CHAPTER I GAY AND MAY

The Mistress of the house lay among her pillows, her brows drawn into the nearest semblance of a frown that her gentle countenance could assume. Nurse—bearing a tiny, moving bundle of muslin and flannel—and the father were at the bedside.

The father's forehead wore an unmistakable frown. It was evident that something displeased him, but who would have dreamed that it was the gurgling mite in the flannel blanket? Yet he pointed in that direction as he said,—

"Take him away. He has made trouble enough."

"H'indeed, Mr. Walcott," cried nurse, "'E's the best baby h'I' ave ever seen h'in this 'ouse! 'E's never cried before."

"Take him away!" repeated the father, still frowning. "He may be the best baby in the world—a future President of the United States, [6]even,—but he can't stay in this room another minute. Do you understand?"

"Certainly, sir," nurse replied somewhat tartly.

Nurse thought the father a great bear. Of course she could not tell him so, but she could and she did show him that an imported English nurse chooses her own rate of speed. She moved slowly toward the door, holding her head with its imposing white cap well up in the air, and looking at Baby as though he were a Crown Prince, instead of the youngest nursling in an American flock of five. While the door was open for nurse and her precious burden to pass through, sounds of boisterous mirth floated into the quiet chamber. It was only the twins, Gay and May, and little Ned—Alice was in the country—at play in the nursery, but one would have said that half the children in New York city were shouting together. The invalid tried to stifle a sigh which did not escape the father's ear.

"Those torments must go, Elinor!" he exclaimed. "That is the only way to ensure your recovery."

"Oh, Edward, how can I live without my dear little ones!" murmured the gentle mother.

Mr. Walcott took his wife's transparent hands in his own and caressed them tenderly. "Do you want our children's mother to have nerves as much out of tune as a cracked bell?" said he.

"No."

[7]

"Then they must go to-morrow."

"Not Ned—he is too young to be sent away from me."

"Very well; Ned shall stay—three servants may be able to keep him in order! Now let me see those letters."

Mrs. Walcott drew two letters from beneath her pillow and passed them to her husband. "Read them aloud," said she; "I half-read them."

Mr. Walcott drew from one of the envelopes a single sheet of blue thin paper covered with small precise characters traced in the blackest of ink, with the bluntest of quills. As he moved it a gritty shower fell, showing the writer to be of the old school which prefers sand to blotting paper.

"My Dear Nephew," Mr. Walcott began, "It gives me great pain to learn that your dear wife remains ill. Now, I have a proposition to make; send Gay up here for a fortnight. His presence will be inexpressibly grateful to me, and his absence may be a relief to you at this time. Wire me your decision. My compliments to Elinor, and believe me to be,

"Yours truly, "Harold S. Haines."

"P. S. You may think it singular that I have [8]not included May in my invitation, but, candidly, a woman child under my roof would be sufficient excuse for me to leave it altogether, so I trust you will understand and pardon my omission. Tell Elinor that Sarah will take the best of care of the young rascal.

"H. S. H."

"Cedarville, N. Y. Aug. 6, 19——."

"A characteristic postscript," laughed Mr. Walcott. "Uncle Harold's antipathy to 'a petticoat', as he is fond of calling one of your sex, dear, seems to increase."

"His antipathy is quite out of proportion to our little daughter's half-yard petticoat," responded the Mistress, smiling faintly. "But go on, please, with Auntie's letter."

The second letter was quite unlike the first; it was penned in the most delicate handwriting, on fine white paper, ornamented with a silver crest, and as Mr. Walcott unfolded it a faint odor of that old-fashioned scent, lavender, was shed on the air. "A gentlewoman's letter," one would have said at once.

"Dear Niece Elinor," read Mr. Walcott. "We were deeply grieved to hear of your protracted illness, and we are sure that if you were to be [9]relieved of the care of one of the children your recovery would be rapid. Will you not send May to us for a fortnight? You need give yourself no uneasiness about the dear child's welfare; it will be Celia's and my pleasure to take the best care of her. Let us know by telegram when she will leave New York and we will make arrangements for her to come from the railway station by the stage that passes our door—the driver is a most reliable person. With best wishes for your speedy return to health, and with kind remembrances to Edward, in which Celia joins, I am, my dear niece,

"Your affectionate aunt, "Beulah Linn."

