"There!" said she, setting it down.

"Thank you, Cousin Martha. It will be nice to have that. But you don't need to bring us hot water. We don't use it."

"Why, Sally!" Cousin Martha cried in a horrified voice. "You don't bathe in cold water!" Sally nodded. "Not tempered at all?"

"Just cold water," Sally responded.

"But it will be very cold, later on," remonstrated Cousin Martha. "The water sometimes freezes in the pitcher."

Sally chuckled. "Long as it doesn't freeze solid it's all right. I like it very cold. It p.r.i.c.kles and stings me all over. We like it cold, don't we, Charlie?"

Charlie grunted. He did not seem enthusiastic. Miss Hazen sighed as she shut the door.

Breakfast was over, Uncle John had gone, and things had pretty well settled down for the day, and it still seemed very early to Sally. She and Charlie wandered in the yard before eight o'clock. That yard seemed very restricted. In the first place, it was bounded on every side except the front by a high wooden fence. The top of the fence was just about level with the top of Sally's head, so that she couldn't see over it without jumping up or climbing on something. Sally had thought of climbing, of course; but, first, she had to get Charlie acquainted with the yard, so that he would stay down contentedly.

Charlie had not yet developed any particular apt.i.tude for climbing trees.

They wandered to the stable, which was at the back of the house, a little to one side, and opened directly upon Box Elder Street. Here they found the man attending to his duties about the stout horse. That man paid but little attention to the children, but continued his work in a leisurely manner. No doubt this was praiseworthy on his part, but it was not what the children had hoped for, and they soon wandered out again and went towards the back of the yard. Here was a vegetable garden on one side and a flower garden on the other, together stretching across from Box Elder Street to a little street that was scarcely more than a lane. Sally had been in Whitby a long time before she found that this was Hazen's Lane. It was most natural to speak of it as "The Lane," and "The Lane" it was.

Back of the two gardens was another high wooden fence; and behind the fence was a row of maples bordering a street. Sally knew it was a street because she could see, over the top of the fence, the fronts of two houses on the other side of it.

"Oh, dear!" she sighed. "There doesn't seem to be anything very interesting here, does there, Charlie? You can't even see farther than across the street. I suppose Cousin Martha wouldn't like it if we should dig, for there isn't any place to dig but the garden."

Charlie began to whimper.

At this moment there came a thump on the fence at the corner of the Lane. The thumping continued, in a rhythmical manner, as if it were in time with somebody's walking, and progressed slowly along the Lane.

Presently there was a double thump at each step, and Sally saw two cloth caps, exactly alike, bobbing up and down, almost disappearing behind the fence at each downward bob.

"It looks like twins," she said.

"Follow 'em along," said Charlie, in some excitement. "Come on, Sally."

So they followed 'em along until the twin caps had got almost opposite the house. Then two shrill voices broke into sudden song.

"Monkey married the baboon's sister, Smacked his lips and then he kissed 'er; Kissed so hard he--"

Sally had jumped up on the stringer of the fence, just where the caps would be at the next step. "It is, Charlie!" she cried.

The owners of the two caps had jumped away with an alacrity born of experience, and had started to run. They looked back and stopped.

"h.e.l.lo!" they cried, together, in surprise. "Is wh--wh--what, Ch--Ch--Charlie?"

"Twins," Sally answered in triumph; "aren't you?"

The twins nodded. "C--c--course we are," said one.

"Any--any--any--b--ody know that."

"Wh--wh--what's your n--n--name?" asked the other.

"And wh--wh--who's Ch--Ch--Charlie?"

"My name is Sally Ladue," replied Sally, "and Charlie's my brother."

Charlie popped his head above the fence. "We've come," she continued, thinking that she might save the twins the painful process of speech, "we've come to live here."

"W--w--with P--P--Patty H.?" asked one of the twins, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

It was impossible for any one who was not very familiar with them to tell whether it was the same twin who had spoken last or the other one; and Sally had taken her eyes off them when she spoke of Charlie.

"With Uncle John and Cousin Martha," she answered. "I've never called her Patty H. and I don't think it's very respectful."

The twins grinned. "W--w--we c--c--call her P--P--Patty H.

be--be--bec--c--cause it's h--h--hard to s--s--say Haa--Ha--Ha--Ha--_Hav_ering."

Sally had hard work to suppress her chuckles. The other twin made no effort to suppress his; he laughed heartlessly.

His brother turned upon him. "Sh--sh--shut up, you b--b--b.u.m, you! You c--c--couldn't s--s--say it."

Sally essayed to be peacemaker. "You know," she said hesitatingly, "that you are so much alike that I can't tell you apart. You're just like Tweedledum and Tweedledee, and you seem to quarrel just the same as they did. Now, you're Tweedledum," she went on, pointing at one, and then at the other, "and you're Tweedledee. If Dum would wear a red ribbon in his b.u.t.tonhole and Dee would wear a blue one, I should know. It's very convenient to know."

The idea of wearing ribbons in their b.u.t.tonholes did not seem to strike the twins favorably. They shook their heads.

"Well," said Sally hastily, "there's another thing: you were thumping on the fence and singing--"

"We c--c--can s--s--sing all right when we c--c--can't t--t--talk.

S--some d--days are go--g--good for t--talking and s--some are b--b--bad. Th--this is a b--bad d--day."

"Yes, I suppose so. But what I was going to say was this: you were singing something that may have been meant to plague Cousin Martha. I want you to promise not to try to plague her. You will promise, won't you?"

The twins grinned again and promised with evident reluctance.

"You g--going to our s--s--school?" inquired Dum suddenly.

"I don't know about schools," Sally replied. "I suppose I'm going to some school, and Charlie, too."

"Ours," Dum began; but at the mention of school Dee started.

"G--g--gee!" he exclaimed. "We g--g--got to h--h--hurry or we'll be l--late. C--c--come on."

The twins were gone. Sally and Charlie got down from the fence.

"They were a funny pair, weren't they, Charlie?"

"Yes, they were. Now, Sally," Charlie went on dismally, "what you goin' to do?"

Sally sighed. It was not nine o'clock and Charlie was in the dumps already. She looked around and there was Miss Hazen just coming out of the front door.

"There's Cousin Martha, Charlie. Let's go and meet her."

Charlie was not in a state to be enthusiastic about anything, certainly not about Cousin Martha. He didn't care; but he went, in a condition of dismal melancholy that touched her.