ago, jolting along with mattresses on their tops and youngfamilies jammed into their luggage compartments. Once in a whilethey met another goat, like Carrie, who wasn't giving as muchmilk as before. 

"All this great country, " Grandma marveled some more, "and noroom for these folks. Half a million of us, some say, without aplace to go. "

Dick said, "The kid in that Oklahoma car said the drought driedup their farm and the wind blew it away. Nothing will grow inthe ground that's left. "

"He's from the Dust Bowl, " Grandpa assented. "Thousands of thesefolks are from the Dust Bowl. "

The parade of old cars limped along for two weeks, growingthicker as it drew near the part of Arizona where the pickers hadbeen called for. The Beechams saw more and more signs on fencesand poles: FIVE HUNDRED PICKERS WANTED!

"They don't say how much they pay, " Grandma noticed. 

"Ninety cents a hundred pounds is usual this year, and a fellowcan make a bare living at that, " said Daddy. 

Soon the procession turned off the road, the Beechams with it. The place was swarming with pickers. 

"How much are you paying?" Daddy asked. 

"Fifty cents a hundred. "

"Why, man alive, we'd starve on that pay, " Daddy growled, thecorners of his jaws white with anger. 

"You don't need to work if you don't want to, " the manager barkedat him. "Here's two thousand folks glad to work at fifty cents. "

Leaving Jimmie to mind Sally in the car, the Beechams went topicking at once. Grandma had saved their old cotton sacks, fortunately, since they cost a dollar apiece. 

Rose-Ellen's heart thumped as if she were running a race. Everyone was picking at top speed, for there were far too manypickers and they all tried to get more than their share. TheBeechams started at noon. At night, when they weighed in, Grandpaand Daddy each got forty cents, Grandma twenty-five, Dick twenty, and Rose-Ellen fifteen. 

When he paid them, the foreman said, "No more work here. Allcleaned up. "

"Good land, " Grandma protested, her voice shaking, "bring us fromColoraydo for a half day's work?"

"Sorry, " said the foreman. "First come, first served. "

In a blank quietness, the Beechams went on to hunt a camp. Andhere they were fortunate, for they came upon a neat tent citywith a sign declaring it a Government Camp. Tents set on firmplatforms faced inward toward central buildings, and everythingwas clean and orderly. They drove in. Yes, they could pitchtheir tent there, the man in the office said; there was onevacant floor. The rent was a dollar a week, but they could workit out, if they would rather, cleaning up the camp. Grandpa saidthey'd better work it out, since it might be hard to find jobsnear by. 

Even Rose-Ellen, even Dick and Jimmie, were excited over thelaundry tubs in the central building, and more interested in theshower baths. Twice a day they washed themselves, and theirclothes were kept fresher than they had been for a long time. Neighbors came calling, besides; and there were entertainmentsevery week, with the whole camp taking part. 

"Seems like home, " said Grandpa. "If only we could find work. "

The nurse on duty found that the sore on Dick's hand wasscabies--the itch--picked up in some other camp, and she treatedand bandaged it carefully. 

Every day the men went out hunting jobs, taking others with themto share the cost of gasoline; and every day they came backdiscouraged. Even in the fine camp, money leaked out steadilyfor food. At last the Beechams gave up hope of finding work. They set out for California, the fairyland of plenty, as theythought. 

At first California looked like any other state, but soon thechildren began naming their discoveries aloud. "Lookit! Orangeson trees!" "Roses! And those red Christmas flowers growing highas the garage!" "Palm trees--like feather dusters stuck ontelegraph poles!"

"Little white houses and gardens!" crooned Grandma. 

Soon, too, they saw the familiar posters: PICKERS WANTED; andthe Reo followed the signs to the fields. 

They were pea-fields, this time, but Grandma, peering at thepea-pickers' camp, cried, "My land, if this ain't Floridy allover again!"

"Maybe the owner ain't got the cash to put up decentchicken-coops for folks to live in, " Grandpa sputtered, "but if Iwas him I'd dig ditches for a living before I'd put humans intopigpens like these. "

"Let's go a piece farther, " Grandma urged. 

Grandpa fingered his old wallet. "Five dollars is the least wecan keep against the car breaking down. We've got six-fiftynow. "

So for long months they worked in the peas and lived in the"jungle" camp, pitching their tent at the very edge of its dirtand smell. 

