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Across the Fruited Plain by Florence Crannell Means
page 100 of 101 (99%)

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 feel
better you can bake a pie in this gas stove!" "Gramma, here's an
e-_lec_-tric refrigerator! And a washing machine! And a
screened porch with a table to eat at!"

Good California smells of eucalyptus trees and, herbs and flowers
drifted through open doors and windows, together with the
chuckling, 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 over
yonder; and a church--and big enough garden for all our garden
sass and to can some." He was ticking off the points on his
fingers. "And a chicken-house, and then this here cooperative
farm where the folks all work together and share the profits."

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

But Dick was looking from Grandpa to Miss Joyce and then to Daddy
who 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, this
place is the government's fixing, to give migrants a chance to
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