“Well,” says I, “Major, I’m tired of bad luck.”

“Why, Anny!  I didn’t know as we’d had any.  I’m sure, it’s three years since father died, and we have had enough to live on all that time, and I’ve got my schooling, and we are all well; and just look at the apple-trees,—­all as pink as your frock with blossoms; that’s good for new cloaks next winter, Anny.”

“‘Ta’n’t that, Major.  I was thinkin’ about Nancy Perrit.  If we’d had the luck to go to Hartford, may-be you’d have been as well off as she; and then I’d have got work, too.  And I wish I was as pretty as she is, Major; it does seem too bad to be poor and humbly too.”

I wonder she didn’t laugh at me, but she was very feelin’ for folks, always.  She put her head on the window-sill along of mine, and kinder nestled up to me in her lovin’ way, and said, softly,—­

“I wouldn’t quarrel with the Lord, Anny.”

“Why, Major! you scare me!  I haven’t said nothing against the Lord.  What do you mean?” said I,—­for I was touchy, real touchy.

“Well, dear, you see we’ve done all we can to help ourselves; and what’s over and above, that we can’t help,—­that is what the Lord orders, a’n’t it? and He made you, didn’t He?  You can’t change your face; and I’m glad of it, for it is Anny’s face, and I wouldn’t have it changed a mite:  there’ll always be two people to think it’s sightly enough, and may-be more by-and-by; so I wouldn’t quarrel with it, if I was you.”

Major’s happy eyes always helped me.  I looked at her and felt better.  She wasn’t any better-lookin’ than I; but she always was so chirk, and smart, and neat, and pretty-behaved, that folks thought she was handsome after they knowed her.

Well, after a spell, there was a railroad laid out up the valley, and all the land thereabouts riz in price right away; and Squire Potter he bought our farm on speculation, and give a good price for it; so’t we had two thousand dollars in the bank, and the house and lot, and the barn, and the cow.  By this time Major was twenty-two and I was eighteen; and Squire Potter he’d left his house up on the hill, and he’d bought out Miss Perrit’s house, and added on to’t, and moved down not far from us, so’s to be near the railroad-depot, for the sake of bein’ handy to the woods, for cuttin’ and haulin’ of them down to the track.  Twasn’t very pleasant at first to see our dear old woods goin’ off to be burned that way; but Squire Potter’s folks were such good neighbors, we gained as much as we lost, and a sight more, for folks are greatly better’n trees,—­at least, clever folks.

There was a whole raft of the Potters, eight children of ’em all, some too young to be mates for Major and me; but Mary Potter, and Reuben, and Russell, they were along about as old as we were:  Russell come between Major and me; the other two was older.