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When the children had watched awhile, and the boatmen had asked their names, and how old they were and where they came from, Ez took them inside the shed to show them the handling of the newly shucked oysters. First the oysters were dumped into something that looked like Mrs. Albi's electric washer, and washed and washed.
Albi's basement to keep dry. "It's so funny," Rose-Ellen stammered; "almost as if that was all that was left of our home." "Funny as a tombstone," said Grandma. Then she went and grabbed the old Seth Thomas clock and hugged it to her. "This seems the livingest thing. It goes where I go." At last, everything was disposed of, and the padrone's agent's big truck pulled up to their curb.
Julie's mother stood there, a comfortable brown woman with shining black hair and gold earrings, the youngest Albi enthroned on her arm. Mrs. Albi's eyebrows had risen to the middle of her forehead, and she patted Grandma's shoulder plumply. "Now, now, now, now!" she comforted in a big voice. "All will be well, praise God. Julie, she tell me. All will be well." "How on earth can all be well?"
It's an experiment they are trying, and we are having the chance to work with them. We can buy this place and pay for it over a long term of years. We've got the Christian Center and the government to thank." "Why, maybe after a while we could even send for the goods we stored at Mrs. Albi's!" Grandma cried dazedly. "You mean this is home? Home?" shrieked Rose-Ellen.
"You can have your old school." Sally woke with a cry like a kitten's mew and Rose-Ellen lugged her out, balanced on her hip. Mrs. Albi's Michael was the same age, but he would have made two of Sally. Above Sally's small white face her pale hair stood up thinly; her big gray eyes and little pale mouth were solemn.
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