do. They set aside a few of their most
precious belongings to be stored, like Grandma's grandma's
painted dower chest, full of treasures, and Grandpa's tall desk
and Rose-Ellen's dearest doll. Next they chose the things they
must use during their stay in Jersey. Finally they called in the
second-hand man around the corner to buy the things that were
left.

Poor Grandma! She clenched her hands under her patched apron when
the man shoved her beloved furniture around and glanced
contemptuously at the clean old sewing machine that had made them
so many nice clothes. "One dollar for the machine, lady."

Rose-Ellen tucked her hand into Grandma's as they looked at the
few boxes and pieces of furniture they were leaving behind,
standing on stilts in Mrs. Albi's basement to keep dry.

"It's so funny," Rose-Ellen stammered; "almost as if that was all
that was left of our home."

"Funny as a tombstone," said Grandma. Then she went and grabbed
the old Seth Thomas clock and hugged it to her. "This seems the
livingest thing. It goes where I go."

At last, everything was disposed of, and the padrone's agent's
big truck pulled up to their curb. Two feather beds, a trunk,
pots, pans, dishes and the Beechams were piled into the space
left by some twenty-five other people. The truck roared away,
with the neighbors shouting good-by from steps and windows.

Grandma kept her eyes straight ahead so as not to see her house
again. Grandpa shifted Jimmie around to make his lame leg more
comfortable, just as they passed the cobbler's shop with "TO LET"
in the window. Grandpa did not lift his eyes.

"I hope Mrs. Albi will sprinkle them Bronze Beauty chrysanthemums
so they won't all die off," Grandma said in a choked voice.

2: THE CRANBERRY BOG

The truck rumbled through clustering cities, green country and
white villages. All the children stared in fascination until
Jimmie grew too tired and huddled down against Grandma's knees,
whining because he ached and the sun was hot and the truck was
crowded.

Grandpa kept pointing out new things-holly trees; muskrat houses
rising in small stick-stacks from the ponds; farms that made
their own rain, with rows and rows of pipes running along six
feet in air, to shower water on the vegetables below.

It was late afternoon, and dark because of the clouds, when the
truck reached the bogs. These bogs weren't at all what Rose-Ellen
and Dick had expected, but only wet-looking fi