Shacks of scrap tin, shingled with rusty pail covers, stood nextto shacks made of burlap and pasteboard cartons. Ragged tentshuddled behind the shacks, using the same back wall. Mattressesthat looked as if they came from the dump lay on the ground withtarpaulins stretched above them as roofs, and these were the onlyhomes of whole families who lived and slept and ate in swarms ofstinging flies. 

One of the few pleasant things was the Christian Center not veryfar away. Every morning its car chugged up to the jungle andcarried off a load of children. Jimmie and Sally were always inthe load. The back seat was crowded, and a helper sat in frontwith the driver and held Sally, while Jimmie sat between. Heliked to sit there, for the driver looked like Her! Only shortinstead of tall, and plump instead of thin, and with curly darkhair, but with the same kind smile. 

Here in California the other children were supposed to pick onlyoutside school hours; but the school was too far from the campand there was no bus. So Dick and Rose-Ellen picked peas all daywith their elders. 

"The more we earn, " Dick said soberly, "the sooner we can getaway from this place. "

"The only trouble is, " Rose-Ellen answered, "we get such anappetite that we eat more than we earn, except when we're sick. "

The sun blistered Dick's fair skin until he was ill from theburn; and Rose-Ellen sometimes grew so sick and dizzy with theheat that she had to crawl into her pea hamper for shade insteadof picking. There was much sickness in this camp, anyway. Therewas only one well, and it was not protected from filth. Theflies were everywhere. Grandma boiled all the water, but shecould not keep out the germ-laden flies. The family took turnslying miserably sick on an automobile-seat bed and wishing forthe end of the pea-picking. 

But after the early peas, they must wait for the February peas;and before they were picked, Jimmie complained that his throatfelt sore. Next day he and Sally both broke out with measles. 

Grandma had her hands full, keeping the toddler from running outinto sunshine and rain; but it was Jimmie who really worried her, he was so sick. And when he had stopped muttering and tossingwith fever, he woke one night with an earache. 

"Mercy to us!" Grandma cried distractedly. "We ain't even gotsalt enough for a hot salt bag, or carbolic and oil to drop inhis poor blessed ear!"

Indeed that night seemed to all of them like a dark cage, shutting them away from any help for Jimmie. 

Next morning, Miss Pinkerton, the nurse at the Center, came tosee Jimmie. She looked grave as she examined him. "If youbelonged in the county, I could get him into a county hospital, "she said. "But we'll do our best for him here. "

[Illustration: Nursing Jimmie]

Nursing in a tent was a bad dream for patient and nurses. Grandmakept boiling water to irrigate his ear and sterilize theutensils, Rose-Ellen told stories, shouting so he could hear. Atnight Daddy held him in strong, tired arms and sang funny songshe had learned in his one year of college. Grandma temptedJimmie's appetite with eggs and sugar and vanilla beaten up withCarrie's milk, and with little broiled hamburgers and freshvegetables--food such as the Beechams hadn't had for months. 

The rest of them had no such food even now. Carrie was givingless milk every day, so that there was hardly enough for Sallyand Jimmie. Grandma said she'd lost her appetite, staying in thetent so close, and she was glad to reduce, anyway. Grandpa saidthere was nothing like soup; so the kettle was kept boiling allthe time, with soupbones so bare they looked as if they'd beenpolished, and onions and potatoes and beans. That soup didn'tmake any of them fat. 

But Jimmie grew better, and one shining morning Miss Pinkertonstopped and said, "Jimmie's well enough to go with me on my dailyround. He needs a change. "

After she had carted two or three loads of children to theCenter, she went to visit the sick ones in the camps for milesaround. First they went to another "jungle, " one where trachomawas bad. Here she left Jimmie in the car; but he could watch, forthe children came outdoors to have the blue-stone or argyrol intheir swollen red eyes. The treatment was painful, but without itthe small sufferers might become blind. 

The next camp had an epidemic of measles, and in the next, tenmiles away, Miss Pinkerton vaccinated ten children. 

By this time, the sun was high, and Jimmie began to thinkanxiously of lunch. Miss Pinkerton steered into the orchardcountry, where there was no sign of a store. He was relievedwhen she nosed the car in under the shade of a magnolia tree andsaid, "My clock says half-past eating time. What does yourssay?"

First Miss Pinkerton scrubbed her hands with water andcarbolic-smelling soap, and then she unwrapped a waxed-paperpackage and spread napkins. For Jimmie she laid out a meatsandwich, a jam sandwich, a big orange-colored persimmon, and acookie: not a dull store cookie, but a thick homemade one. Thechurches of the neighborhood took turns baking them for theCenter. Jimmie ate every crumb. 

