Ruth heard Bob's last expression, despite the rattling of the harness
and the chattering of the girls on, and in, the coach, and she was
sorry. Yet, could he be blamed so much, when similar feelings were
expressed daily by his own father regarding the Caslons?
Mrs. Steele was shocked as well. "My dear son!" she exclaimed, in a low
voice, leaning over his shoulder. "Be careful of your tongue. Don't say
things for which you might be sorry--indeed, for which I am sure you
_are_ sorry when you stop to think."
"Huh! Isn't that old Caslon as mean as he can be?" demanded Bobbins.
"I am sure," the good lady sighed, "that I wish he would agree to sell
his place to your father, and so have an end of all this talk and
worriment. But I am not at all sure that he hasn't a right to do as he
pleases with his own property."
"Well--now--Mother----"
But she stopped him with: "At any rate, you must halt and offer him
help. And those children--I hope none of them has been hurt."
"Pooh! you couldn't hurt kids like those," declared Bob.
But he brought the horses down to a walk and the yellow coach approached
the scene of the accident at a temperate pace.
The big farm-wagon, the body of which had been filled with straw for the
youngsters to ride in, had been pulled to the side of the road out of
the way of passing vehicles. It was clear that the smashed wheel was
past repair by any amateur means, for several spokes were broken, and
the hub was split.
The youngsters whom Mr. Caslon had taken aboard at the railway station
in Darrowtown were dancing about and yelling like wild Indians. As the
coach came nearer, the excited party upon it could more carefully count
the blue-clad figures, and it was proved that there were twelve.
Six girls were in blue gingham frocks, all alike, and all made "skimpy"
and awkward looking. The six boys were in new blue overalls and cotton
shirts. The overalls seemed all of one size, although the boys were not.
They must have been purchased at the store of one size, and whether a
boy was six, or twelve, he wore the same number.
Each of the children, too, carried a more or less neatly made up parcel,
the outer covering of which was a blue and white bandanna, and the
contents of which was the change of clothing the institution allowed
them.
"What a terrible noise they make!" sighed Mrs. Steele. "And they are
perfect little terrors, I suppose. But they _are_ clean."
They had not been out of the sight of the institution nurse long enough
to be otherwise, for she had come as far as Darrowtown with them. But
they _were_ noisy, sure enough, for each one was trying to tell his or
her mates how he or she felt when the wheel crashed and the wagon went
over.
"I reckon I oughtn't to have risked that wheel, after all," said Mr.
Caslon, doffing his hat to Mrs. Steele, but smiling broadly as he looked
up from his examination of the wheel.
"Whoa, Charlie! Don't get too near them heels, youngsters. Charlie an'
Ned are both old duffers like me; but you can't fool around a horse's
legs without making him nervous.
"And don't pull them reins. I don't want 'em to start right now.... Yes,
ma'am. I'll haf ter lead the horses home, and that I don't mind. But
these young ones---- Now, let that whip lay right where it is, young man!
That's right.
"You see, ma'am," he proceeded, quite calmly despite all that was going
on about him, and addressing himself to Mrs. Steele, "it's too long a
walk for the little ones, and I couldn't tote 'em all on the backs of
the horses----
"Now, you two curly heads there--what do you call 'em?"
"The Terrible Twins!" quoth two or three of the other orphans, in
chorus.
"I believe ye! I believe ye! They jest bile over, _they_ do. Now, you
two boys," he added, addressing two youngsters, very much alike, about
of a height, and both with short, light curly hair, "never mind tryin'
to unharness Charlie and Ned. _I'll_ do that.
"Ye see, ma'am, if you could take some of the little ones aboard----" he
suggested to Mrs. Steele.
The coach was well filled, yet it was not crowded. The girls began to
call to the little folks to get aboard even before Mrs. Steele could
speak.
"There's lots of room up here," cried Ruth, leaning from her end of the
seat and offering her hand. The twins ran at once to climb up and fought
for "first lift" by Ruth.
"Oh, yes! they can get aboard," said Mrs. Steele. "All there is room
for."
And the twelve "fresh airs" proved very quickly that there was room for
them all. Ruth had the "terrible twins" on the seat with her in half a
minute, and the others swarmed into, or on top of, the coach almost as
quickly.
"There now! that's a big lift, I do declare," said the farmer, hanging
the chains of the horses' traces upon the hames, and preparing to lead
the pair along the road.
"My wife will be some surprised, I bet," and he laughed jovially. "I'm
certain sure obleeged to ye, Mis' Steele. Neighbors ought to be
neighborly, an' you air doin' me a good turn this time--yes, ma'am!"
"Now, you see," growled Bob, as the four coach horses trotted on, "he'll
take advantage of this. We've noticed him once, and he'll always be
fresh."
"Hush, my son!" whispered Mrs. Steele. "Little pitchers have big ears."
"Huh!" exclaimed one of the wriggling twins, looking up at the lady
sideways like a bird. "I know what _that_ means. _We're_ little
pitchers--Dickie an' me. We've heard that before--ain't we, Dickie?"
"Yep," announced his brother, nodding wisely.
These two were certainly wise little scamps! Willie did most of the
talking, but whatever he said his brother agreed to. Dickie being so
chary with speech, possibly his brother felt that he must exercise his
own tongue the more, for he chattered away like a veritable magpie,
turning now and then to demand:
"Ain't that so, Dickie?"
"Yep," vouchsafed the echo, and, thus championed, Willie would rattle on
again.
Yes. They was all from the same asylum. There were lots more of boys and
girls in that same place. But only twelve could get to go to this place
where they were going. They knew boys that went to Mr. Caslon's last
year.
"Don't we, Dickie?"
"Yep."
No. They didn't have a mama or papa. Never had had any. But they had a
sister. She was a big girl and had gone away from the asylum. Some time,
when they were big enough, they were going to run away from the asylum
and find her.
"Ain't we, Dickie?"
"Yep."
Whether the other ten "fresh airs" were as funny and cute as the
"terrible twins," or not, Ruth Fielding did not know, but both she and
Mrs. Steele were vastly amused by them, and continued to be so all the
way to the old homestead under the hill where the children had come to
spend a part of the summer with Mr. and Mrs. Caslon.