“Somehow,” said Becky, “I sort o’ hate her. She won’t let us into any of the back rooms upstairs, though she and gran’pa can’t use all of ’em; and she never comes near us unless she wants to jaw about something we’ve done. I run a clothesline through the grass yesterday, and tripped old Halliday up when she went to feed the chickens, and she was as mad as anything.”
“I think she doesn’t care much for young people,” admitted Phœbe; “and as none of us cares for her it’s just as well that we should live apart—even if we occupy the same house. After all, my dears, we should be grateful for being allowed so much room in this comfortable old shack. We had no other place to go after our own home was sold.”
There was silence in the little group for a moment. Then Becky asked, curiously:
“Where do we get the money to live on? We have to pay our own grocery bills, don’t we?”
Phil started and looked upon his younger sister wonderingly, as if she had suggested a new thought to him. Then he turned to Phœbe.
“There must have been a little money left,” he said. “It never occurred to me before. I must ask Mr. Ferguson about it.”
Phœbe flushed a trifle, but looked down instead of meeting her twin’s earnest gaze.
“I’ve thought of it, Phil,” she replied, softly. “Whatever was left after paying papa’s debts must have been little enough, and can’t last forever. And then—”
Phil was regarding her with serious eyes. He glanced at the younger ones and said quickly:
“Never mind. We haven’t suffered from poverty so far, have we? And we won’t. We’ve Daring blood in our veins, and that means we can accomplish anything we set out to do.”