"And the
bathing-hole in the creek is a joy; it's almost worth a hot day to get a
swim at the end of it. Bob has built me a bathing-box out of a tree, and
it's a huge success; he's very pleased with himself as an architect."
"That's good business," approved Jim. "You two never grumble, no matter
what comes along."
"Well, but nothing has come along but good luck," Tommy said. "What have
we had to grumble at, I should like to know?"
"Oh, some people find cause for grousing, no matter how good their luck
is," Jim answered. "I believe you and old Bob would decline to recognize
bad luck even if it did come your way."
"It's not coming," Tommy said, laughing. "So don't talk about it--I
don't believe it exists." She stood watching him for a moment as he
tried to mount; his big young thoroughbred resented the idea of anyone
on his back, and Jim had to hop beside him, with one foot in the
stirrup, while he danced round in a circle, trying to get away. Jim
seized an opportunity, and was in the saddle with a lithe swing;
whereupon the horse tried to get his head down to buck, and, being
checked in that ambition, progressed down the paddock in a succession of
short, staccato bounds.
"I think I should have to recognize bad luck coming if I had to ride him
instead of Jim," remarked Tommy quaintly. She turned and ran in to her
neglected apricots.
New Year's day broke clear and hot, like all the week before it.
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