Part 17 (1/2)

”The Terrible Twins!” quoth two or three of the other orphans, in chorus.

”I believe ye! I believe ye! They jest bile over, _they_ do. Now, you two boys,” he added, addressing two youngsters, very much alike, about of a height, and both with short, light curly hair, ”never mind tryin'

to unharness Charlie and Ned. _I'll_ do that.

”Ye see, ma'am, if you could take some of the little ones aboard--” he suggested to Mrs. Steele.

The coach was well filled, yet it was not crowded. The girls began to call to the little folks to get aboard even before Mrs. Steele could speak.

”There's lots of room up here,” cried Ruth, leaning from her end of the seat and offering her hand. The twins ran at once to climb up and fought for ”first lift” by Ruth.

”Oh, yes! they can get aboard,” said Mrs. Steele. ”All there is room for.”

And the twelve ”fresh airs” proved very quickly that there was room for them all. Ruth had the ”terrible twins” on the seat with her in half a minute, and the others swarmed into, or on top of, the coach almost as quickly.

”There now! that's a big lift, I do declare,” said the farmer, hanging the chains of the horses' traces upon the hames, and preparing to lead the pair along the road.

”My wife will be some surprised, I bet,” and he laughed jovially. ”I'm certain sure obleeged to ye, Mis' Steele. Neighbors ought to be neighborly, an' you air doin' me a good turn this time-yes, ma'am!”

”Now, you see,” growled Bob, as the four coach horses trotted on, ”he'll take advantage of this. We've noticed him once, and he'll always be fresh.”

”Hush, my son!” whispered Mrs. Steele. ”Little pitchers have big ears.”

”Huh!” exclaimed one of the wriggling twins, looking up at the lady sideways like a bird. ”I know what _that_ means. _We're_ little pitchers-d.i.c.kie an' me. We've heard that before-ain't we, d.i.c.kie?”

”Yep,” announced his brother, nodding wisely.

These two were certainly wise little scamps! Willie did most of the talking, but whatever he said his brother agreed to. d.i.c.kie being so chary with speech, possibly his brother felt that he must exercise his own tongue the more, for he chattered away like a veritable magpie, turning now and then to demand:

”Ain't that so, d.i.c.kie?”

”Yep,” vouchsafed the echo, and, thus championed, Willie would rattle on again.

Yes. They was all from the same asylum. There were lots more of boys and girls in that same place. But only twelve could get to go to this place where they were going. They knew boys that went to Mr. Caslon's last year.

”Don't we, d.i.c.kie?”

”Yep.”

No. They didn't have a mama or papa. Never had had any. But they had a sister. She was a big girl and had gone away from the asylum. Some time, when they were big enough, they were going to run away from the asylum and find her.

”Ain't we, d.i.c.kie?”

”Yep.”

Whether the other ten ”fresh airs” were as funny and cute as the ”terrible twins,” or not, Ruth Fielding did not know, but both she and Mrs. Steele were vastly amused by them, and continued to be so all the way to the old homestead under the hill where the children had come to spend a part of the summer with Mr. and Mrs. Caslon.

CHAPTER XIV-”WHY! OF COURSE!”