Becky.
“It seems as if it had brought luck, don’t it?” said Becky.
She was lying on her hard little sofa, with her hands clasped behind her head, and her eyes fixed on the grey kitten, who was playing all sorts of pranks in a spot of sunlight it had found on the floor. There was a smile on her thin face as she watched the little creature’s merry antics, and it was indeed wonderful to see how much amusement it was able to find all by itself. First it chased its own tail round and round so fast, that it made one giddy to look at it; then it pounced at its own shadow, and darted back sideways in pretended fear; then it rolled over on its back, and played with its own furry toes. It was a week now since Dan had brought it home, forlorn and miserable, and it had quite forgotten its troubles, and was happy all day long. Even when there was not much for dinner—and that did happen sometimes, in spite of Becky’s care—it always purred its little song of thankfulness, and was ready to be pleased, for it had a meek and grateful nature.
Dan, who was sitting at the foot of Becky’s couch, with his feet stretched out in front of him, as though he were very tired, looked up as his sister spoke.
“What luck?” he asked sleepily.
Becky turned her dark eyes upon him.
“I’m sorry I waked you,” she said. “I meant, because you brought the kit home the same night father wasn’t turned off.”
Dan nodded seriously.
“It’s all been better since,” went on Becky. “Father brings his money home, and mother don’t worry, and we have dinner every day, and I do think my back don’t go all on aching so bad as it did.”
“If you was to get quite well, it’d be luckier still,” said Dan.