"P. S. Celia suggests that you may think it odd that we have not included Gay in our invitation, but the truth is, we should not know what to do with a lively, noisy boy. We shall enjoy May very much if she is like Alice, wholly without those failings of modern childhood—a pert tongue, boisterous manners, and slang.

"B. L."

"Hazelnook, N. Y., Aug. 6, 19——."

"It is rather strange, isn't it, Edward, that the aunts will have none of Gay, while the uncle disdains May? It will break their hearts to separate them."

[10]

"It is better so, my dear. Doting father that I am I cannot deny that Gay and May make a team that gentle maiden ladies or a quiet old bachelor would find difficult to manage! Shall I go out now and wire our good relatives that they may expect the children to-morrow?"

"Yes," the Mistress replied, with a sigh of resignation. "And send Gay and May to me, please—they will receive their sentence of banishment best from my lips."

[11]

CHAPTER II THE FIRST SEPARATION

They stole across the nursery floor and through the hall on tiptoe; because they had promised father to be "as still as mice."

So far so good! Not the slyest nibbler of cheese in the house could have moved more softly than Gay and May. It was the quietest procession that ever marched until it reached the threshold of the Mistress's chamber when it fell into wild confusion; Gay, in his desire to catch the first glimpse of mother, stepped on May's heel and that made May scream. It wasn't a loud scream, to be sure, but it was louder than the most frantic mouse could squeak, and quite loud enough to rouse the mother from the light slumber into which she had fallen. She opened her eyes, then closed them again as she lay there on her couch so motionless that her children crept to her side and touched her to see if she slept. Then she opened her eyes once more and smiled; not her old joyous smile, but one so faint that Gay's eyes filled with tears. Taking his mother's pale, beautiful face between his hands he kissed it gently—not very gently, perhaps, for a boy's kiss is rarely [12]as light as a fairy's, although his heart is quite as tender—and this won for him a kiss in return.

"We meant to be very quiet, mother," said Gay, with another penitent kiss. "But something always happens."

"Yes, something always happens," said May, who invariably echoed Gay's sentiments and followed his example, as became a twin sister.

"Mother understands, my darlings," the Mistress softly murmured.

"It was one of our mishaps," continued Gay. "You know we can't keep out of them, mother. When we don't go to them they just follow right round after us, as if they were alive!"

In truth, it seemed as if this were so. Their eleven years had been crowded with adventures; not particularly stirring nor remarkable, but harmless and ludicrous adventures such as seem to come to some children unsought. It must be owned, however, in their case, that had not the adventure appeared promptly on the scene they would have gone in search of it, Gay leading and May a close second. As they apparently led a charmed life, emerging unscathed from their scrapes, no one was disposed to criticise them severely. Alice once said:

"Gay and May are just like cats; no matter how badly they may be placed, when they jump they always land on their feet!" And the entire family [13]regarded this as a figurative, but correct, estimate of the luck that constantly attended the twins.

Of past pranks little need be said, since it is the purpose of this story to relate the greatest escapade of their lives, but it may as well be stated that many of their mishaps were due to the remarkable resemblance existing between them.

Gay and May were much more alike than two peas; they were as identical as two perfectly symmetrical beads. Cover knickerbockers and jacket, skirt and bodice, and no one could tell which closely-cropped head was May's,—which Gay's! In height they did not vary a hair's breadth. In step and movement they were precisely the same. In voice no musician could detect the difference of an infinitesimal part of a tone. Not a ray of light sparkled in one pair of hazel eyes that was not reflected in the other. Even in the wild rose of their cheeks Dame Nature was careful to preserve the same tint. Not a dimple, not a smile; not a look, nor a gesture in one that was not repeated in the other. If there were mental or moral differences, these were not noticeable when they were together; both were healthy, daring, and honest, with hearts for any fate, providing there was fun enough in it. It is not singular, therefore, that such striking similarity in character and appearance produced many complications.

[14]

In their babyhood, Gay wore a pink, and May a blue ribbon for identification, but, if by chance these distinguishing marks became displaced, it often followed that Gay was kissed and coddled for a girl; while poor May was bounced and tossed and trotted for a boy. When they were put in short frocks the same mistakes were made.

"There'll be no such confusion when Gay puts on trousers," prophesied a sage relative of the family. Alas! for prophet; when Gay became a real boy in knickerbockers, the work of confusion still went on. Indeed, after knickerbockers began to play their part, it was worse than ever, for the twins were then old enough to understand the value of their resemblance in solid fun.

