At Hammersmith a big, old-fashioned carryall stood beside the station platform and behind it a light spring wagon, the two drivers standing side by side on the platform, watching the descending passengers anxiously. The older man was Joshua Adams, the head man on grandfather’s farm. Grandmother always called him Joshua, but to every one else he was Josh. His companion, Jo Perkins, a young stable boy familiarly known as “Perk,” was new on the place since the twins’ last visit, and they did not know him. They eyed him curiously as they shook hands heartily with Joshua, who was an old and long-tried friend.

“My, my, you’ve growed sence I see ye,” exclaimed Joshua, standing the children off and looking at them in mock amazement. “Most big enough to be giants in a side-show.”

“Oh, shucks,” said Christopher, squirming with embarrassment. “Has Juno got any new pups?”

“Well, you have growed, ’pon my word. Now I leave it to Miss Jane if you haven’t. Hain’t you, Miss Jane? And you’re both of you dressed different now, so ’t I can tell ye apart,” he added teasingly.

Of course Joshua had seen the children many times since the day Christopher had been promoted to trousers, but he never lost a chance of reminding the boy that he had passed through a petticoat period.

Perk felt a little bit out of this intimate party. He stood awkwardly in the background, fingering his hat and winking gravely at Christopher whenever he caught his eye. Grandfather bustled up presently, followed by the station agent wheeling the trunks on a truck, which Perk proceeded to pile on the wagon. Joshua untied the team and mounted to the front seat of the big carriage.

“Where’s Nelly Gray?” asked Jane, missing the gray mare with the white star on her forehead.

“Why, Nelly, she’s out to pastur’ for a while. Got a nail in her foot.”

“Oh, poor horsey! How it must have hurt! Did you get it out?”

“Why of course, greeney,” interposed Christopher knowingly, “else the horse would have died, wouldn’t it, Josh?”

Jane climbed into the carriage and sat down opposite her grandparents, but Christopher hung back.

“I want to go on the wagon. Mayn’t I, please?”

“Oh, yes,” consented grandfather good-naturedly, “if you promise to sit still and not ask to drive.”

Christopher avoided Jane’s reproachful look and capered off joyfully. Jane felt hurt at being deserted by her twin so soon, but she knew that Christopher was anxious to make Perk’s acquaintance.

“I s’pose boys can’t help likin’ other boys a little,” she reflected philosophically, and hugged her doll comfortably.

In spite of her nine years and her brother’s teasing, Jane persisted in playing with dolls and had a large, well-beloved family.

“Say, I’m going to ride home with you,” announced Christopher, climbing up on the high wagon seat. “Shall I hold the horse for you while you strap on the trunks?”

“He’s hitched,” drawled Perk with a twinkle in his eye. “But I guess ’twon’t hurt if you want to hold the lines.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice that he was tied,” said Christopher, a bit crestfallen, and feeling his youth. “I’d like to drive,” he added with reviving spirit as Perk strapped on the last trunk and mounted to his seat (swinging up over the wheel after the horse had started, to Christopher’s keen envy), “but grandfather said I mustn’t ask. But I could. A friend of my father’s has an automobile and he let me steer it one day, oh, a long way.”

Perk was distinctly impressed by this statement and dropped some of the patronage from his manner. Perk had never even seen an automobile.

As they drove down the length of the village street, Christopher was on the lookout for changes. It was two years since he had visited in Hammersmith, which left plenty of time for improvements. Each new building or alteration had to be remarked upon to Perk, for Christopher’s tongue would never stay quiet. Jane declared once that it wagged in his sleep.

“I see somebody else has got the blacksmith’s forge. Mr. Parsons used to run it.”

“Yes, but Mr. Parsons is too tony now to shoe horses. He makes wagons an’ keeps summer boarders.”

“Hello, Jones has got a partner. My, but they used to have good sarsaparilla there,” exclaimed Christopher, smacking his lips.

“They do still,” answered Perk, smacking his.

“I’ll treat you some time. I’m to have fifteen cents a week pocket money all summer, an’ so’s Jane. Hi, there’s a new store. Say, it’s a dandy.”

“It’s a newspaper office up-stairs. Downstairs they have a store where nothin’ costs more’n ten cents; and lots of things cost only five. Ain’t that a queer sort of store?”

“Not so queer as I’ve seen. Why, they’ve got a store in the city where everything costs ninety-nine cents. My mother’d never let me buy there, but they had mighty pretty things in the windows. Painted plates and things. Lots of people go there because they think it’s so much cheaper than a dollar. Aren’t some people silly?”

They had turned out of the village by this time into the country road which led to Sunnycrest.

“Do you play marbles?” asked Christopher, patting a bag of beloved alleys in his trousers pocket.

“Naw—that’s a kid’s game,” said Perk contemptuously. He was feeling a trifle sore over the fact that this boy, so much younger than he, had ridden in an automobile and had seen a ninety-nine-cent store.