In the next camp--asparagus--was a Mexican boy with a badly hurtleg. He had gashed it when he was topping beets, and his peoplehad come on into cotton and into peas, without knowing how totake care of the throbbing wound. When Miss Pinkerton first sawit, she doubted whether leg or boy could be saved. It was stillbad, and the boy's mother stood and cried while Miss Pinkertondressed it, there under the strip-of-canvas house. 

Miss Pinkerton saw Jimmie staring at that shelter and at thehelpless mother, and she whispered, "Aren't you lucky to have aGrandma like yours, Jimmie-boy?"

When the leg was all neatly rebandaged, the boy caught at MissPinkerton with a shy hand. "_Gracias_--thank you, " he said, "butwhy you take so long trouble for us, Lady, when we don't pay younothing?"

"I don't think there's anything so well worth taking trouble foras just boys and girls, " Miss Pinkerton said. 

The boy frowned thoughtfully. "Other peoples don't think likethat way, " he persisted. "For why should you?"

"Well, it's really because of Jesus, " Miss Pinkerton answeredslowly. "You've heard about Jesus, haven't you?"

"Not me, " the boy said. "Who is he?"

"He was God's Son, and he taught men to love one another. Hetaught them about God, too. "

"God? I've heard the name, but I ain't never seen that guyeither. "

"Like to hear about him?" Miss Pinkertonasked. 

The boy dropped down on the running board with his bandaged legstretched out before him. Other children came running. Sitting onthe running board, too, Miss Pinkerton told them about Jesus, howhe used his life to help other people be kinder to each other. The camp children listened with mouths open, and brushed therough hair from their eyes to see the pictures she took from thecar. The boy's mother stood with her arms wrapped in her dirtyapron and listened, too. 

[Illustration: Hearing about Jesus]

But it was the boy who sat breathless till the story was done. Then he scrubbed a ragged sleeve across eyes and nose and spokein a choked, angry voice. "I wish I'd been there. I bet themguys wouldn't-wouldn't got so fresh with--with him. But listen, Lady!" His dark eyes were fiercely questioning. "Why ain'tnobody told us? It sure seems like we ought to been toldbefore. "

All the way home Jimmie sat silent. As the car stopped, he gothis voice. "Miss Pink'ton, did he mean, honest, he didn't knowabout God and Jesus?"

Miss Pinkerton nodded. "He--he didn't know he had a HeavenlyFather. "

"And no Gramma either, " Jimmie mumbled. "Gee. "

8: THE HOPYARDS

Through February, March, and part of April, the Beecham familypicked peas in the Imperial Valley. 

"Peas!" Rose-Ellen exploded the word on their last night in the"jungle" camp. "I don't believe there are enough folks in theworld to cat all the peas we've picked. "

"And they aren't done with when they're picked, even, " addedDaddy. "Most of them will be canned; and other folks have toshell and sort them and put them into cans and then cook them andseal and label the cans. "

"What an awful lot of work everything makes, " Dick exclaimed. 

"It was different in my Gramma's time. " Grandma pursed her lipsas she set a white patch in a blue overall knee. "Then eachfamily grew and canned and made almost everything it used. "

"Now everybody's linked up with everybody else, " agreed Grandpa, cobbling a shoe with his little kit. "We use' to get along inwinter with turnips and cabbage and such, and fruit thewomenfolks canned. Of course it's pretty nice to have gardenvegetables and fruit fresh the year round, but. . . . "

Grandma squinted suddenly over her spectacles. "For the land'ssakes! I never thought of it, but it's turned the country upsidedown and made a million people into 'rubber tramps'--this havingto have fresh green stuff in winter. "

"The owners couldn't handle their crops without the millionworkers coming in just when they're ready to harvest, " Daddycontinued the tale. . . . 

"But they haven't anything for us to do the rest of the time; andhow they do hate the sight of us 'rubber tramps, ' the minutewe've finished doing their work for them, " Dick ended. 

Next morning they started up the coast to pick lettuce. Thecountry was beautiful. Rounded hills, soft looking and of thebrightest green, ran down toward the sea, with really white sheeppastured on them. Grandpa said it put him in mind of heaven. Grandma said it would be heaven-on-earth to live there, if onlyyou had a decent little house and a garden. The desert placeswere as beautiful, abloom with many-colored wildflowers; andthere were fields of artichokes and other vegetables, withChinese and Japanese tending them. Those clean green rowsstretched on endlessly. 

