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THE WALCOTT TWINS

BY

LUCILE LOVELL

ILLUSTRATED BY IDA WAUGH

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY

PHILADELPHIA MCM




Copyright 1900 by The Penn Publishing Company




CONTENTS


CHAPTER      PAGE

I  Gay and May      5

II  The First Separation      11

III  Just for Fun      16

IV  A Remarkable Household      23

V  More Confusion      30

VI  Being a Boy      37

VII  Being a Girl      44

VIII  A Scene at Rose Cottage      49

IX  Saw and Axe      56

X  A Course of Training      62

XI  The Training Begins      68

XII  A Silver-haired Lady      75

XIII  A Plan that Failed      82

XIV  The Boy Predominates      89

XV  Gay's Popularity Begins      97

XVI  A Squad of One      106

XVII  Concerning Philip      114

XVIII  Dark Days      122

XIX  The Event of the Season      130

XX  The Belle of Hazelnook      141

XXI  The Sky Brightens      151

XXII  The Dearest Girl      162

XXIII  A Great Game      172

XXIV  The Idol Totters      181

XXV  The Girls make Peace      189

XXVI  All's Right Again      194

XXVII  Happy People      199




THE WALCOTT TWINS




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,
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."

"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 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 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."

"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."




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 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 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.

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 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