"I wish I were in your shoes," she said.
"What do you mean—having the Doctor in the house?"
"No—I'd like that too; but I mean work to do—your position."
"Oh, the library! You needn't; it's horrid. I wish I were in your shoes, and had a father and mother to take care of me. I can tell you, it's no fun—having to be there just on time or get fined, and having to poke away all day with those phooty old ladies and tiresome children."
"But you're independent."
"Oh, yes, I'm independent. I have to be. Aunt Rella could take care of me, I suppose, but of course I wouldn't let her. And I dare say library work is better than school-teaching."
"What'll we be doing when we're forty, I wonder?" said Vivian, after another turn.
"Forty! Why I expect to be a grandma by that time," said Sue. She was but twenty-one, and forty looked a long way off to her.
"A grandma! And knit?" suggested Vivian.
"Oh, yes—baby jackets—and blankets—and socks—and little shawls. I love to knit," said Sue, cheerfully.