"I don't see why it couldn't have been one of us big lubbers of boys instead of her," he grumbled to his mother. "She seems to be made to run and dance and play—almost to fly like a bird."
"It's the Lord's will," returned Mrs. Bonner with a sigh.
"Umph! I don't know! When doctors fail to cure a disease, it seems pesky mean to blame it on the Lord! If we were only rich enough, I bet we could find some clever doctor who could make her O.K.! Why couldn't it have been a rich girl instead of her?"
"Oh, Hugh! That is wrong! Why need it be any poor little creature?" said the mother, who thought to herself that in this case money would indeed be a desirable thing; she never envied the rich except when she thought of Ivy.
But the boy, with all youth's revolt, hated the seeming injustice and his resentment often extended to those whose wealth made the difference so marked.
When Ivy, trying to conceal her own disapproval, spoke of Alene's joining the Happy-Go-Luckys, Hugh was opposed to it.
"I know just how it will be, and you girls are makin' a big guess when you take her in," he had warned.
"But she seemed so lonely, and Laura wanted it so much—"
"So did that city chap who used to go with us boys. He looked all right, but my, nothin' suited him. He laughed at our dug-bait, and fishin' rods, and our old-fashioned skiff and things, and talked about his pa's yacht and motor-cars and his ma's diamonds, until we were sick of 'em all!"
"But Alene is different," replied Ivy, and her brother said no more but wore a look of "just wait and you'll find out that I told you so," that was exasperating.