“You suppose it might of hurt?”
“No,” said Ma. “’F you go to greasin’ yourself an’ feelin’ sorry, an’ tuckin’ yourself in a swalla’s nest, it might. Rise up now, an’ he’p me get Granma comf’table. Forget that baby for a minute. He’ll take care a hisself.”
“Where is Granma?” Rose of Sharon asked.
“I dunno. She’s aroun’ here somewheres. Maybe in the outhouse.”
The girl went toward the toilet, and in a moment she came out, helping Granma along. “She went to sleep in there,” said Rose of Sharon.
Granma grinned. “It’s nice in there,” she said. “They got a patent toilet in there an’ the water comes down. I like it in there,” she said contentedly. “Would of took a good nap if I wasn’t woke up.”
“It ain’t a nice place to sleep,” said Rose of Sharon, and she helped Granma into the car. Granma settled herself happily. “Maybe it ain’t nice for purty, but it’s nice for nice,” she said.
Tom said, “Le’s go. We got to make miles.”
Pa whistled shrilly. “Now where’d them kids go?” He whistled again, putting his fingers in his mouth.
In a moment they broke from the corn field, Ruthie ahead and Winfield trailing her. “Eggs!” Ruthie cried. “Look!” A dozen soft, grayish-white eggs were in her grubby hand. And as she held up her hand, her eyes fell upon the dead dog beside the road. “Oh!” she said. Ruthie and Winfield walked slowly toward the dog. They inspected him.