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bank. By the time he got there late in the afternoon, his job was taken
.
    I’m writing to President Roosevelt to tell him to hurry up and get this depression over with. He’s been in office since March 4, and March is almost over
.
    Pop leaves early every morning, driving from one town to another, to find work. He comes back after dark looking so cold. He stands in front of the fireplace in the kitchen, his hands out to catch the heat; his boots drip, leaving icy patches on the floor. But then he shakes himself and begins to get the house fixed up. One night he washed down the hall walls. Another night he got up on a ladder and plastered the ceiling. I heard him whistling a little
.
    But soon he won’t have any gas left in the truck. I
wonder how he’ll look for work. What will he do then? What will we all do?
    A million cobwebs were in the mailbox out by the road, but no spiders. Maybe they moved into the house as soon as it got cold. Can’t you see it? A line of little gray spiders—each one carrying a suitcase in a skinny feeler, holding a hat on with another—slides under the door and down the hall to the kitchen. Ah, warm!
    I remind Pop that Mr. Appleby said to look forward. “If you can’t look forward, at least look up,” I say to Pop. “See the stained-glass window with the Miss Mitzi colors.”
    I want to be sure Pop remembers you
.
    I love you, Miss Mitzi
.
    Rachel
    P.S. I leave food for Clarence every day so he won’t starve. I hope he’s the one who is eating his dinner and not some other animal
.
    P.S. again. This place is really not so terrible. There’s plenty of wood, and even in this cold, Pop has dragged the old rugs outside and beaten the dust out of them the way we did with the mattresses. It’s warmer now that there aren’t so many holes in the roof. Pop and Joey have done a great job with that. Sometimes we knock icicles off the porch and crunch on them
.
    And again! I have to say the washing situation is not good. We have to bring pails from the stream to wash. Cold! And the laundry isn’t working very well, either. We wash our clothes in cold water and hang them on a line outside. They dry stiff as boards!

Dear Miss Mitzi
,
    Pop finally got a job at a grocery store. The man can’t pay him much, but instead he is giving us food, mostly turnips, potatoes, and jars and jars of green beans. Cassie held one of the jars up to the light. “Slimy,” she said. “You’d have to be starving.”
    Pop says President Roosevelt has great plans for his first hundred days in office. It’s called the New Deal. Roads and forests are going to be fixed up; a huge dam will be built in Tennessee. This will put people back to work. Pop has his fingers crossed
.
    It’s strange living here without neighbors. Back home, someone is always walking along the street or riding the trolley. Here, everyone is far apart. We just have each other, but sometimes a little of Cassie goes a long way
.
    Everyone loves your letters. Pop runs his hands over the edges as he reads. He misses you, I know it. I miss you, too. You are the best. And one more thing, thank you for all the stamps. I had only one left
.
    Love
,
Rachel

CHAPTER TEN
    Pop carries a bag and a crate in the door. He’s home early from the store, because Mr. Brancato, the owner, closed at four. “No one is buying groceries,” Pop says. “Everyone is making do with what he has.”
    “Food!” Joey pounces on the bag. He and Cassie open it to see what Mr. Brancato has sent home today.
    Cassie sighs. “Potatoes again.”
    I look over their shoulders. The potatoes have spots and dents. By the time we cut out the bad parts, they’ll be enough for only one meal. Never mind. Pop is great at adding stuff to them: a few onion slices, a little melted cheese. My mouth waters.
    But I’m looking at the crate. What might it hold? Oranges and bananas? Cake with frosting? Strawberry ice cream? Ridiculous. “What is it?” I ask Pop.
    “Eggs.”
    “Eggs!”