Five Bushel Farm
Step by Step, listening for Mrs. Titcomb's heavy breathing from her chair by the parlor window, Andrew tiptoed down the narrow dark stairs and carefully unbolted and opened the front door. It creaked a little as it opened and Mrs. Titcomb snorted in her sleep. Andrew prepared to run, but the woman did not wake up, and he softly closed the door behind him. Now that he was on the steps, facing the neat red brick Philadelphia street, he scarcely knew what to do nor where to go. He could hear Mr. Bumblebee Titcomb, as people called him, hammering down the lid of a box in the narrow back yard, ready to be packed in the wagon when it should come at dawn tomorrow to take them all away. Away! Book jacket.