passed on without replying.

"I wonder what mischief he's in, now?" she said to herself, a minute later. "Something, I'll be bound!"

One would have said that she spoke of a child of tender years, instead of an old gentleman of sixty, with a temper so peppery that no one in the village dared oppose it.

Little maid Phyllis, whose life Sarah made a burden by perpetual instruction in housewifery, brought the tea into the library, just as the General entered. Sarah was already there, seated at the tea-table, brushing imaginary shreds of lint off the burnished surface of the copper tea-kettle.

"Phyllis, you should never wipe this kettle with a cloth that is the least mite damp," Sarah said.

"Yes'm," Phyllis answered.

"You may go," Sarah added.

"Yes'm," and the door closed after Phyllis. Phyllis' vocabulary was reduced to the single word "Yes'm;" it was the only word that did not give offense to her mistress, who had her own views concerning humility in serving maids.

Sarah at the tea-table made an exceedingly pleasing picture. Her comely figure was clad in a remarkable flowered brilliant, of a style so ancient, as to suggest the thought that she had robbed the cedar chest of an old-time gentlewoman to procure it. A fine lawn kerchief and an apron of the same material completed an attire as picturesque as that of Mistress This or Dame That in some old comedy.

Nor was General Haines' appearance less picturesque than that of his housekeeper. He prided himself upon being and looking "a gentleman of the old school." His attire was modeled after that of his great-grandfather, a redoubtable general of Washington's time. He wore knee breeches, satin waistcoat, black silk hose, and low shoes with handsome buckles. He even went so far in his imitation of the "old school" as to carry a snuff-box of fine workmanship, but he was too modern in his taste to use the snuff.

Picturesque and comely as were these figures at the tea-table, one at least, was as uncomfortable as it would be possible for any one to be in clothes of the latest mode. After three cups of tea General Haines had not acquired sufficient courage to produce the telegram that fairly burned in his pocket. He had hoped that Sarah might be curious enough to ask what he desired to say to her, but this was precisely what she did not intend to do. She had measured lances with the General a good many times, and knew the transparent tricks he employed to get the better of her. "If he's got anything to say let him say it, not try to make me commit myself before he has opened his head!" her thoughts ran.

At length he had to "say it," and he began,—

"I—expect—I expect a—a—boy on the noon train to-morrow!" He tried to speak carelessly, just as if he had been in daily receipt of boys by the noon train for years!—but his attempt was not a success, and he knew it.

"So that's what he's been up to!" thought Sarah. She said, "We don't need a boy; we've help enough on the place."

"He isn't help, he's a visitor."

"Oh!"

"My grand nephew."

"Oh!"

"His mother is the lady whose portrait hangs in my study."

"Oh!"

It was plain that Sarah was deeply offended. She rose and swept toward the door like a tragedy queen, and the General did not venture to ask her to remain.

"I should think," she said, pausing on the threshold, "that you would know by this time—deep emphasis on "this time,"—"that I am not always ready for a great houseful of company."

"Great houseful of company!" shouted the General, who had kept his temper as long as he was able. "One small boy is not 'a houseful of company,' madam!"

"He is worse!" retorted Sarah, "one small boy is worse than a barrel of monkeys!—you will see!"

She went out, closing the door after her with considerable unnecessary force—it would have been a genuine slam in one of less mature years—leaving the General wiping his brow with his flowered silk handkerchief.

CHAPTER V
MORE CONFUSION

Notwithstanding their somewhat tragic departure the twins did not remain depressed; their spirits soon rose until they forgot their rôles and addressed one another by the right name, much to the confusion of Thomas, who finally asked, "What ailed their tongues?"

"We forgot to change them this morning when we changed our clothes," answered audacious Gay.

"I believe ye, Miss," said Thomas, not at all realizing what he was saying.

At the railway station, however, their spirits fell again, and while Thomas bought their tickets Gay and May reviewed the situation.

"We must just brave it out," said Gay, gloomily, for the prospect was less pleasing than at first. "It wouldn't do to go home and disturb mother and she'd be sure to hear of it; then what would the doctor say?"

"If we were only going together!" sighed May. "But just fancy me at Cedarville and Uncle Harold thinking I'm a boy!"

"Fancy me," said Gay, "trying to be lady-like and the aunties not knowing that I'm a boy!"

"You can't be lady-like," laughed May.

"You can't be manly!" retorted Gay.

"Oh, I wish we were ourselves again!" May said.

"The train is ready, Master Gay," said Thomas, returning with the tickets and checks.

The real boy sprang to his feet, then sat down in confusion, remembering that he had no outward claim to the name of Gay.

"You may go, too, Miss May," said innocent Thomas; "your train leaves on the next track."

They went on board the train together and Gay chose a seat for May near the center of the car and back of one occupied by a boy of their age.

"He'll be company for you," whispered Gay.

Just then the conductor came along and Thomas spoke to him.

"This is Master Gay Walcott, who is going to Cedarville; will you be kind enough to look out for him, sir?"

"Certainly," replied the conductor, nodding pleasantly and walking away.

Both children returned the conductor's bow; the real Gay because he again forgot, and the mock Gay because she meant to be gentlemanly. It was a little mortifying, therefore, to have the real Gay whisper,—

"You mustn't forget to take off your hat, next time."

"I thought you might like a book, Master Gay," said Thomas, taking a bright-colored volume from his pocket.

Both children made a dive for it.

"Not so fast!" said Thomas. "This is Master Gay's."

The real Gay drew back with a giggle. He had made one more mistake.

"Thank you!" the mock Gay cried, giving Thomas a kiss, quite forgetting that a genuine boy never kisses when he is pleased!

"This is yours, Miss May," Thomas said, taking another book from his pocket.

"Thank you," said the mock May.

"What, no kiss for me, Miss?" said Thomas. Then the boy in the petticoats had to kiss Thomas, though it went against the grain to do it.

A low laugh attracted their attention. It fell from the widely parted lips of the boy in front of them; he was much amused at what was going on.

"You won't like him," said Gay promptly. "He's a frightful cad, I'm sure; it shows through on the outside. Let's get another seat."

But a brakeman shouted "All aboard" just then, and the change of seats was not made. The twins embraced hastily; May with tears in her eyes.

"Don't cry!" whispered mischievous Gay. "Boys never cry; remember that."

"Good bye, master Gay," said Thomas. "Be a gentleman."

"I'll try," answered the mock boy, dragging