They stole across the nursery floor and through the hall on tiptoe; because they had promised father to be "as still as mice."

So far so good! Not the slyest nibbler of cheese in the house could have moved more softly than Gay and May. It was the quietest procession that ever marched until it reached the threshold of the Mistress's chamber when it fell into wild confusion; Gay, in his desire to catch the first glimpse of mother, stepped on May's heel and that made May scream. It wasn't a loud scream, to be sure, but it was louder than the most frantic mouse could squeak, and quite loud enough to rouse the mother from the light slumber into which she had fallen. She opened her eyes, then closed them again as she lay there on her couch so motionless that her children crept to her side and touched her to see if she slept. Then she opened her eyes once more and smiled; not her old joyous smile, but one so faint that Gay's eyes filled with tears. Taking his mother's pale, beautiful face between his hands he kissed it gently—not very gently, perhaps, for a boy's kiss is rarely as light as a fairy's, although his heart is quite as tender—and this won for him a kiss in return.

"We meant to be very quiet, mother," said Gay, with another penitent kiss. "But something always happens."

"Yes, something always happens," said May, who invariably echoed Gay's sentiments and followed his example, as became a twin sister.

"Mother understands, my darlings," the Mistress softly murmured.

"It was one of our mishaps," continued Gay. "You know we can't keep out of them, mother. When we don't go to them they just follow right round after us, as if they were alive!"

In truth, it seemed as if this were so. Their eleven years had been crowded with adventures; not particularly stirring nor remarkable, but harmless and ludicrous adventures such as seem to come to some children unsought. It must be owned, however, in their case, that had not the adventure appeared promptly on the scene they would have gone in search of it, Gay leading and May a close second. As they apparently led a charmed life, emerging unscathed from their scrapes, no one was disposed to criticise them severely. Alice once said:

"Gay and May are just like cats; no matter how badly they may be placed, when they jump they always land on their feet!" And the entire family regarded this as a figurative, but correct, estimate of the luck that constantly attended the twins.

Of past pranks little need be said, since it is the purpose of this story to relate the greatest escapade of their lives, but it may as well be stated that many of their mishaps were due to the remarkable resemblance existing between them.

Gay and May were much more alike than two peas; they were as identical as two perfectly symmetrical beads. Cover knickerbockers and jacket, skirt and bodice, and no one could tell which closely-cropped head was May's,—which Gay's! In height they did not vary a hair's breadth. In step and movement they were precisely the same. In voice no musician could detect the difference of an infinitesimal part of a tone. Not a ray of light sparkled in one pair of hazel eyes that was not reflected in the other. Even in the wild rose of their cheeks Dame Nature was careful to preserve the same tint. Not a dimple, not a smile; not a look, nor a gesture in one that was not repeated in the other. If there were mental or moral differences, these were not noticeable when they were together; both were healthy, daring, and honest, with hearts for any fate, providing there was fun enough in it. It is not singular, therefore, that such striking similarity in character and appearance produced many complications.

In their babyhood, Gay wore a pink, and May a blue ribbon for identification, but, if by chance these distinguishing marks became displaced, it often followed that Gay was kissed and coddled for a girl; while poor May was bounced and tossed and trotted for a boy. When they were put in short frocks the same mistakes were made.

"There'll be no such confusion when Gay puts on trousers," prophesied a sage relative of the family. Alas! for prophet; when Gay became a real boy in knickerbockers, the work of confusion still went on. Indeed, after knickerbockers began to play their part, it was worse than ever, for the twins were then old enough to understand the value of their resemblance in solid fun.

No truthful chronicler of their tricks would undertake to tell how many times the burden of Gay's misdoing was accepted by May, who lay demurely in bed, in broad daylight, in that young worthy's place, while he escaped to the park, there to sport in freedom. Nor how Gay took May's dose of castor oil, the medicine of all others most abhorred by her; nor how more than once he bore the ten strokes of the rattan designed for her palm, on his own, both remedies being administered by nurse, and received by the culprit or patient, as the case might be, in a pinafore donned for the occasion. Gay and May were not model children, but they possessed one splendid trait in common; they shared alike the pleasure and pain that fell to their lot, for their hearts were both loyal and generous.

Now let us return to the chamber of the Mistress. While Gay and May sat at her bedside, trying to "make her well" by kisses and petting, you may be sure the mother thought some time of the approaching separation before mentioning it, but at length she told them of the invitations they had received and of their father's wishes.

They heard her through in open-eyed amazement. Gay looked at May, and May returned the glance; then they clasped each other and cried together:

"Separate us, mother? It can't be done!"