Gran’ma Liz commanded. “It’s Sherena’s turn,” said Betsey. “No, it isn’t. I did it yesterday. It’s your turn today,” Sherena argued. “But I wanted to play with May. We were going to play Robin Hood with my new bow and arrows,” Betsey said. “Sherena, couldn’t you do it for me . . .?” “Betsey . . .” Gran’ma Liz’s voice held a warning. “Oh, all right,” said Betsey reluctantly. And off she went to tidy her room. Ages later, when Betsey had finished, Gran’ma Liz said, “Betsey, it’s your turn to help me tidy up the kitchen.” “It’s Desmond’s turn,” Betsey protested. “Oh no, it isn’t. It’s my turn tomorrow. It’s your turn today,” Desmond said. “Oh, but . . .” Betsey began. “Betsey!” There it was again – that warning note in Gran’ma’s voice. “It’s not fair. It’s just not fair,” Betsey muttered under her breath. “If I had my own house, I could do what I liked when I liked and no one could boss my head.”
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