The Daring Twins. Baum Lyman Frank

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      The Daring Twins A Story for Young Folk

      CHAPTER I

      INTRODUCING THE DARINGS

      “Now you-all stop dat a-foolin’ an’ eat yo’ brekfas’ like sens’ble chill’ns,” said Aunt Hyacinth, coming in with a plate of smoking cakes. “Ef yo’ don’, yo’ done be late fo’ school, shore ’nuff.”

      A ripple of laughter went around the group of five young Darings as a scramble was made for the cakes.

      “I don’t b’lieve I’ll go to school to-day, Auntie,” said Sue, a demure little miss at the lower end of the table.

      “Yes yo’ will, honey,” retorted the black mammy, in a voice she meant to be severe. “Yo’ ’s goin’ to school, all of yo’, an’ I don’t ’tend yous’ll be late, nuther.”

      “I’m not going, for one,” declared Don, his mouth too full to speak properly.

      “Get some more cakes; will you, Aunt Hy?” requested Becky, in a plaintive tone. “They snapped those up so quick I couldn’t harpoon a single one.”

      The faithful old servant pattered back to the kitchen, slid more cakes from the griddle to her plate, poured on fresh batter and came pattering back again.

      “Yo’, now, Miss Sue; what’s dat I heah ’bout stayin’ home f’m school?” she demanded, a frown wrinkling her ebony brow.

      “That’s it, Auntie; no school for me,” said Sue, grabbing a cake with her fork before Phœbe could reach the plate.

      “But yo’ mus’, chile; yo’ ain’t sick. Yo’ mus’ go to school.”

      “Not to-day. I jus’ won’t, Auntie.”

      “Yes yo’ will, Miss Sue! yo’ ’ll go ef I has to lead yo’ dere by de ear o’ you.”

      Even Phil joined the laughter now, and he said in his grave yet pleasant way:

      “You’ll have to lead us all, then, Auntie, and there are more ears than you have hands.”

      Aunt Hyacinth seemed bewildered. She looked around the table, from one to another of the bright, laughing faces, and shook her head reproachfully.

      Then Sue, having consumed the cake, leaned back in her chair, shook the tangled brown curls from her face and slowly raised her long curling lashes, until the mischievous eyes were unveiled and sent a challenge to Auntie’s startled ones.

      “We’re misbehavin’ drea’fully; ain’t we? But a fact’s a fact, Auntie. We’re none of us goin’ to school – so there, now!”

      “W’y, yo’ – yo’ – yo’ – ”

      Sue sprang upon her chair and threw both arms around old Hyacinth’s neck, giving the black cheek a smacking kiss.

      “You big goose!” said she; “don’t you know it’s Sat’day? There be n’t no school.”

      “Wha’ ’s ’at?” cried Auntie, striving to cover her humiliation at being caught in such a foolish error. “Is dat a proper speechifyin’ to say dere ‘be n’t no school’? Where’s yo’ grammeh, Miss Sue? Don’ let me heah yo’ say ‘be n’t’ agin. Say, ‘dere hain’t no school.’”

      Phœbe led the laughter this time; but, when it had subsided she said to the indignant servant:

      “She certainly does use awfully bad grammar, Auntie, and you’re quite right to correct her. But, I’m positive that something’s burning in the kitchen.”

      Aunt Hyacinth made a dive for the door and let in a strong odor of charred cakes as she passed through.

      Phœbe got up from her place and walked to the latticed window. Something attracted her attention outside, for she gave a little start. Phil joined her just then and slipped his arm around her slim waist. They were twins, these two, and the eldest of the five Darings.

      “What is it, dear?” he asked.

      “The people are moving in, across the way,” she said, rather sadly. “I didn’t know they were expected so soon.”

      There was a rush for the window, at this, but five heads were too many for the space and the outlook was hindered by a mass of climbing ivy. Don made for the porch, and the others followed him into the fresh morning air.

      For a while they all gazed silently at the great mansion across the way, set in the midst of an emerald lawn. Men were carrying trunks in at the side entrance. Before the door stood a carriage from which a woman, a man, a girl and a boy had alighted. They were gazing around them with some curiosity, for the scene was all new to them.

      “Isn’t it funny,” whispered Becky, softly, “to think of other folks living in our old home?”

      “It isn’t ours, now,” said Don, testily; “so, what’s the odds?”

      “It was sold last fall, soon after papa died,” remarked Phœbe, “and this Mr. Randolph bought it. I suppose that’s him strutting across the lawn – the stout gentleman with the cane.”

      “The grounds seem more of an attraction to them than the house,” remarked Phil.

      “Yes, they’re fresh from the city,” answered his twin. “I’m rather surprised they haven’t come to Riverdale before, to occupy their new home.”

      “Our house was sold ’cause we were poor, wasn’t it?” asked Sue.

      “Yes, dear. We couldn’t afford to keep it, because poor papa left a lot of debts that had to be paid. So we moved over here, to Gran’pa Eliot’s.”

      “Don’t like this place,” observed Don, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, as he stared across the street. “It isn’t half as fine or cosy as our old home.”

      “It’s lucky for us that Gran’pa Eliot had a house,” returned Phil, gravely. “And it’s lucky Mr. Ferguson induced him to let us live in it.”

      “Guess gran’pa couldn’t help himself, being paralyzed like he is,” said Becky.

      “It’s the first thing he ever did for us, anyhow,” added Don, grumblingly. “And he sticks to his room upstairs and won’t let us come near him.”

      “Do you want to visit gran’pa?” asked Phœbe, turning to her younger brother.

      “No.”

      “Then don’t complain, dear, if he doesn’t want you. He’s old and helpless; and as for helping us, I’m afraid gran’pa is almost as poor as we are,” she said, her eyes still regarding, with wistful earnestness, the scene across the street.

      “Poor! Gran’pa Eliot poor, with this big house?” exclaimed Sue, incredulously.

      “I think so; I’m sure it’s so,” answered Phœbe. “Old Miss Halliday asked me to keep you all from picking the fruit in the garden, when it ripens; because, she says gran’pa has to sell it to get enough money to pay taxes and his living expenses. And she gathers all the eggs from the chickens and sells them to Mr. Wyatt, the grocer. That must mean gran’pa’s pretty poor, you know.”

      “Is old Miss Halliday any relation to us?” asked Don.

      “No; she was an old servant of grandmother’s, before she died – her housekeeper, СКАЧАТЬ