“Goin’ to school’s worse nor bein’ dead sometimes,” said Doris.
“It’s not so bad if you learn your lessons,” said Eva, who was rather glad of the idea of the governess, but daren’t say so in the presence of the others for fear they’d laugh at her.
“Who wants to learn old lessons?” cried Doris. “I want to play all day and feed the chickens and watch the little ducks in the water, and catch crayfish and bully-frogs, and there won’t be any time for all that with a governess—boo-hoo!”
“It’s sickening,” declared Mollie, looking away over the green paddocks; “there’s always something turning up just when things are going good.”
“Don’t you like her coming, either, Mollie?” asked Eva, breathlessly.
“No,” answered Mollie, “not just yet. I want to ride and ride while the horses are fat. I don’t want old school and lessons any more than you others.”
“Oh, why didn’t you tell Mother that?” cried Eileen, breathlessly; “she might have listened to you. She thinks you are so sensible.”
“What’s the use of talking?” snapped Mollie. “She’ll come, no matter what we say.”
“And I’ll bet she’ll be old and scotty and prim and particular,” said Eileen.
“Yes, and wear glasses, and will always be losing them, and will hardly ever smile, and read a lot,” said Eva.