"I've heard of the Centers," 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.
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