“Indeed, it’s nice to talk about ’em,” answered Doris. “Two cows, calf, big horse, f-o-a-l, weed, dingoes, fire, and old Dave—nine bits of bad luck in one year!”
“What about Frank cutting his foot that time?” cried Eva, who was getting warmed up to the subject.
“Oh, what a bit of luck!” gurgled Doris. “Ten, ten——”
“Oh, yes!” cried Eileen. “Frank cutting his foot, and having stitches put in, and wasn’t he a cripple for weeks? That’s ten, sure enough. Fancy ten big accidents in one year, besides the drought and old hot sunsets, and dripping for butter, and long, lonely days when no one comes. I’m real sick of it all. I wish I was rich and had pretty clothes, and could travel about and have lots of fun. There’s Enid Davis, and she’s not a bit prettier or better than us, and she wears beautiful dresses and lovely silky stockings.” She extended her shapely leg. “Fancy that in one of Enid’s silks! Why, it would be a different leg.”
Then they all laughed merrily for a time, but discontent was in the air.
“I think Enid’s just lovely,” said Doris, with a sigh.
“We’d all be if we had pretty dresses like her, and no work to do. She has no right to be richer and happier than any of us. She happens to be lucky. I don’t know why ever there’s such a difference between people. If Enid wants a drive, she just has to call for the car. If we want one, it’s either the broken-down buggy, or the jolting sulky, or ‘Shanks.’ I think, if I were God, I’d have things fixed up differently.”
“Oh, Eileen, don’t say that!” said Mollie. “Don’t bring God’s name into it.”
Mollie was the eldest, and at times, for all her natural gaiety, felt her responsibilities.
“Now, don’t get sermony, Mollie. Let’s have a good straight-out talk sometimes. I do wonder why God doesn’t send rain, when the ground and all around is as black as the ace of spades.”