Christopher withdrew his hand suddenly from his pocket.

“Yes, isn’t it?” he agreed quickly. Then, lest Perk should have heard the rattle of the marbles he said carelessly: “I play with Jane sometimes—to amuse her. And there’s a boy lives in our street that coaxes me to have a game with him once in a while. I do it to please him ’cause he’s lame, but it never seems fair to play for keeps with him. He’s only eight and a half.”

Christopher hauled the bag of marbles out of his pocket and displayed them indifferently, as if they were spoils. But all the time his heart thumped guiltily at the white lie he was acting, for up to the present moment he had loved the game of marbles and had looked upon it as a manly sport.

“Gee, did you win all them? They’re beauties,” exclaimed Perk in admiration, transferring the reins to one hand in order to examine the different marbles.

“No, not exactly all,” admitted Christopher, “some I had. And some I traded,” he added, thrusting the bag back into his pocket.

“Hum. Want to swap knives?”

Christopher’s heart sank. His father had presented him with a very wonderful, five-bladed knife as a farewell gift. Christopher had not even whittled with it yet. The idea of parting with it hurt. He drew it from his pocket with mingled pride and concern. He did not want to appear unmanly, but he was quite sure that Perk could have nothing half so good to trade.

But Perk saw the value of the knife and was square enough to refuse to take any advantages. He admired it even more extravagantly than he had done the marbles.

“Of course you don’t want to swap something that was a present,” he said. “’Twouldn’t be treating your daddy right.”

“You can borrow it whenever you want,” replied Christopher gratefully.

Presently Perk called Christopher’s attention to several flaming posters that decorated the rail fences on either side of the road.

“There’s a circus comin’ to town next week,” he said. “Guess it’s going to be a pretty good show.”

“Oh, what bully fun!” cried Christopher. “We know a little circus girl,” and he told the story of Letty and the bear. Together they studied the bills as they passed, comparing notes as to their opinion of the different feats advertised and choosing which side-shows they would like best to see.

This amiable conversation occupied them all the rest of the drive.

Sunnycrest was a big white house on the top of a ridge. In front, except for a wide square of green lawn just before the house, the grounds sloped so steeply that terraces had been made every few yards, and at the bottom ran a delightful little brook. At the bottom of the hill were the farmhouse, barn, chicken and cow-houses and, where the brook curved and ran through a shallow, cemented basin, the spring-house and dairy. Behind the house was a big orchard and beyond stretched fields of grain and hay.

Christopher jumped down from the wagon almost before it stopped and rushed into the kitchen where Jane’s bobbed head could be seen, topped with a big pink bow. Huldah the cook was another old and very dear friend of the children’s.

“Hullo, Huldah. Got any ginger cakes?” shouted Christopher. “My stomach just aches for one of your spiced ginger cakes. Haven’t had one for two years, you know.”

“I’m afraid your stomach will ache still more before you are through,” mildly observed grandmother, who had followed him in.

But she did not forbid his eating the cakes, even though supper was almost ready. That is one of the privileges of growing old enough to be a grandmother.

The two horses had brought the carriage home at a much quicker rate than the heavily loaded wagon could travel and Jane had already explored the whole place in her quiet, energetic way. She had learned all the news regarding live stock new and old and had petted all her favorites. Dora the cat was specially friendly and Jane was convinced that the little animal remembered her from her former visit, two years before.

“I think that’s quite remarkable in a cat, don’t you, grandmother?” she said. “Now, if it was Juno, I shouldn’t be so surprised. Dogs always remember people. But with cats, it’s different.”

There were no kittens at present, but Huldah described past families with much detail. She had kept a written account of the color and name of each kitten and its fate. Most of the kittens had been given away or disposed of in their early infancy. Some, grown to cat-hood, disported themselves about the stables with a serene indifference to the house privileges of their mamma, and with a keen taste for rats—certainly not inherited from her. Dora was far too aristocratic to care for any food less appetizing than fresh milk and bits of cooked meat, cut into dainty morsels.

Juno had four new puppies, dear little fuzzy balls of fur; and there were two new calves—with such thin wabbly legs and big, scared eyes—in the barnyard. Six patiently setting hens promised dozens of fluffy chicks before long, and a brood of ducklings swam in the stable pond.

Jane had taken in all these marvels and her little brain was busy choosing names for the new puppies while grandmother washed her face and tidied her hair for supper.

She gave Christopher the news as they munched ginger cakes together. Jane had not thought to ask for the cakes but when they came she ate almost as many as Christopher.

“The pups are awfully cunning,” she said patronizingly. “And I know just where Juno keeps them. I’ll take you to see them in the morning.”

“Huh, I can find them myself. I’m going now. And I choose to name two of ’em.”

“They’re all named; every single one. And you can’t go to see them now, ’cause supper’s ready.”

“Who named them, I’d like to know? If you did it don’t count, ’cause it’s not fair to go and name all four, without asking me.”

