“Why not?” asked the other three all at
once.
“Because it doesn’t seem fair, somehow.
Some people are so frightfully rich, and some people
haven’t even enough to eat. My mother goes
to the children’s hospital every week, and sometimes
she takes me. You can’t think what
some of the poor babies are like— and then
you go outside and see rich, rich women in splendid
motor-cars—I mean carriages,” she
corrected herself, “and it does make you feel
things aren’t fair, and I do like fairness.”
The Australian children were silent for a minute or
two.
“But if no one was rich no one could give,”
Grizzel said at last. “We know very rich
people here, and they do lovely kind things. Mrs.
Basil Hill sends us a packing-case of exquisite
oranges every summer, and when she comes to see Mamma
she almost always brings us a surprise packet—last
time it was five pounds of the most beautiful sweets
in Rundle Street, and the time before it was all Miss
Alcott’s books.”
“But if everybody was the same, people wouldn’t
have to give you things,” said Mollie.
“You’d have them yourself.”
“Then we would never get a surprise,”
said Grizzel, “and that would be horribly dull.
Don’t you think it would be dull if everybody
was exactly the same?”
“I suppose it would,” Mollie admitted,
with a sigh, feeling that she had not presented her
case attractively; “but I think they might be
samer than they are.”
“There’s no use talking,” Hugh said
decisively. “Australia is full of fortunes
waiting to be made. I heard Papa say so.
And the early bird gets the worm, and the better the
bird the better it is for everyone all round.”
“Except the worm,” said Grizzel.
They all laughed. “I wish I had a brother
instead of three sisters,” Hugh remarked, emptying
the contents of the tiny milk-jug over a handkerchief
which had once been clean. “A brother would
be some use. Where’s yours?” he asked
Mollie. “Did he get our message?”
This reminded Mollie of Dick’s letter, which
impressed the Australians as much as it had impressed
Mollie.
“So the next thing—the next thing——”
she repeated, looking round at the other three children.
“What is the next thing to do?”
“We can’t tell you,” Prudence said,
with a funny little smile, “you’ll have
to fix it yourself in the end.”
“Cooo-eeeee!” sounded from the cottage.
* * * *
*
“Cherry jam for tea to-day, fresh from the preserving-pan,”
Aunt Mary was saying. “That will be a treat
for you, Mollie, my dear.”
The Treasure-hunters or The Duke’s Nose
“Cherry jam is certainly very runny,”
said Aunt Mary at tea-time.
“Do you put a handful of gooseberries into it?”
Mollie asked rather dreamily, as she tried in vain
to spread her scone tidily.
