Judy's Journey by Lois Lenski

Welfare Circle,” they said. Mama came out of the tent and frowned.
    â€œOh, how cold you poor people must be, camping in this damp place on a cold night like this,” said the first lady.
    â€œNo, we ain’t cold,” Mama said patiently. “This seems warm to us.”
    The women stared at Judy and the children. “At least your children might put on their shoes and stockings. Their legs look blue,” said the second lady.
    â€œAin’t got no shoes,” said Joe Bob.
    â€œAin’t got no stockin’s,” said Judy.

    â€œHow long since they’ve had a bath?” asked the first lady.
    Mama turned her back and did not answer.
    â€œI will be glad to let you and your children sleep on my back porch, if you’ll come home with me,” said the second lady. “You can all have nice warm baths in the bathroom first. Just how many are there of you? You folks always have such big families.”
    â€œWe don’t like baths,” said Joe Bob.
    â€œWe like to be dirty,” said Judy.
    â€œWe like to play in the dirt,” said Cora Jane.
    It was fun to be obstinate. All the children’s impudence was coming out—they were trying to make their unwelcome visitors go away. Mama heard Lonnie cry and brought him out of the tent in her arms.
    â€œAnd that’s your poor baby,” said the first lady. “He’s sickly, isn’t he?”
    â€œNo, jest ornery,” said Mama.
    â€œAnd your poor husband has no job?” asked the second lady.
    â€œHe’s gone to see about gittin’ one,” said Mama.
    â€œYou won’t come home with me then?”
    â€œCan’t leave all our plunder here by the lake and be gone when the old man gits back,” said Mama patiently.
    â€œHow long since you’ve had a good meal?” asked the first lady.
    â€œHalf an hour,” said Mama.
    Judy could stand it no longer. Mama was tired and the women were pestering her to death. She walked boldly up—as boldly as if she were facing Old Man Reeves himself, and spoke loudly: “Why can’t you-all go away and leave us alone?”
    But the ladies, intent upon doing good, ignored her. “I’ll get your husband a job in one of the citrus plants in the morning,” the second lady said.
    â€œAnd I know where there’s a nice little house for you to live in,” said the other.
    â€œDon’t want your nice little ole …” began Judy, but she stopped suddenly. They did want a house and a home and a job for Papa. They wanted it more than anything in the world. Judy was stricken with regret that she had been rude to the ladies. She bit her tongue. That fortune-teller was right—her hot tongue was always getting her into trouble. Then she listened to what Mama was saying. Mama was always patient. Mama never lost her temper. First she had been annoyed by that captain and then by that reporter and now by these prying women, but Mama never said a rude word.
    â€œJim won’t take a job inside,” Mama was saying quietly. “He can’t stand it to be cooped up indoors. Can he git a job pickin’ oranges?”
    â€œNo,” said the lady, “that’s done by colored men—experienced pickers, trained for the work. Of course if your husband is a good grove man——”
    â€œWhat’s that?” asked Mama.
    â€œA man who knows all about growing oranges and grapefruit and work on a grove.”
    â€œJim never saw an orange tree in his life until three days ago,” said Mama. “He was born and bred in an Alabama cotton field.”
    â€œToo bad,” said the lady. “Too bad we can’t help you.”
    â€œWe don’t need help,” said Mama. “We’ll make out. We always have.”
    The ladies went to their car, shaking their heads. Their words floated back: “You try to give them food and shelter, and a good steady job, but they