picked peas in the Imperial Valley.

"Peas!" Rose-Ellen exploded the word on their last night in the
"jungle" camp. "I don't believe there are enough folks in the
world to cat all the peas we've picked."

"And they aren't done with when they're picked, even," added
Daddy. "Most of them will be canned; and other folks have to
shell and sort them and put them into cans and then cook them and
seal and label the cans."

"What an awful lot of work everything makes," Dick exclaimed.

"It was different in my Gramma's time." Grandma pursed her lips
as she set a white patch in a blue overall knee. "Then each
family grew and canned and made almost everything it used."

"Now everybody's linked up with everybody else," agreed Grandpa,
cobbling a shoe with his little kit. "We use' to get along in
winter with turnips and cabbage and such, and fruit the
womenfolks canned. Of course it's pretty nice to have garden
vegetables and fruit fresh the year round, but. . . ."

Grandma squinted suddenly over her spectacles. "For the land's
sakes! I never thought of it, but it's turned the country upside
down and made a million people into 'rubber tramps'--this having
to have fresh green stuff in winter."

"The owners couldn't handle their crops without the million
workers coming in just when they're ready to harvest," Daddy