ters," Grandma said, leaning on her broom.
"But I never did get much notion what you did with the young-ones
there."

"Well, all sorts of things," said the girl. "They sing and make
things and learn Bible verses. And in the afternoon they have a
nap-time. It's loads of fun for them."

"They take their lunch along?" Grandma inquired.

"Oh, no! A good hot lunch is part of the program."

"But, then, how much does it cost?"

"A nickel apiece a day."

"Come, come, young lady, that don't make sense," Grandpa
objected. "You'd lose money lickety-split."

The girl laughed. "We aren't doing it for money. We get money
and supplies from groups of women in all the different churches.
The owner of the bog helps, too. But we'll have to hurry, or
your row boss will be tooting his whistle." Her eyes were
admiring children and shack as she talked. Though not like
Grandma's lost house, this camp was already clean and orderly.

[Illustration: On the way to the Center]

So the three went to the Center, the girl carrying Sally, and
Jimmie hobbling along in sulky silence.

Jimmie had stayed so much at home that he didn't know how to
behave with strangers. Because he didn't want anyone to guess
that he was bashful, he frowned fiercely. Because he didn't want
anyone to think him "sissy," he had his wavy hair clipped till his
head looked like a golf ball. He was a queer, unhappy boy.

He was unhappier when they reached the big, bright, shabby house
that was the Center. Could it be safe to let Sally mingle with
the ragged, dirty children who were flocking in, he wondered?

His anxiety soon vanished. The babies were bathed and the bigger
children sent to rows of wash-basins. In a jiffy, clean babies
lay taking their bottles in clean baskets and clean children were
dressed in clean play-suits.

Besides the yellow-haired girl (her name was Miss Abbott, but
Jimmie never called her anything but "Her" and "She"), there were
two girls and an older woman, all busy. When clean-up time was
past and the babies asleep, the older ones had a worship service
with songs and stories.

After worship came play. Outdoors were sandpiles and swings.
Indoors were books and games. Jimmie longed for storybooks and
reading class; but how could he tell Her that he was nine years
old and couldn't read? He huddled in a corner, scowling, and
turned pages as if he were reading.

Meanwhile the rest of the family had answered the whist