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

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. I'd rather go on where they're cutting
marsh 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 part
company 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 hugged
her so hard that she grunted and then put her tiny hands on his
cheeks and peered into his eyes, chirping at him like a little
bird.

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