Grandma roused herself from her limp stillness. "Maybe you
didn't take notice," she said sharply, "that usually when folks
was kind, and tried to make those dreadful camps a little
decenter, why, it was Christian folks. There wouldn't hardly
anything else make 'em treat that horrid itch and trachoma and
all the catching diseases--hardly anything but being Christians."

"Aw," Dick jeered. "If the church folks got together and put
their foot down they could clear up the whole business in a
jiffy."

"We always been church folks ourselves," Grandma snapped. "It
isn't so easy to get a hold."

"Hush up, Dick," Grandpa ordered with unusual sharpness. "Can't
you see Gramma's clean done out?"

Grandma looked "done out," but Rose-Ellen, glancing soberly from
one to the other, was sorry for Dick, too-his blue eyes frowned
so unhappily.

Rose-Ellen tried to change the subject. "Apples!" she said. "I
love oranges and ripe figs, and those big persimmons that you
sort of drown in-but apples are homiest. I'd like to get my
teeth into a hard red one and work right around."

That wasn't a good subject, either. "I'm hungry!" Jimmie
bellowed.

And just then another tire blew out.