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 whistle of the
row boss, and were being introduced to the cranberries. Dick and
Rose-Ellen were excited and happy, for it was the first fruit
they had ever picked. Though the wet bushes gave them shower
baths, the sun soon dried them.
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