more.

"A real nice place to stay in the grape country," Grandpa said
quickly. "And Miss Joyce here, she's going to take us down there
tomorrow. Down in the San Joaquin Valley."

Next morning Miss Joyce came to the tourist camp where they had
slept and breakfasted. She looked long at Carrie. Was Carrie
worth taking? Did she give much milk?

Jimmie burst into tears. "Well, even if she doesn't, she does
the best she can," he sobbed. "Isn't she one of the family?"

Miss Joyce patted his frail little shoulder and said "Oh,
well . . . !"

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]

The children went tiptoeing, hobbling, rushing through the clean,
bare rooms, their voices echoing as they called back their news.
"Gramma, there's a real bathroom!" "Gramma, soon's you feel
better you can bake a pie in this gas stove!" "Gramma, here's an
e-_lec_-tric refrigerator! And a washing machine! And a
screened porch with a table to eat at!"

Good California smells of eucalyptus trees and, herbs and flowers
drifted through open doors and windows, together with the
chuckling, scolding, joyous clamor of mocking birds.

"I . . . I wish we didn't have to move on again!" Grandm