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Updated: May 1, 2025
He wanted to get more, for fear they would not stop for the noon meal, but in five minutes all the supplies were sold. Rose-Ellen tried to make her chocolate almond bar last; she chewed every bite till it slid down her throat; and then, alas, she was so sick that it didn't stay down.
"I'm learning to do spatter prints for Christmas," said Rose-Ellen, brushing her hair before going to bed. "Jimmie, why on earth don't you take this chance to learn reading?" Daddy coaxed. "Daddy, you won't tell Her I can't read?" Jimmie begged. Yet, as October passed, something happened to change Jimmie's mind. As October passed, too, the Beechams grew skillful at picking.
Trees rose high above the small house, and inside the fence were tall spires of delphinium, bluer than the sky. "The flowers iss so pretty," said Nico. "And on the porch behind of the vines is a chicken in a gold cage," cried Vicente. Rose-Ellen folded her lips over a giggle, for the chicken was a canary. Just then a head popped up behind a red rosebush.
When she bent over, she could hardly straighten up again; so she stayed home with Jimmie and the baby, and Dick and Rose-Ellen picked. Rose-Ellen felt superior, because there were children her age picking into small sacks, like pillow-slips, and she used one of the regular long bags, fastened to her belt and trailing on the ground behind.
He beamed so proudly that Grandpa, wringing a sheet for Grandma, looked sorrowfully at him over his glasses. "It's a pity you didn't tell her sooner, young-one," he said. "The cranberries will be over in a few more days, and we'll be going back." "Back to Philadelphia?" Rose-Ellen demanded. "Where? Not to a Home? I won't! I'd rather go on and shuck oysters like Pauline Isabel and her folks.
Rose-Ellen lay across the foot of Grandpa and Grandma's goosefeather 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 and bushes had dried a little.
The family scurried around putting up the tent and building a fire and drying things out before the men must go to the grove. Rose-Ellen and Dick and even Jimmie felt less dismal when they steamed before the washtub stove and ate something hot. Grandma and Sally felt less relief. Sally's cheeks were hot and red, and she turned her head from side to side, crying and coughing.
Along came the nurses and men with badges to help them. Into shack after shack they went, inspecting the food supplies. Rose-Ellen, staying home with sick Jimmie, watched a nurse trot out of the Serafini shack, carrying long loaves of bread and loops of sausage, alive with flies, while Mrs. Serafini shouted wrathfully after her.
If anybody'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 my guess."
The Beechams had never thought of doing so, since Grandpa had his cobbling and Daddy his photograph finishing. "Well, why shouldn't we?" Daddy fired the question into the stillness. "But school?" asked Rose-Ellen, who liked school. Mrs. Albi waved a work-worn palm. "You smart, Rosie. You ketch up all right." "That's okeydoke with me!" Dick exclaimed, yanking his sister's curls.
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