"They make me feel funny, " Rose-Ellen complained, "like seeingtoo many folks and too many stars. "

"They've got so many vegetables they dump them into the sea, because if they put them all on the market, the price would godown. But there's not enough so that those that pick them getwhat they need to eat, " said Grandpa. "Sometimes too much is notenough. "

The lettuce camp housed part of its workers in a huge old barn. The Beechams had three stalls and used their tent for curtains. They cooked out in the barnyard, so it was fortunate that it wasthe dry season. From May to August the men and Dick picked, trimmed, packed lettuce; but during most of that time thebarn-apartment was in quarantine. All the children who had nothad scarlet fever came down with it. 

It was even hotter than midsummer Philadelphia, and the air wassticky, and black with flies besides, and sickening with odor. Grandma's cushiony pinkness entirely disappeared; she was morethe color of a paper-bag, Rose-Ellen thought. 

"But land knows, " Grandma said, "what I'd have done if the Lordhadn't tempered the wind to the shorn lamb. What with no Centernear here and only the public health nurse looking in once in awhile, it was lucky the young-ones didn't have the fever bad. "

In August they were all well and peeled. Grandma heated tub aftertub of water and scrubbed them, hair and all, with yellow laundrysoap, and washed their clothes and put the automobile-seat bedsinto the hot sun. Then they went on up the coast, steering forthe hopyards northeast of San Francisco. 

It seemed too bad to hurry through San Francisco without reallyseeing it--that beautiful city crowded steeply by the sea. Butthe Reo had had to have a new gas-line and a battery, and littlemoney was left to show for the long, sizzling months of work. Itwas best to stay clear of cities. 

The Sacramento Delta region was the strangest the Beechams hadever seen. The broad river, refreshing after months without realrivers, was higher than the fields. Beside the river ran thehighway. The Beechams looked down at pear orchards, tule marshesand ranch houses. Everything was so lushly wet that moss grewgreen even on tree trunks and roofs. Like Holland, Daddy said, it had dikes to keep the water out. 

One day they stopped at a fish cannery between highway and riverand asked for work. The Reo was having to have her tires patchedtwice a day, and slow leaks were blown up every time the carstopped for gasoline. The family needed money. 

Peering into the cannery, they saw men and women working in astrong-smelling steam, cleaning and cutting up the fish thatpassed them on an endless belt, making it ready for others topack in cans. At the feet of some of the women stood boxes withbabies in them; and other babies were slung in cloths on theirmothers' backs. 

There was no work for the Beechams, and they climbed into the Reoonce more and stared down on the other side of the road, wherethe foreman had told them his packers lived. Even from thatdistance it was plain that this was a Chinese village, notAmerican at all. 

"The little babies were so sweet, with their shiny black eyes. But, my gracious, they don't get any sun or air at all!"Rose-Ellen squeezed Sally thankfully. Even though the baby wasunderweight and had violet shadows under her blue eyes, shelooked healthier than most babies they saw. 

The hops were queer and interesting, unlike any other cropsRose-Ellen had met with. The leaves were deep-lobed, shaped alittle like woodbine, but rough to touch. The fruits resembledsmall spruce cones of pale yellow-green tissue paper. The vineswere trained on wires strung along ten-foot poles; they formedaisles that were heavy with drowsy fragrance. 

The picking baskets stood almost as high as Rose-Ellen'sshoulder, and she and Dick were proud of filling one apiece, thefirst day they worked. These baskets held sixty poundseach--more when the weather was not so dry--and sixty poundsmeant ninety cents. School had not started yet, so the childrenworked all day. Sometimes Rose-Ellen could not keep from crying, she was so tired. And when she cried, Grandma's mouth workedover her store teeth in the way that meant she felt bad. 

"But we've got to get in under it, all of us, " she scolded, tokeep from crying herself. "We've got to earn what we can. Inever see the beat of it. If we scrabble as hard as we can, wejust only keep from sliding backwards. "

Here in the hopyards the Beechams did not get their pay in money. They were given tickets marked with the amount due them. Thesethey could use for money at the company store. 

"And the prices there are sky-high!" Grandma wrathfully toldGrandpa, waving a pound of coffee before his eyes. "Thirty-fivecents, and not the best grade, mind you! Pink salmon higher thanred ought to be. Bread fifteen cents a loaf! Milk sky-high andCarrie plumb dry!"

