Jack suggested that it might have been better for them not to have such dreams.
"Yes—if our family is to be brought down to the common level. But I can't forget, I can't wish them ever to forget, that they have Betterson blood in their veins."
Jack could hardly repress a smile as he glanced from those stout heirs of the Betterson blood to the evidences of shiftlessness and wretchedness around them, which two such sturdy lads, with a little less of the precious article in their veins, might have done something to remedy.
But his own unlucky adventure absorbed his thoughts, and he was glad when Link vociferously demanded if he was to go and catch the mare.
"Yes! yes! do anything but kill me with that dreadful voice!" replied the mother, waving him off with her trembling hand. "Don't infer from what I have said," she resumed, gathering herself up again with feeble pride, "that we are poor. Mr. Betterson will come into a large fortune when an uncle of his dies; and he gets help from him occasionally now. Not enough, however, to enable him to carry on a farm; and it requires capital, you are aware, to make agriculture a respectable profession."
Jack could not forbear another hit at the big boys.
"It requires land," he said; "and that you have. It also requires bone and muscle; and I see some here."
"True," simpered Mrs. Betterson. "But their father hasn't encouraged them very much in doing the needful labors of the farm."
"He hasn't set us the example," broke in Rufe, piqued by Jack's remark. "If he had taken hold of work, I suppose we should. But while he sits down and waits for something or somebody to come along and help him, what can you expect of us?"
"Our Betterson blood shows itself in more ways than one!" said Wad with a grin, illustrating his remark by lazily seating himself once more on the doorstep.