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the window are several dresses, which judging from the size and youth-
ful lines, are probably Amelia's. They are of cheap cotton material,
and obviously homemade.

Just inside the kitchen door I see an army cot, piled with fresh-
ly washed linen. In the back yard there are washlines full of clothes,
blowing in the wind. The back door is screenless. A rush of water is
heard as the children go and come from the toilet between the two bed-
rooms.

In the front bedroom an old style wooden bed is covered with a
homemade spread. A battered steamer trunk supports photographs of the
family. One pane of the window is broken out, and the hole is stuffed
with newspaper and burlap sacking. Laths are visible where chunks of
plaster have fallen.

The house is cold and damp, and even though I wear a heavy coat,
I am far from comfortable. All of the doors are open, and the only heat
is from the stove in the kitchen.

As each of the family finishes eating they return to the living
room. Smitty prepares to depart.

"I go on at four and git off at twelve," he tells his wife. "Will
you have me some hot supper ready when I come home?"

"Yes; I'll have you some hot supper all right, but I don't promise
to be setting up a-waitin for you though at that time of night."

He kisses each of the children, and then goes into the kitchen to
tell Amelia goodbye. Amelia's voice sounds soft and gentle. Smitty and
and his wife walk to the door together, and embrace each other. She
kisses him on both cheeks and pats him on the back.

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