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. Grandpa and Daddy had time first to
knock together stools and a table, and to find on a dumpheap a
little old stove, which they propped up and mended so Grandma
could cook on it.

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

While they washed the breakfast dishes and straightened the one
room, the grown-ups discussed whether the children should work in
the bog.

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

"Likely we could take Baby along, and Jimmie could watch her
while we pick," Grandma said dubiously. "But my fingers are all
thumbs when I've got them children on my mind.--Somebody's at the
door."

A tall young girl with short yellow curls stood tapping at the
open door. Grandma looked at her approvingly, her blouse was so
crisply white.

"Good morning," said the girl. "I've come from the Center, where