“Things do cost a great deal more than I supposed they did. We shan’t be able to live long on that five dollars of Uncle Stephen’s.”
“How long do you suppose it will take us to find a situation?” inquired Daisy, with an anxious glance at her two little sisters.
“Oh, not very long, I don’t believe. Of course, we must find something before to-night. But I’ve been thinking that perhaps it would be better not to eat all these rolls right away. We might get hungry again by and by, you know, and it isn’t certain that we shall find a situation before lunch time.”
Daisy—most unselfish of sisters—agreed, although it cost her something of an effort to put her second roll back into the paper bag, for, after all, dry bread is not a very substantial breakfast. Somehow, nobody felt very well satisfied, and even Maud admitted that cake really did taste rather queer so early in the morning, and she would like a glass of milk.
“I thought I hated milk when Grandma made me drink it,” she admitted, “but things taste so funny when you have to eat them dry. Let’s buy some milk, Dulcie?”
But Dulcie, mindful of the state of their finances, shook her head.
“Perhaps somebody will give us a drink of water,” she said, “but I don’t think we’d better buy anything more now. Wouldn’t you like to live on a farm, Maud? You might learn to milk the cows yourself.”
But this suggestion was not at all to Maud’s taste. “I don’t like cows,” she protested, indignantly; “I’m afraid of them. Lizzie said a cow chased her once, when she was a little girl, because she had on a red dress. She always told us not to go near them. Oh, I don’t want to go to a place where there are cows.”
Maud—who was beginning to feel both tired and cross—suddenly burst into tears.
“Oh, Maudie, don’t be silly,” remonstrated Dulcie. “Maybe we won’t go to a farm at all. I only thought perhaps farmers might be more likely to take little girls to work for them than rich people would. You see, rich people generally have other servants, and——”