opped had candy and pop for sale. Grandpa
had his family choose each a chocolate bar and a bottle. He
wanted to get more, for fear they would not stop for the noon
meal, but in five minutes all the supplies were sold.

Rose-Ellen tried to make her chocolate almond bar last; she
chewed every bite till it slid down her throat; and then, alas,
she was so sick that it didn't stay down.

Grandpa and Daddy talked with others about making the driver give
them rest and food; but there was nothing they could do: the
padrone, back in Philadelphia, already had their money for the
trip.

The children walked about while they waited. It was not cold,
but the dampness chilled them. It was queer country, the highway
running between swamps of black water, where gray trees stood
veiled in gray moss. Gray cabins sat every-which-way in the
clearing, heavy shutters swinging at their glassless windows.

A pale, thin girl talked to Rose-Ellen. She was Polish, and her
name was Rose, too. When Rose-Ellen asked her if she had ever
heard of such a dreadful trip, she shrugged and said she was used
to going without sleep.

Last year, in asparagus, she and her parents and two brothers
cared for twenty-two acres, and when it grew hot "dat grass,
oooop she go and we work all night for git ahead of her."
Asparagus, even Rose-Ellen knew could grow past using in a day.

The Polish Rose said that they got up at four in the morning and
were in the fields at half-past; and sometimes worked till near
midnight.

"Mornings," she said, "I think I die, so bad I want the sleep.
And then the boss, he no give us half our wages. Now most a year
it has been."

Curiously Rose-Ellen asked her about school.

"No money, no time, no clo'es," said Polish Rose.

The truck-driver shouted to his people to pile in and the truck
went on. By noon the Beechams were seeing their first palm trees
and winter flowers. Grandpa and Daddy tried to tell the children
about the things they were passing, but the children were too
sleepy and sickish to care. Grandma's mouth was a thin line of
pain and the baby wailed until people looked around crossly,
though there were other crying babies.

The truck reached its destination late on the second evening and
piled out its passengers at a grapefruit camp. Rose-Ellen had
been picturing a village of huts like those at the bogs, or
bright-papered shacks like the oystershuckers'. Though the
featherbeds were gone, it would b