And while we've had expensive educations, we haven't
had practical ones. So what do we do now?"
"We sit down and think of one thing we're really good at doing and
then--Val, what is that?" She pointed dramatically at a mound of brick
overgrown with vines. To their right and left stretched a row of
tumble-down cabins, some with the roofs totally gone and the doors
fallen from the hinges.
"The old plantation bake oven, I should say. This must be what's left of
the slave quarters. But where's the carriage house?"
"It must be around the other side of the big house. Let's try that
direction anyway. But I think you'd better go first and do some
chopping. This dress may be a poor thing but it's my own and likely to
be for some time to come. And short of doing a sort of snake act, I
don't see how we're going to get through there."
Val applied the shears ruthlessly to vine and bush alike, glad to find
something to attack. The weight of his depression was still upon him. It
was all very well for Ricky to talk so lightly of getting a job, but
talk would never put butter on their bread--if they could afford bread.
"You certainly have done a fine job of ruining that!"
Val surpassed Ricky's jump by a good inch. By the old bake oven stood a
woman. A disreputable straw hat with a raveled brim was pulled down over
her untidy honey-colored hair and she was rolling up the sleeves of a
stained smock to bare round brown arms.
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