No truthful chronicler of their tricks would undertake to tell how many times the burden of Gay's misdoing was accepted by May, who lay demurely in bed, in broad daylight, in that young worthy's place, while he escaped to the park, there to sport in freedom. Nor how Gay took May's dose of castor oil, the medicine of all others most abhorred by her; nor how more than once he bore the ten strokes of the rattan designed for her palm, on his own, both remedies being administered by nurse, and received by the culprit or patient, as the case might be, in a pinafore donned for the occasion. Gay and May were not model children, but they [15]possessed one splendid trait in common; they shared alike the pleasure and pain that fell to their lot, for their hearts were both loyal and generous.

Now let us return to the chamber of the Mistress. While Gay and May sat at her bedside, trying to "make her well" by kisses and petting, you may be sure the mother thought some time of the approaching separation before mentioning it, but at length she told them of the invitations they had received and of their father's wishes.

They heard her through in open-eyed amazement. Gay looked at May, and May returned the glance; then they clasped each other and cried together:

"Separate us, mother? It can't be done!"

[16]

CHAPTER III JUST FOR FUN

The twins were in the nursery the next morning, when Jane told them that their father had gone away at an early hour, on business.

"Thomas will take you to the station," said Jane.

"What dreadful luck!" sighed Gay.

"Perfectly dreadful!" echoed May.

Not that they disliked Thomas. On the contrary, they liked him very well, but they had anticipated much pleasure in going to the station in their father's company; to be deprived of this was to have their cup of sorrow filled to overflowing.

"You must dress yourselves this morning," continued Jane. "Nurse is busy with your mother and I must take care of baby. I've laid out your clothes; when you are dressed go right down to breakfast; you've no time to play. Mary has baked some little muffins for you, and you can have orange marmalade and raspberry jam, both. Now, make haste." And busy Jane hurried away.

"Muffins! Does Jane think muffins will make us happy?" cried Gay, scornfully.

[17]

"It was good of Mary to bake them for us," said May, secretly thinking that hot muffins and marmalade were sovereign aids to happiness, though she did not dare to say so to Gay.

"Well, let's hurry up," said Gay, darting, with the swiftness of a swallow, into his room.

May was more deliberate in her movements, or, rather, her method of making her toilet differed somewhat from her brother's. With May, a bath was a preliminary operation; with Gay, it came last and could scarcely be called a bath at all, since he simply dipped his face and hands in the basin, and ignored the tub altogether, except upon such occasions as Jane enforced a thorough scrubbing. Family statistics show this dislike to soap and water to be a chronic ailment among boys from seven to fourteen years of age, but Gay always explained it by saying he was "rushed for time."

May was just pattering in from the bath-room when Gay emerged from his room fully dressed—more fully dressed, in fact, than he had been for a number of years.

"Why, Gay Walcott, you've got on my clothes!" May cried.

"I know it," replied Gay, piroueting airily around the room. "Jane must be crazy; she put your clothes in my room."

May ran into her room. "And yours in here," [18]said she. "Come and get them, and give me mine."

"Try on mine—just for fun," urged Gay. "We'll see if Jane can tell the difference—which is which."

"There isn't time," objected May, rather faintly.

"There's lots of time," said Gay, who was never "rushed" when there was a chance for a prank.

When May came out of her room wearing Gay's clothes they stared at each other an instant, then ran to the mirror and stood before it, side by side, and stared at their reflections there.

"Oh!" cried May, "I am not sure that I am I!"

"You are not you," Gay answered, "you are I, and I am you. I hear Jane coming! What do you suppose she'll say?"

"Dear, dear!" cried Jane, bustling into the room. "Don't stand there looking into the glass. Why won't you hurry? You should have been half through breakfast by this time. Why, how clean your hands and face are, Master Gay—and I declare, you've actually brushed your hair!"

Jane looked from one to the other in unfeigned amazement. May giggled, but neither spoke.

"I'm surprised," Jane began, giving May a reproving glance. "Your sash isn't straight, Miss May. Turn around."

[19]

The sash was somewhat awry, for Gay, unaccustomed to such fripperies, had tied it under his left shoulder blade. He turned round and Jane fixed it, then giving his borrowed skirt several twitches, she said: "Seems to me you don't look quite as well as usual, Miss May. If you get untidy while your ma's sick she'll feel awful bad. But run along, now, to breakfast."

