And hands went into pockets and little coins came out. In front of the tent a little heap of silver grew. And the family found it there.
Our people are good people; our people are kind people. Pray God some day kind people won’t all be poor. Pray God some day a kid can eat.
And the association of owners knew that some day the praying would stop.
And there’s the end.
CHAPTER 20
THE FAMILY, ON TOP of the load, the children and Connie and Rose of Sharon and the preacher were stiff and cramped. They had sat in the heat in front of the coroner’s office in Bakersfield while Pa and Ma and Uncle John went in. Then a basket was brought out and the long bundle lifted down from the truck. And they sat in the sun while the examination went on, while the cause of death was found and the certificate signed.
Al and Tom strolled along the street and looked in store windows and watched the strange people on the sidewalks.
And at last Pa and Ma and Uncle John came out, and they were subdued and quiet. Uncle John climbed up on the load. Pa and Ma got in the seat. Tom and Al strolled back and Tom got under the steering wheel. He sat there silently, waiting for some instruction. Pa looked straight ahead, his dark hat pulled low. Ma rubbed the sides of her mouth with her fingers, and her eyes were far away and lost, dead with weariness.
Pa sighed deeply. “They wasn’t nothin’ else to do,” he said.
“I know,” said Ma. “She would a liked a nice funeral, though. She always wanted one.”