The living quarters were bad, too: shacks, with free straw on thefloor for beds, and mud deep in the dooryards where the campersemptied water. Over it all hung a sick smell of garbage and acloud of flies. 

It was no wonder that scores of children and some older peoplewere sick. The public health nurses, when they came to visit thesick ones, warned the women to cover food and garbage, but mostof the women laughed at the advice. 

"Those doctor always tell us things, " the Beechams' Italianneighbor, Mrs. Serafini, said lightly. She was dandling a sadbaby while the sad baby sucked a disk of salami, heavy withspices. "And those nurse also are crazy. Back in asparagus Isend-it my kids to the Center, and what you think? They take offPepe's clothes! They say it is not healthy that she wear theswaddlings. I tell Angelina to say to them that my _madre_ beforeme was dressed so; but again they strip the poor angel. "

"And what did you do then?" Rose-Ellen inquired. 

"No more did I send-it my kids to the Center!" Mrs. Serafinicried dramatically. 

"I'd think myself, " Grandma observed dryly, "your baby might feelbetter in such hot weather if she was dressed more like Sally. "

Mrs. Serafini eyed Sally's short crepe dress, worn over a singleflour-sack undergarment. "We have-it our ways, you have-ityours, " was all she would say. 

[Illustration: Mrs. Serafini]

While the elders talked, Jimmie had been staring at Pepe's nextbrother, Pedro. Seven years old, Pedro might have been, but hecould move about only by sitting on the ground and hitchinghimself along. He was crippled much worse than Jimmie. 

"I wonder, couldn't I show Pedro my scrapbook?" he whispered, nudging Grandma. 

"To be sure; and I always said if you'd think more about others, you wouldn't be so sorry for yourself, " Grandma replied. 

Jimmie scowled at the sermon, but he went in and got his books, and the two boys sat up against the shack wall till dark, Jimmietelling stories to match the pictures. It was a week before theycould repeat that pleasant hour. Next day both were ill with thefever that was sweeping the hop camp. 

Next time the nurses came they had medicines and suggestions forGrandma. They liked her, and looked smilingly at the clock andapprovingly at Carrie and at the covered garbage can and at thefood draped with mosquito netting. 

"We're going to have to enforce those rules, " they told Grandma. "There wouldn't be half the sickness if everyone minded as youdo. "

That evening people from all parts of the camp gathered todiscuss the renewed orders: Italians, Mexicans, Americans, Indians. 

"They says to my mother, " a little Indian girl confided toRose-Ellen, "'You no cover up your grub, we throw him out!'" Shelaughed into her hands as if it were a great joke. 

"They do nothing but talk, " said Angelina. 

Next day the camp had a surprise. Along came the nurses and menwith badges to help them. Into shack after shack they went, inspecting the food supplies. Rose-Ellen, staying home with sickJimmie, watched a nurse trot out of the Serafini shack, carryinglong loaves of bread and loops of sausage, alive with flies, while Mrs. Serafini shouted wrathfully after her. Into thegarbage pail popped the bread and sausage and back to the shacktrotted the nurse for more. 

That night the camp buzzed like a swarm of angry bees, withthreats of what the pickers would do to "them fresh nurses. "

Grandpa, resting on his doorsill, said, "You just keep cool. They got the law on their side; we couldn't do a thing. Besides, if you'll hold your horses long enough to see this out, you mayfind they're doing you a big kindness. "

The people went on grumbling, but they covered their food, sincethey must do so or lose it. And they had to admit that there wasmuch less sickness from that time on. 

"Foolishness!" Mrs. Serafini persisted, unwilling to give in. 

Yet Rose-Ellen, playing with Baby Pepe, discovered that her hotold swaddlings had been taken off at last. Perhaps Mrs. Serafiniwas learning something from the nurses after all. 

"If you could show me the rest of my aflabet, Rose-Ellen, " Jimmiebegged, "I could teach Pedro. "

"But, goodness!" Rose-Ellen exclaimed. "You never would let usteach you anything, Jimmie. What's happened to you?"

"Well, it's different. I got to keep ahead of Pedro, " heexplained, and every night he learned a new lesson. 

[Illustration: Rose-Ellen teaching Jimmie]

Of all the family, though, Jimmie was the only contented one. Most of the trouble centered round Dick. He was fourteen now, and not only his voice, but his way, was changing. Through theday he picked hops, but when evening came, he was off and away. 

