“I think girls are nicer than boys, anyway,” remarked Cricket, thoughtfully. “Girls are always smarter, and I think it makes boys mad.”
“Will always says if anything isn’t just right that we do, that it’s just like a girl,” returned Eunice, in an aggrieved tone.
“Yes, boys are just so funny, but I don’t mind,” said Cricket, philosophically.
“I’ve about made up my mind,” pursued Eunice, “that I sha’n’t get married when I grow up. Husbands are such a ’sponsibility. Mamma, you know, always fixes papa’s cravats for him, and he never, never goes to the right drawer for his clean shirts. It’s so funny! Shall you get married, Cricket?”
Cricket considered the question.
“I think,” she said, after some reflection, “that if I don’t go to Africa as a missionary, that I’d rather be a widow with an only son.”
“But Cricket,” exclaimed Eunice, “you’d have to be married first if you were a widow.”
“Why, so I should!” returned Cricket, much surprised. “I didn’t think of that. You see, Aunt Kate and Harry have such nice times travelling round together, and there’s Aunt Helen and Max, too. I was thinking of them, and I forgot they were ever married.”
“I think I’ll be a doctor, like papa,” went on Eunice, “or else I’d like to be a stage-driver. Whoa! get up there! So, boy!” she said, slapping imaginary reins, for Eunice was a born horsewoman.
“These clothes are awfully hot, Eunice,” said Cricket, returning to the original topic.