Free Flood Friday by Lois Lenski Page B

down the door to get in. It’s a sea of mud—horrible. The piano’s falling apart.”
    “Under the mud, the floor boards are swollen and lifted,” said Daddy. “The icebox and electric stove are ruined. Maybe I can get the motor on the washing machine baked—I don’t know.”
    “We saw only one thing to laugh at—Bobby’s sign!” said Mother. “That gave us courage. NOBODY HOME BUT WE’LL BE BACK!”
    All this time Mrs. Boyd and Barbara had been listening.
    “I’ll come and help clean up,” said Mrs. Boyd.
    “We’ll all go,” cried the children.
    Mrs. Graham shook her head.
    “But I can help, Mother,” said Sally. “I can scrub floors.”
    “And I can shovel out mud,” said Bobby.
    “I never knew you so anxious to help before,” said Mrs. Graham. “But you must wait till the house is cleaned. It’s too much of a health hazard. Children are ordered to keep out.”
    “The fire department has run a water pipe down the street now,” said Mr. Graham, “so we can get water.”
    “Good,” said Mrs. Boyd. “So many people were trying to clean mud out without a drop of water.”
    “The prisoners from Wethersfield are shoveling out people’s cellars,” added Mr. Graham, “and the Army bulldozers are shoveling up fallen trees and wrecked cars. It’s wonderful how the whole country has sent help—trucks, bulldozers, men, food and clothing.”
    Two days later, Mrs. Graham waded into the front yard of her home, loaded down with shovels, brooms, mops and pails. To her surprise, she saw that the worst of the mud had been shoveled out.
    “Somebody’s been here, working,” she exclaimed. “The Wilsons, I bet.”
    She went from one room to the other. She had to walk carefully for the mud was slick.

    “Well! Looky here!” She opened the refrigerator door, then slammed it shut. “Phew!” she cried. “Everything rotten in there.” She called her husband. “It doesn’t look like the home we left, does it, Robert?”
    “It will when we get through, though, Carrie,” said Mr. Graham.
    “Well!” said Mrs. Graham, whipping off her scarf and coat. “No time like the present. Let’s get to work. Good thing it’s turned cool. Question is just what to do first.”
    “Shovels first, then brooms, mops, and water last,” said Mr. Graham, on his way down cellar.
    Soon shovel and broom were swishing out the floor. To keep her spirits up, Mrs. Graham started to sing:
    “ ‘Home, home, sweet sweet home,
    Be it ever so humble,
    There’s no place like home!’ ”
    “Hi, there! Hello!” called a cheery voice.
    “Is that you, Elsie?” answered Mrs. Graham.
    Mrs. Perry Wilson came in. Looking around, she exclaimed, “ ‘No place like home’—you’re right, Carrie. After this, we’ll appreciate our homes as we never did before. But you and I seem to be mighty dirty housekeepers, don’t we?”
    The women fell into each other’s arms and laughed until they cried. Mrs. Wilson told again of her husband’s ordeal and rescue.
    “I’ve shoveled two wheelbarrows of mud out of the downstairs bathroom alone,” said Mrs. Graham.
    “We didn’t get that far,” said Mrs. Wilson.
    “I just knew you folks had been here,” said Mrs. Graham. “Haven’t you any mud of your own that you come over here hunting more? There’s nothing like having good friends.”
    “Hey, you two up there!” called Mr. Graham from the cellar. “Want some night crawlers? The cellar’s full of ’em. And here’s a live turtle for the kids!”
    “What next!” The women laughed.
    That night the children were surprised to get a turtle for a pet. Bobby put it in a box and they all took turns caring for it and playing with it.
    As soon as the worst of the mud was out, Mr. and Mrs. Graham moved into the upstairs and slept there nights. The downstairs doors and windows could not be closed or locked, and there was danger of looters. Even though the children begged to return, they had to stay on at the Boyds.
    As time went