"
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 be delicious to lie on the floor,
uncrowded, and sheltered from the night.
But no such shelter awaited them. Instead, they were pointed to
a sort of hobo camp with lights glimmering through torn canvas.
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