Judy's Journey by Lois Lenski Page A

refuse it all. They like to live like that, unwashed, improperly fed.” As they drove off, one lady leaned her head out and called cheerfully, “We’ll be back to see you in the morning. We’ll bring you some clean clothes and a basket of groceries.”
    It got dark and Mama and the children went inside the tent. When Papa returned from town, they were all awake, sitting in the darkness, waiting for him.
    â€œDid you get you a job?” asked Mama.
    â€œNo,” said Papa. “The plants were all closed, but I talked to some men about it. The trouble about citrus is this—you got to work in the packing plant, ’cause all the outside work, pickin’ the fruit and takin’ care of the trees, is done by colored men. I don’t think I want to start workin’ indoors in nice weather like this.”
    â€œJust what I told them ladies,” said Mama.
    â€œWhat ladies?”
    Then the story of the unwelcome visitors came out.
    â€œPuttin’ our picture in the paper!” Papa was mad. “I’d like to put a stop to that. Campin’ on the highway ain’t so good, even if we did git permission. People botherin’ their heads about us is worse than bein’ ordered off the place. We go from the fryin’ pan into the fire, don’t we?”
    â€œThey mean well, I reckon,” said Mama.
    â€œPapa, one lady said she had a little house for us to live in,” said Judy wistfully.
    â€œWe don’t want her little ole house,” said Papa.
    â€œBut the jalopy might break down and we couldn’t go no farther,” said Joe Bob.
    â€œDon’t worry, son, I can fix it,” said Papa.
    â€œIf the lady gits you a job, Papa, we won’t always have to be drivin’ to a new place,” said Judy.
    â€œGittin’ tard o’ travelin’, honey?” asked Papa. “I thought you liked to go rollin’ along.”
    â€œI’m dog-tard of it,” said Judy.
    â€œSo are we all,” said Papa, “but we got a little farther to go … We ain’t got to Heaven yet, have we, Calla?”
    Mama shook her head and hushed Lonnie.
    â€œThey’re comin’ back first thing in the mornin’ and bringin’ us clothes and vittles in a basket,” sang out Joe Bob. “I heard ’em say so.”
    â€œDo you reckon they’ll bring shoes and stockin’s?” asked Judy, her eyes aglow with eagerness.
    If only she could get a pair of shoes, she would be willing to do without the stockings. A pair of shoes—any size, whether they fitted her or not. Oh, if I’d a been nice to them ladies, they mighta brought me stockin’s too. But I was mean. I said mean things. But likely they’ll bring shoes and stockin’s anyway——
    â€œGo to bed and get to sleep,” said Papa. “We’ll make a soon start in the mornin’.”
    â€œ You’ll wait till them ladies come back, won’t you, Papa ?” cried Judy. In her voice was all the longing she felt.
    â€œWhat for, honey?”
    Judy couldn’t say out loud what she was thinking. Papa wouldn’t understand. He didn’t know how badly she wanted shoes, and she couldn’t find the words to tell him.
    â€œYou done right to say we’re not destitute, Calla,” said Papa. “Why, we’re rich . We’re not exactly loaded down with this world’s goods, but we got each other, and we got four nice kids, and we ain’t never starved yet. We’re not destitute, and we don’t take charity off nobody. We still got our pride.”
    The next morning at daybreak, the tent came down and the jalopy drove off with the trailer behind it. Not a trace of the last night’s camping except broken-down grasses could be seen when a large shiny black car pulled up and stopped later in the day.
    â€œThey’re gone,” said a lady inside the car. “What did I tell