The tide was high when they drove down from Phillipsville to the settlement of Oystershell. The rows of wooden houses, the oyster-sheds and the company store seemed to be wading on stilts, and most people wore rubber boots. Grandma said, "If the bog was bad for my rheumatiz, what's this going to be?" A man showed the Beechams a vacant house in the long rows. "Not much to look at," he acknowledged, "but the rent ain't much, either. The roofs are tight and a few have running water, case you want it bad enough to pay extra." "To think a rusty pipe and one faucet in my kitchen would ever be a luxury!" Grandma muttered. "But, my land, even the humpy wall-paper looks good now." It was gay, clean paper, though pasted directly on the boards. The house had a kitchen-dining-sitting room and one bedroom, with walls so thin they let through every word of the next-door radio. "That's going to be a peekaneeka, sure," Grandma said grimly. Children were not allowed to work in the oysters, but Grandma was going to try. The children could tell she was nervous about it, by the way her foot jerked up and down when she gave Sally her bottle that night; but she said she expected she wasn't too dumb to do what other folks could. The children were still asleep when the grown-ups went to work in the six o'clock darkness of that November Saturday. When they woke, mush simmered on the cookstove and a bottle of milk stood on the table. It took time to feed Sally and wash dishes and make beds; and then Dick and Rose-Ellen ran over to the nearest long oyster-house and peeked through a hole in the wall. Down each side, raised above the fishy wet floor, ran a row of booths, each with a desk and step, made of rough boards. On each step stood a man or woman, in boots and heavy clothes, facing the desk. Only instead of pen and paper, these people had buckets, oysters, knives. As fast as they could, they were opening the big, horny oyster shells and emptying the oysters into the buckets. Next time, Dick stayed with Sally, and Rose-Ellen and Jimmie peeked. They were startled when a big hand dropped on each of their heads. "You kids skedaddle," ordered a big man. "If you want to see things, come back at four." By four o'clock the grown folks were home, tired and smelling of fish; Dick and Rose-Ellen were prancing on tiptoe to go, and even Jimmie was ready. "This is what he is like," said Rose-Ellen, "the man who said we could." She stuck in her chin and threw out her chest and tried to stride. "That's the Big Boss, all right," Daddy said, laughing. "Guess it's O.K. But mind your _p_'s and _q_'s." "And stick together. Specially in a strange place." Grandma wearily picked up the baby. The Big Boss saw them as soon as they tiptoed into the oyster-house. "Ez," he called, "here's some nice kids. Show 'em around, will you?" Ez was opening clams with a penknife, and spilling them into his mouth. "Want some?" he asked.