"He's like the Irishman's flea, " Grandma scolded, "and that ganghe's running with are young scalawags. "

"Dick hasn't a lick of sense, " Daddy agreed worriedly. "I'll haveto tan him, if he keeps on lighting out every night. That gangset fire to a hop rack last week. They'll be getting into realtrouble. "

"Dick thinks he's a man, now he's earning his share of theliving, " Grandpa reminded them. "When I was his age I had choresto keep me busy, and when you were his age you had gym, and the Yswimming pool. Here there's nothing for the kids in the eveningexcept mischief. "

"Well, then, " Grandma suggested, "why don't we pull up stakes andleave?"

"They don't like you to leave till harvest's over, " Daddy said. "But it would be great to get into apples in Washington, forinstance. We'll have to get the boss to cash our pay ticketsfirst. "

There came the trouble. The tickets would be cashed when harvestwas done, not before. Grandma sagged when she heard. "I ain'tsick, " she said, "but I'm played out. If we could get where itwas cooler and cleaner. . . . "

"Well, we haven't such a lot of pay checks left. " Grandpa lookedat her anxiously. "Looks like, with prices at the company storeso high, if we stayed another month we'd owe them instead ofthem owing us. We might cash our tickets in groceries and hopalong. "

"Hop along is right, " agreed Daddy. "Those tires were a poor buy. We haven't money for tires and gas both. "

"We'll go as fast as we can, and maybe we can get there beforethe tires bust, " said Grandpa, trying to be gay. 

Jimmie didn't try. "I liked it here, " he mumbled. "I bet Pedro'llcry if we go away. He can print his first name now, but how's heever going to learn 'Serafini'?"

9: SETH THOMAS STRIKES TWELVE

At once Daddy and Grandpa set to work on the Reo. It was an"orphan" car, no longer made, and its parts were hard to replace;so the men were always watching the junkyards for other old Reos. They had learned a great deal about the car in these months, andthey soon had it on the road again. 

"Give you long enough, " said Grandma, "and you'll cobble newsoles on its tires and patch its innards. Looks like it's heldtogether with hairpins now. "

Daddy drove with one ear cocked for trouble, and when anyonespoke to him he said, "Shh! Sounds like her pistons--or maybeit's her vacuum. Anyway, as soon as there's a good stoppingplace, we'll. . . . "

But it was the tires that gave out first. Bang! Daddy's musclesbulged as he held the lurching car steady. One of the back tireswas blown to bits. "Now can we eat?" Dick demanded. Daddy shookhis head as he jumped out to jack up the car. "Got to keepmoving. This is our last spare, and there isn't a single tire wecan count on. "

Sure enough, they hadn't gone far before the familiar bumpingstopped them. That last spare was flat. 

"Now, " Daddy said grimly, "you may as well get lunch while I seewhether I can patch this again. "

Grandma had been sitting silent, her hand twisted in Sally'slittle skirt to keep her from climbing over the edge. "Well, "she said, "you better eat before your hands get any blacker. Dick, you haul that shoe-box from under the seat. Rose-Ellen, fetch the crackers from the trailer. Sally, do sit still oneminute. "

"Crackers?" asked Rose-Ellen, when she had scrambled back. "Idon't see a one, Gramma. "

"Land's sakes, child, use your eyes for once!" Rose-Ellenrummaged in the part that was partitioned off from Carrie. "Idon't see any groceries, Gramma. "

Grandpa came back to help her, and stood staring. "Dick!" hecalled. "Did you tie that box on like I said?"

Dick dropped a startled lip. "Gee whiz, Grampa! It was wedgedin so tight I never thought. "

"No, " said Grandpa, "I reckon you never did think. " Silently theyate the scanty lunch in the shoe-box, and as silently the men cut"boots" from worn-out tires and cemented them under the holes inthe almost worn-out ones. Silently they jogged on again, theengine stuttering and Daddy driving as if on egg-shells. 

"Talk, won't you?" he asked suddenly. "My goodness, everyone isso still--it gets on my nerves. "

Sally said, "Goin' by-by!" and leaned forward from Grandma'sknees to give her father a strangling hug around the neck. Sallywas two and a half now, and lively enough to keep one personbusy. The pale curls all over her head were enchanting, and sowas her talk. She had learned _Buenos dias_, good day, from aMexican neighbor; _bambina bella_, pretty baby girl, from theSerafinis, and _Sayonara_, good-by, from a Japanese boss in thepeas. 

