So Carrie was fastened into her trailer again, and the sedan
rattled southward all day, through peach orchards and vineyards
where the grapevines were fastened to short stakes so that they
looked like bushes instead of vines.

"It's . . . real sightly country," said Grandma, who felt much
better after her rest. "If only a body could settle down, I
can't figure any place much nicer. Them trees now, with the sun
slanting through.--We ain't stopping here?"

Yes, the sedan, with the trailer swaying after it, was banging
into a tiny village of brown and white cottages, with green
gardens between them and stately eucalyptus trees shading them,
while behind them stretched evenly spaced young fruit trees.
Before the one empty cottage the sedan stopped. The Beechams and
Miss Joyce went in.

There was little furniture in the clean house, but Grandma,
dropping down on a wooden chair, looked around her with bright
eyes. "A sitting room!" she said. "A sitting room! Seems like
we were real folks again, just for a little while. Grampa, you
fetch in the clock and set it on that shelf, will you?"

Grandpa brought in the old Seth Thomas, its hands pointing to
half-past three. "Tick-tock! Tick-tock!" it said, as contentedly
as if it had always lived there.


[Illustration: Bringing in the clock]