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Read Ebook: The Walcott Twins by Lovell Lucile Waugh Ida Illustrator
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Ebook has 1541 lines and 41757 words, and 31 pages
I Gay and May 5
II The First Separation 11
IV A Remarkable Household 23
V More Confusion 30
VI Being a Boy 37
X A Course of Training 62
XX The Belle of Hazelnook 141
THE WALCOTT TWINS
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."
"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."
"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."
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.
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