Rose-Ellen pulled the baby back and gave her a kiss in the hollowat the back of her neck. Then she tried to think of something tosay herself. "Maybe they'll have school and church school atthis next place for a change. "

"Aw, you're sissy, " Dick grumbled in his new, thick-thin voice. "If church was so much, why wouldn't it keep folks from beingtreated like us? Huh?"

Grandma roused herself from her limp stillness. "Maybe youdidn't take notice, " she said sharply, "that usually when folkswas kind, and tried to make those dreadful camps a littledecenter, why, it was Christian folks. There wouldn't hardlyanything else make 'em treat that horrid itch and trachoma andall the catching diseases--hardly anything but being Christians. "

"Aw, " Dick jeered. "If the church folks got together and puttheir foot down they could clear up the whole business in ajiffy. "

"We always been church folks ourselves, " Grandma snapped. "Itisn't so easy to get a hold. "

"Hush up, Dick, " Grandpa ordered with unusual sharpness. "Can'tyou see Gramma's clean done out?"

Grandma looked "done out, " but Rose-Ellen, glancing soberly fromone to the other, was sorry for Dick, too-his blue eyes frownedso unhappily. 

Rose-Ellen tried to change the subject. "Apples!" she said. "Ilove oranges and ripe figs, and those big persimmons that yousort of drown in-but apples are homiest. I'd like to get myteeth into a hard red one and work right around. "

That wasn't a good subject, either. "I'm hungry!" Jimmiebellowed. 

And just then another tire blew out. 

The old Reo had bumped along on its rim for an hour when Grandmasaid in a thin voice, "Next time we come to any likely shade, Iguess we best stop. I'm . . . I'm just beat out. "

With an anxious backward glance at her, Daddy stopped the carunder a tree. 

"I reckon some of you better go on to that town and get somebread and maybe weenies and potatoes, " Grandma said faintly. 

Grandpa and Daddy pulled out the tent and set it up under thetree, so that Grandma could lie down in its shelter. Then theybumped away, leaving the children to mind Sally and lead Carriealong the edge of the highway to graze, while Grandma slept. 

[Illustration: Waiting at the roadside]

"I never was so hungry in all my days, " Jimmie kept saying. 

All the children watched that strip of pavement with the hot airquivering above it, but still the car did not come. 

Suddenly Rose-Ellen clutched Dick's arm. "Those two men looklike . . . Look like. . . . They _are_ Grampa and Daddy. But whathave they done with the car?"

"Where's the car?" Dick shouted, as the men came up. 

"W'ere tar?" Sally echoed, patting her hands against the bulginggunnysack her father carried. 

"Here's the car, " Daddy answered, pointing to the sack. 

"You . . . Sold it, Dad?" Dick demanded. "How much?"

"Five dollars. " Daddy's jaw tightened. "They called it junk. Well, the grub will last a little while. . . . "

"And when Gramma's rested, we can pull the trailer and kind ofhike along toward them apples, " Grandpa said stoutly. 

But Grandma looked as if she'd never be rested. She lay quitestill except for the breath that blew out her gray lips and drewthem in again, and her closed eyes were hollow. The other sixstood around and gazed at her in terror. Anyone else could besick and the earth went on turning, but . . . Grandma!

They were too intent to notice the car stopping beside them untila man's voice said, "Sorry, folks, but you'll have to move on. Against regulations, this is. "

"We're Americans, ain't we?" Grandpa blustered, shaken withanxiety and anger. "You can't shove us off the earth. "

"Be on your way in twenty-four hours, " the man said, pushing backhis coat to show the star on his vest. "I'm sorry, but that's theway it is. "

"Americans?" Daddy said harshly, watching the sheriff go. "We'refolks without a country. "

"May as well give the young-ones some of the grub we bought, "Grandpa said patiently. 

It was while they were hungrily munching the dry bread and cheesethat another car came upon them and with it another swift changein their changing life. 

Two young women stepped out of the chirpy Ford sedan. Neither ofthem looked like Her, nor even Her No. II--yet Jimmie whisperedexcitedly to Rose-Ellen, "I bet you a nickel they're ChristianCenterers!"

And they were. Sent by the churches, like the Center workers inthe cranberries, in the peas and in Cissy's onions, they went outthrough the country to help the people who needed them. Thesheriff, it seemed, had told them about the Beechams when he metthem a few minutes ago. 

First they looked in at Grandma, still asleep with the SethThomas ticking beside her. "Why, I've heard of you from MissPinkerton, " said one young woman. "She said you were the kind ofpeople who deserved a better chance. Maybe I can help you getone. " Then they talked long and earnestly with Grandpa andDaddy. 

