"Yes. If I could put my finger on a trouble, which I can't, I should find it was of my own making."
"Like to-day?"
"This don't amount to a trouble—just an accident with nobody the worse. Only a cranky mind would call this a trouble."
"You might have broke your neck, however."
"But I didn't, nor yet the pony's knees—my luck."
"You may have marked your cheek for life."
"And what does that matter? Suppose I'd knocked half my teeth down my throat: that would have been something to worrit about."
"You're the hopeful sort. Perhaps that's your best luck—that you're built to take a bright view, miss."
"Perhaps it is. Aren't you?"
"We may be built to one pattern and then life come along and unbuild us."