The twins exchanged significant glances: Jane had not detected them, May was about to exonerate herself from the charge of untidiness when Gay whispered: "Don't tell till we've tried it on Thomas and Mary."

"But——" May commenced.

"Let the goats butt; don't you try it, May!" said frolicsome Gay, pulling her after him out of the nursery.

In the dining-room Thomas and breakfast awaited them.

"Good morning, Thomas," said the mock May, very glibly.

"Good morning, Miss," responded unsuspicious Thomas. "Good morning, Master Gay."

"Good morning," replied the mock boy, not less glibly than the other conspirator.

"How do you think we look, Thomas," Gay continued; "as well as usual?"

"You look fine, Miss, fine," Thomas answered. [20]"As for Master Gay there, I've never seen him look so neat."

This evidence of Thomas's mystification delighted the twins almost beyond concealment. They would have betrayed themselves had not Mary, the cook, appeared upon the scene. She carried two pasteboard boxes and she gave one to each of the children, saying, "Yer luncheon, dharlin', for ye'll be afther gettin' hungry on the cars. There's rolls, an' ham, an' fowl, an' harrd biled eggs, an'——"

"And little cakes!" interrupted May, with a scream of delight.

"Yes,—wid icin'," Mary replied, with a broad smile, for the twins were her especial pets. "But I niver knew that ye liked cake; I t'ought it was Miss May what had the swate toot!"

Gay and May smiled appreciatively at Mary's mistake. They were trying to explain to her that their gastronomical tastes were similar when nurse sailed majestically into the room.

"Mary," said she, "h'I'll see you h'in the kitchen. Thomas, 'urry hup; you must go h'in ten minutes. Children, Jane wants you h'in the 'all."

Before coming to America, nurse had been under-nurse-maid in an aristocratic English family, but from her deportment one would have supposed her to have been nurse to the Queen's own children. So majestic, pompous, and domineering was she that [21]no one ventured to oppose or question her control. Therefore, when she ordered the group in the dining-room to separate they promptly separated without murmur or ado!

"They never suspected anything!" chuckled Gay, as he left the room with May. "We really must try it on mother, then we'll tell."

But Jane's first words when they reached the hall destroyed all hope of testing the mother.

"You mustn't fuss," Jane began, "you must be good and not make any trouble, but the doctor says you can't see your ma before you go."

"Why not?" the twins demanded in one voice.

"Because the doctor says if she gets as nervous to-day as she did yesterday that he won't answer for the consequences. She must be kept perfectly quiet."

"If it's for mother's good——" Gay began.

"It is for her good," Jane said.

"Then we won't fuss," sighed May.

"That's a good fellow," cried Jane, patting the mock boy's head.

May made up her mouth to tell Jane the truth, when nurse and Thomas joined them; Thomas, with Ned on his shoulder, and nurse carrying wraps, hats, and the lunch-boxes.

"Mercy hun h'us!" nurse exclaimed, "you h'ought to be h'off now."

[22]

As she spoke she seized the real May, and, before the child could speak, buttoned her into a jacket and set a tarpaulin sailor on her head.

The real Gay had his turn next. Nurse shook him into a light ulster and fastened a straw hat, trimmed with daisies, on his head by an elastic band which snapped under his chin with a loud noise.

All this time the twins had been struggling to speak. "But, nurse," they began, impetuously, for this was carrying the joke too far, "we——"

"You can say good-by to Ned when you come 'ome," said nurse, who thought they wanted to waste valuable time in farewells. "H'off with you!"

The real May was a picture of distress, but her more volatile brother seized her by the hand and whispered: "Never mind; it's only keeping up the lark; I've got the worst of it, too, in these horrid skirts."

[23]

CHAPTER IV A REMARKABLE HOUSEHOLD

Everybody in Cedarville knew and respected General Haines. His ancestors for four generations had lived and died in the fine old mansion which he now occupied. The General was commonly considered a "character." He was dignified in appearance and irascible in temper; a perfect martinet on the subject of deportment in the rising generation; a stern enemy to cowardice and untruthfulness, while in many other matters he was as impracticable as a babe and as timorous as an old lady. His face was bearded and stern; his voice terrible. Whenever he lost his temper, which was every other minute, he shouted as though he had been at the head of an army. His heart was tender withal, and altogether he was as remarkable a gentleman as one often meets.