"Yes, and chairs that don't tip one over," I added, as I managed to save
myself from a fall.
"Isn't it horrid to be poor, Meta?" said Rose.
"It's no joke." I was very grim because I had bruised my hand on the
rickety chair, and tomorrow was music-lesson day, as I remembered.
It was then and there we rebelled. Not so mother could hear us--we weren't
mean enough for that! She'd have been only too glad to help matters if she
could. So we had our indignation meeting by our two selves. We said we'd
had enough of old furniture and cheap sash curtains, and we decided it was
time to act.
Having reached this decision, we proceeded to carry it out, and we
surprised ourselves with the speed of our achievements. My hope lay in
music, Rose's in arithmetic. I trailed around the neighborhood, next day,
looking for scholars, and Rose betook herself straight down to the Cowans,
who had been hunting for a "coach" for their twins. We had discussed the
Cowan possibility some time before, but Rose declared then that she
couldn't spare a minute from the demands of her studies, while I knew it
would keep me busy to be graduated on schedule time without doing anything
outside.
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