“If you choose to go off with a strange boy, how can I ask you? Those pups are three weeks old and they just had to be named. They’re real nice names,” she added hastily, as Christopher made for the door. “They——”

“Kit, Kit,” called his grandmother, “go up-stairs and wash your hands. Supper is ready.”

“And waffles are no good when they have to stand,” added Huldah meaningly.

This hint was enough to send Christopher at a flying leap up the front stairs.

“I’ll show you the pups in the morning,” repeated Jane with exasperating calmness, following and watching his hasty ablutions from the bath-room door.

“Humph!” answered Christopher with ingratitude, as he splashed the water resentfully. “I guess I can find the pups easy enough—if I want to see ’em. And I know something you don’t know. A circus is coming to town next week, so there!”

“I did know it, but it’s not coming for two weeks. There’s a lovely horseback rider in it and grandfather said perhaps he’d take us,” replied Jane.

Then, carried away by the remembered charms of the circus posters, the twins linked arms and ran down to supper, their slight disagreement already forgotten.

Thus life settled down at Sunnycrest, happy and peaceful for the most part; always interesting but with now and then a little cloud of disappointment or regret overshadowing the sky of their sunny content—which, alas, is apt to be the way in life at every age.

Jane was rather sorry that Jo Perkins had come to work on the farm. He took Christopher away from her so often. To be sure there were a great many things that they could do all together; hunt for eggs, feed the chickens, milk the cows (for Jane and Christopher both learned to milk). But when Perk took Christopher fishing, Jane was not invited to go. Christopher soon developed into quite a sportsman, and begged his grandfather for a gun—Jane turned pale when she heard the request—to shoot some of the rabbits that ran so thick in the woods. But this grandfather positively refused to allow, nor would he permit Perk to carry a gun when Christopher was with him. So the two boys were obliged to content their sporting taste with fishing-rods and angleworms.

Whenever she thought about it, Jane felt surprised and a bit hurt at this ready abandonment of her by Christopher, but her own time was so filled up before long that at times she hardly missed him. Her little woman’s soul took as thriftily to household duties as the boy’s instinct turned to sport. Huldah found her nimble fingers of real use in shelling peas, beating eggs and sifting flour. Indeed, seldom had Huldah’s cake been so light, for in her zeal Jane sifted and resifted the flour and beat the eggs to such a stiffness that it seemed as if they would have to be broken up to stir into the batter, Huldah said.

But grandmother did not encourage indoor work to any great extent, and Jane spent many blissful hours in the orchard with her family of dolls, always in sight of either grandmother’s or Huldah’s watchful eye. For although the twins had reached the dignity of nine years, they were seldom left to their own devices for long at a time. Grandfather and grandmother felt their responsibility too strongly to take any risks, for had they not promised the anxious parents across the sea to take the best of care of these precious children?

Jane was a motherly little body and extended her care of the doll family to Juno’s family as well and Juno got into the habit of carrying the four fluffy balls of fur out to the orchard, where they all had merry romps, rolling about together in the sun and shade.

But even with these diversions Jane might have grown lonely at times during Christopher’s more frequent and longer absences with Perk and Bill Carpenter, a village boy, had not a new game been suggested to her by Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. Grandmother had called very promptly upon Mrs. Hartwell-Jones at her boarding-place in the village. The “lady who wrote books” had been so honestly disappointed that grandmother had not brought the children too that Mrs. Baker promised to return with them the very next day.

Jane was silent and a little awed, but Christopher was his usual cheerful, talkative self—with secret anticipations of another candy box. His hopes were not disappointed, for Mrs. Hartwell-Jones had planned for their visit and a regular “party” was spread forth, ice-cream, lady-fingers and chocolate drops all complete. Afterward she questioned them about what they did all day, every day.

“I milk the cows,” said Christopher boastfully.

“I can milk too,” interposed Jane.

“And I go off in the fields with Perk. When grandfather can spare him from the work we go fishing.”

“How splendid! And what do you do, Janey dear, when Kit is off with his rod?”

“Oh, I help Huldah make cake, and play in the orchard.”

“The orchard! What a fairy-land! May I play with you there some day when I come to Sunnycrest?”

“Oh, would you like to?” asked Jane with big eyes. “It would be splendid!”

“We shall have a fairies’ ball and you shall be queen.”

“Oh, oh! And the grape-vine swing will do for a throne. But perhaps you would rather be queen,” added Jane politely.

“No, I’ll be master of ceremonies.”

They had the game before many more days, and it opened up a new world to Jane who thereafter queened it royally in fairy-land, with the dolls for ladies of honor and the birds and butterflies her royal messengers. Her faith in the real fairies was firm and deep-rooted, the most ardent desire of her life being to see one. She never confided this hope to Christopher and the new game was kept for her lonely hours when Christopher was away with Jo Perkins or Bill Carpenter, with which latter boy his intimacy was growing.