“That’s eight!” shrieked Eileen. “I knew more would come. We’ll get the twelve yet.”
“Oh, look at the beautiful sunset!” cried Eva. “Just like a big crimson lake!”
“Beautiful grandmother!” grumbled Eileen. “What’s the use of a beautiful sunset, I’d like to know? I’m just about sick of seeing the old sunset—the same old thing every day, with a few more colours dashed into it at times. I’ve seen enough sunsets to last me to the end of my days, after all the old droughty ones we’ve been seeing for months.”
“Were’s de tun-tet? Me want te tun-tet!” screamed Baby, as she clutched her fingers towards the paling pink sky.
“Yes, dearie, you’ll get it, too,” answered Eileen. “You’ll get tons of sunset if you keep on living here. You’ll get days and days and days of it, till you’ll wish the old sun would never rise again, so as you wouldn’t see him set again.”
Eva remained quietly watching the departing glory of the evening sky. Sometimes Eva got “fits of goodness,” as Eileen called them, and then she was “unbearable.” She sincerely hoped she was not going to get one now, and spoil their nice grumbling evening, for of all things that Eileen liked at times it was to grumble to her heart’s content, especially when she had an audience, so she plunged back to the theme before the “goodness” seized Eva.
“Well, we’ve counted eight. There must be more. Oh! yes—didn’t old Dave die?”
“So he did!” shouted Doris wildly. “Poor old Dave died, and didn’t Dadda have trouble fixing up about the funeral and lettin’ the policeman know, and all that?” and she folded her hands importantly again. “It’s a wonder we didn’t think of him first of all the troubles, being a man, you know. Say them all over again, Eileen, and we might think of more.”
Doris was enjoying herself thoroughly. She was five, and fat and chubby, and she swung her fat legs excitedly and held up her fat fingers to tick off the events.
“Well, cut them short this time,” said Eva, “and let’s get on to something else.”