ME—EH!” BLEATED MISSY in the trailer. “We must stop at a feed store and get some grain to feed that goat,” said Mama. “We must milk her too.” “If she’ll let us,” said Joe Bob. “Course she’ll let us milk her,” said Judy. They had been riding most of the day, through many towns and past many lakes and orange groves. Palm trees, pine trees, even orange trees were so common now Judy did not notice them. It seemed a long time since the Drummonds had left Alabama, and every turn of the jalopy’s wheels seemed to make life in the cotton field fade farther away into the past. “There’s a feed store,” said Joe Bob, pointing. Papa pulled up and gave Judy a quarter. She jumped out of the car and mounted the platform. Large sacks of feed and fertilizer were piled up inside the wide-open doors, and several men were hauling sacks on small hand trucks. Judy looked about her. The place was dusty and had a strong fertilizer smell. She stared at the pile of feed sacks. The sacks were made of printed cotton cloth, flowered designs of pink or blue on a white ground.
