look like? I trust he will bring us something fine from England," said the boy. "I'd like to go back there with him, if he'd take us all."

"Yes, if he'd take us all, and we might get in to the army—eh?" came a voice from the top of the steep bank opposite.

It was quite startling, the reply was exactly like an echo; but that was not the strangest part. Flat on the ground lay another boy of thirteen. If the first had been copied by a maker of wax-works, line for line and color for color, the two could not have been more alike. In fact, the only difference was that the second had on pink silk breeches, which were very much muddied at the knees. He held in his extended hand a roughly trimmed fishing-pole.

"I feel another nibble," said the boy who had last spoken, leaning further over the water.

"Yes, there, there!" exclaimed the other on the lower bank. "Now we've got him!"

There was a swish, and a trout came plashing and twisting into the sunlight. He had not been very firmly hooked, however, for, after a short flight through the air, he tumbled almost into the lap of the little girl.

She gave a laugh, and, dropping her garland, managed to secure the gasping little fish, together with a handful of grass and leaves.

"Do put him back, William," she said, leaning forward. "He's much too small. I pray you put him back."

The boy took the trout, and, crawling to the water's edge, set him free, and laughed as he darted off and hid, wriggling himself under a sunken log.

At this minute the bushes were parted just behind where the two had been seated, and a strange figure came into sight.

It was an old colored man. He had on a three-cornered hat, much too large for his woolly head, and under his arm he carried a bundle of freshly cut switches. He wore also an old flowered waistcoat that reached almost to his knees, and hung loosely about his thin figure. The waistcoat was still quite gaudy, and showed patches here and there of worn gold lace.

"Mars Willem, I's jes done de bes' I could," said the old darky, with a bow.

The boy looked over the bundle of rods and picked out two of them.

"Cato," he said in an authoritative manner that showed no ill-humor, "you are a lazy rascal, sir; go back and get me one just as long as this and just as thin as this one, and straight, too, mark ye."

The old man bowed again, turned around to hide a grin, and went back into the deep shadows of the trees. When he had gone a little way he stopped.

"Said dat jes like his father, Mars David, would hev spoke. 'Cato, you're a lazy rascal, sir.'" Here the old darky laughed. "I jes wondered if he'd take one of dem crooked ones; I jes did so. Dem boys is Frothin'hams plum fro'—hyar me talkin'."

He drew out of his pocket a huge clasp-knife, and, looking carefully to right and left, went deeper into the wood.

But before going on further with the story, or taking up the immediate history of the twin Frothinghams, it is best, perhaps, to go back and tell a little about their family connections, and explain also something about Stanham Mills, where our story opens on this bright June day.

During the reign of George II. some members of the London Company and a certain wealthy Lord Stanham had purchased a large tract of land in New Jersey, just south of the New York boundary-line. It was supposed that a fortune lay hidden there in the unworked iron-mines.

Looking about for an agent or some persons to represent their interests, and to take charge of the property, the company's choice had fallen upon two members of an influential family in England that had colonial connections—David and Nathaniel Frothingham.

There were three Frothingham brothers in the firm of that name, a firm that had long been interested in many financial ventures in the Colonies, and the two younger partners had had some experience in mining and the handling of large bodies of men.

Upon receiving their appointment to the position of Company managers, Nathaniel and David had left for America, leaving Daniel, the eldest, to look after their family interests at the counting-house in London.

This was some fourteen or fifteen years before our story opened.

Both of the younger brothers were married, and brought their wives with them to share their fortunes in the far-off country. Immediately upon their arrival they had opened the large Manor-house, that had been erected for them in a manner regardless of expense upon the Stanham property, even before a shaft had been sunk in the surrounding hills.

Unfortunately the two ladies of the Manor did not agree at all, and David and his wife lived in one wing and Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel in the other.

When the twins came upon the scene, which happened not long after the arrival in America, there had been great rejoicing; and Mrs. Nathaniel Frothingham's heart had softened somewhat toward her husband's brother's wife. She had no children of her own; and she unbent a little from the position of proud superiority she had assumed, for the aristocratic Clarissa was the grand-niece of an English earl, and had held her heart high accordingly. Mrs. David, the young mother, was but the daughter of a Liverpool merchant. The Frothinghams spent the money that came to them from England with a lavish but an honest hand. However, up to the time this story begins there had been no large returns to encourage future expenditures.

Bounding Stanham Mills to the east and south lay another estate, owned by four or five wealthy dwellers in the Colonies; it was known as the Hewes property. Here also had been opened mines, and a foundry even larger than the Frothingham's was in process of completion.

The eastern boundary-line, as first surveyed by the King's surveyors, ran close to the entrance of the shaft on Tumble Ridge, the big hill to the north; so close indeed in some places that the sound of the picks of the Hewes men could be often heard at work, for the entrance to the rival shaft was just out of sight across the hill crest, and the underground works were nearing every day.

It was claimed by the Hewes people that the Frothinghams had already crossed the boundary-line. Disputes had arisen time and again, and a feeling of intense dislike had grown up between the neighbors.

One eventful morning, when the twins were but two years old and their sister Grace a baby, their father had gone down with some workmen in the rough bucket to the bottom of the largest mine, when a mass of heavy stone near the top became detached and fell, carrying death and sorrow into the family at the big white house. Mrs. David had not long survived her husband, and so the twins and their little sister were suddenly left orphans.

The children were too young to remember much of their father or their mother, and under the care of their Aunt Clarissa and Uncle Nathan they had been allowed to grow up like young wild flowers—much as they pleased.

There were no children near them with whom they were allowed to associate, for the coldness that had existed between the Hewes family and the Frothinghams had, on the latter's part, grown to the verge of hatred, and the two mansions were seven miles apart.

Insensibly the boys had imbibed some of the mannerisms of their stern, hot-tempered uncle, and had been influenced by the airs and affectations of the proud and haughty Mrs. Frothingham. But their devotion and love for one another it was almost pathetic to have seen.

If William, who was the elder, thought anything, George seemed to appreciate it without an expression from his brother, and both fairly worshipped their little sister Grace. She accompanied them in all but their longer rambles, and was their comrade in many of their adventures and misfortunes.

Since they were babies they had been placed more or less under the care and tutelage of the old colored man, Cato Sloper, and his wife, Polly Ann. The children loved