not lie to you. But we make like we have the peekaneeka. By
night the cool fresh air blow on us and by day the warm fresh
air. And vegetables and fruit so cheap, so cheap."

"But what good will that do us, Mis' Albi?" Grandma asked flatly.
"It's close onto September and berries is out."

"The cranberry bog!" Mrs. Albi shouted triumphantly. "Only today
the _padrone_, he come to my people asking who will pick the
cranberry. And that Jersey air, it will bring the fat and the red
to these Jimmie's cheeks and to the _bambina_'s!" Mrs. Albi wheezed
as she ran out of breath.

The Beechams stared at her. Many Italians and Americans went to
the farms to pick berries and beans. The Beechams had never
thought of doing so, since Grandpa had his cobbling and Daddy his
photograph finishing.

"Well, why shouldn't we?" Daddy fired the question into the
stillness.

"But school?" asked Rose-Ellen, who liked school.

Mrs. Albi waved a work-worn palm. "You smart, Rosie. You ketch up
all right."

"That's okeydoke with me!" Dick exclaimed, yanking his sister's
curls. "You can have your old school."

Sally woke with a cry like a kitten's mew and Rose-Ellen lugged
her out, balanced on her hip. Mrs. Albi's Michael was the same
age, but he would have made two of Sally. Above Sally's small
white face her pale hair stood up thinly; her big gray eyes and
little pale mouth were solemn.

"Why," Grandma said doubtfully, "we . . . why, if Grandpa would give
up his shop--just for the cranberry season. We got no place else
to go."

Grandpa sighed. "Looks like the shop's give me up already. We
could think about it."

"All together!" whooped Dick. "And not any school!"

"Now, hold your horses," Grandma cautioned. "Beechams don't run
off nobody knows where, without anyway sleeping over it."

But though they "slept over" the problem and talked it over as
hard as they could, going to the cranberry bogs was the best
answer they could find for the difficulty. It seemed the only way
for them to stay together.

"Something will surely turn up in a month or two," Daddy said.
"And without my kids"--he spread his big hands--"I haven't a
thing to show for my thirty-two years."

"The thing is," Grandpa summed it up, "when we get out of this
house we've got to pay rent, and I'm not making enough for rent
and food, too. No place to live, or else nothing to eat."

Finally it was decided that they should go.

Now there was much to