Grandpa had flapped his hands at the children and said, "Skedaddle, young-ones!" So the children could hear nothing ofthe talk except that it was all questions and answers that grewmore and more brisk and eager. It ended in hooking the trailer, which carried the tent and Carrie, to the sedan, into which washelped a dazed Grandma. The rest of the family was packed in andoff they all rattled to town. 

There the "Centerers" left the Beechams in a restaurant, but onlyto come back in a few minutes, beaming. 

"We got them on long distance, and it's all right!" they toldGrandpa and Daddy. 

"What's all right?" asked Grandma, beginning to be more like herold self once more. 

"A real nice place to stay in the grape country, " Grandpa saidquickly. "And Miss Joyce here, she's going to take us down theretomorrow. Down in the San Joaquin Valley. "

Next morning Miss Joyce came to the tourist camp where they hadslept and breakfasted. She looked long at Carrie. Was Carrieworth taking? Did she give much milk?

Jimmie burst into tears. "Well, even if she doesn't, she doesthe best she can, " he sobbed. "Isn't she one of the family?"

Miss Joyce patted his frail little shoulder and said "Oh, well . . . !"

So Carrie was fastened into her trailer again, and the sedanrattled southward all day, through peach orchards and vineyardswhere the grapevines were fastened to short stakes so that theylooked like bushes instead of vines. 

"It's . . . Real sightly country, " said Grandma, who felt muchbetter after her rest. "If only a body could settle down, Ican't figure any place much nicer. Them trees now, with the sunslanting through. --We ain't stopping here?"

Yes, the sedan, with the trailer swaying after it, was banginginto a tiny village of brown and white cottages, with greengardens between them and stately eucalyptus trees shading them, while behind them stretched evenly spaced young fruit trees. Before the one empty cottage the sedan stopped. The Beechams andMiss Joyce went in. 

There was little furniture in the clean house, but Grandma, dropping down on a wooden chair, looked around her with brighteyes. "A sitting room!" she said. "A sitting room! Seems likewe were real folks again, just for a little while. Grampa, youfetch in the clock and set it on that shelf, will you?"

Grandpa brought in the old Seth Thomas, its hands pointing tohalf-past three. "Tick-tock! Tick-tock!" it said, as contentedlyas if it had always lived there. 

[Illustration: Bringing in the clock]

The children went tiptoeing, hobbling, rushing through the clean, bare rooms, their voices echoing as they called back their news. "Gramma, there's a real bathroom!" "Gramma, soon's you feelbetter you can bake a pie in this gas stove!" "Gramma, here's ane-_lec_-tric refrigerator! And a washing machine! And ascreened porch with a table to eat at!"

Good California smells of eucalyptus trees and, herbs and flowersdrifted through open doors and windows, together with thechuckling, scolding, joyous clamor of mocking birds. 

"I . . . I wish we didn't have to move on again!" Grandma said. 

"It's a pretty good set-up, " Grandpa agreed. "Good school overyonder; and a church--and big enough garden for all our gardensass and to can some. " He was ticking off the points on hisfingers. "And a chicken-house, and then this here cooperativefarm where the folks all work together and share the profits. "

Jimmie flung himself down on the floor, sobbing. "I don't wantto go on anywhere, " he hiccupped. "I want to stay here. "

But Dick was looking from Grandpa to Miss Joyce and then to Daddywho had come, smiling, in at the back door. "You mean. . . . "The words choked Dick. "You mean we might settle here? But how?Who fixed it?"

"The government!" Grandpa said triumphantly. "Mind you, thisplace is the government's fixing, to give migrants a chance totake root again. It's an experiment they are trying, and we arehaving the chance to work with them. We can buy this place andpay for it over a long term of years. We've got the ChristianCenter and the government to thank. "

"Why, maybe after a while we could even send for the goods westored at Mrs. Albi's!" Grandma cried dazedly. 

"You mean this is home? Home?" shrieked Rose-Ellen. 

"Carrie thinks so, " Daddy, said with a smile. "Run along and seeif she doesn't. Run along!"

The children rushed past him into the backyard. There stoodCarrie, still a moth-eaten-looking white goat. But now she had anew gleam in her amber eyes, and at her feet a tiny, curly kid, as black as coal. 

"Maaaaaaa!" Carrie said proudly. From within the brown and whitecottage Seth Thomas pealed out twelve chimes--eight extra--as ifhe, too, were shouting for joy. 

[Illustration: Carrie and her kid]