[Illustration: “I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE SOME CHOCOLATES”]
LETTY AND THE TWINS
BY
Helen Sherman Griffith
AUTHOR OF
“LETTY OF THE CIRCUS” “LETTY’S NEW HOME”
“LETTY’S SISTER” “LETTY’S TREASURE”
“LETTY AT THE CONSERVATORY” “LETTY’S SPRINGTIME”
“LETTY AND MISS GREY”
ILLUSTRATED BY FRANCES D. JONES
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA MCMXVII
COPYRIGHT 1910 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
CONTENTS
I—ARRIVING AT THE FARM
II—SUNNYCREST
III—A SPRAINED ANKLE
IV—GREEN APPLES
V—THE CIRCUS
VI—LETTY
VII—MRS. HARTWELL-JONES SEES PART OF THE CIRCUS
VIII—JANE’S IDEA
IX—HAPPY DAYS
X—THISTLEDOWN
XI—CHRISTOPHER GOES FOR THE MAIL
XII—LETTY SINGS A LULLABY
XIII—THE TULIP’S DREAM
XIV—WHERE IS CHRISTOPHER?
XV—LETTY’S FUTURE
XVI—UNTYING THE APRON-STRINGS
XVII—GOOD NEWS
XVIII—A CABLEGRAM
XIX—SYMPTOMS OF MEASLES
XX—OLD SCENES AGAIN
XXI—CONCLUSION
ILLUSTRATIONS
“I thought you might like some chocolates”
They giggled at everything the clown said
Under a large tree in the garden
“Don’t you worry, little girl”
“Now look up at me”
INTRODUCTION
Those who have read “Letty of the Circus” will remember that Letty Grey
was a little city girl whose brother was a member of a troupe of
acrobats. When it became necessary to help her mother who was ill Letty
herself became a member of the troupe and joined them in their
performances at a summer resort. One day she bravely saved the lives of
two little children, Jane and Christopher, who were threatened by an
angry bear. This was the beginning of a warm friendship which is seen
ripening in the present book. Letty leaves the circus and finds a new
mother, and her sunny nature wins for her many friends. Something more
about her will be found in “Letty’s New Home,” “Letty’s Sister,”
“Letty’s Treasure,” “Letty’s Good Luck,” “Letty at the Conservatory,”
“Letty’s Springtime” and “Letty and Miss Grey.”
LETTY AND THE TWINS
CHAPTER I
ARRIVING AT THE FARM
“Oh, Kit, isn’t it just fun!” cried Jane, her rosy, chubby face beaming.
“How fast we are going!”
“Ho,” exclaimed Christopher, “it’s not so fast. Not so awfully fast, is
it, grandfather? I’d like to go about sixty miles an hour. That would be
going for you.”
“Oh, Kit!” breathed Jane in mingled awe and admiration.
Jane and Christopher—or Kit as he was generally called to distinguish
him from his father, whose name also was Christopher—were twins, and so
far along the course of their short lives had shared everything, from
peppermint drops to ideas. The stern fact that Christopher was a boy and
Jane a girl was just beginning faintly to dawn upon them—a state
demonstrated by Jane’s unqualified admiration of everything her brother
said and did, and by his occasional condescension of manner toward her.
Jane leaned back in her parlor car seat hugging her doll—a wonderful new
one with flaxen hair turned up with a comb and dressed “like a
lady”—quite content with the rate at which the train was speeding
through the green fields and villages; while Christopher bobbed about
from seat to seat, trying the view from each side of the train in turn
and wishing he could look out on both sides at once.
There were very few passengers in the parlor car, for it was early in
the season for summer visitors to go to the country. Besides the twins
and their grandparents there were only three other passengers: two
gentlemen who were very busy talking and paid no attention to any one
else, and a sweet-faced lady with gray hair who sat at the other end of
the car and who watched the children with great interest. She looked as
if she would like to make friends with them.
After a while she took a candy box out of her satchel and catching the
twins’ eyes, beckoned to them, holding out the open box. Christopher was
for bolting down the car aisle at once, but Jane caught him back and
whispered something to her grandmother, who looked up from her book,
exchanged smiles with the sweet-faced stranger, bowed and said “yes” to
Jane.
“I thought you might like some chocolates,” said the lady as the
children approached. “Won’t you sit down there opposite me?”
“Thank you,” said Jane politely, and the twins tucked themselves side by
side into the big chair. The lady’s sweet, interested manner and the
chocolates quickly put matters upon a friendly footing, and in two
minutes the children were prattling away as if they had known Mrs.
Hartwell-Jones (for that, she told them, was her name, watching out of
the corner of her eye as she pronounced it to see if it sounded familiar
to them) as if they had known her all their lives. Their own names, age
and family history were soon told.
“Our mother and father have gone to Europe for four months,” announced
Christopher importantly. “Father had to go on business and mother wanted
to go with him and so——”
“She did not want to go, Kit,” corrected Jane. “The doctor thought she
ought to.”
“Well, she did want to go. How could she help wanting to go to Europe?”
demanded Christopher triumphantly. “So she and father went, and we are
to spend the whole summer on the farm.”
“The whole summer,” repeated Jane, happily. But she swallowed hard as
she thought of her father and mother off in the middle of the ocean on a
big ship.
“It’s a real farm,” went on Christopher, “with cows and chickens and
pigs.”
“And horses and dogs and cats,” added Jane, the lump in her throat
already gone.
“Oh, they don’t count. You could have horses and dogs and cats without
having a farm,” said Christopher. “There are big fields where the men
plough and cut hay, and there must be dozens of cows,” he explained to
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones.
“And where is this wonderful farm?”
“It’s near Hammersmith. We drive there; miles and miles!”
“The farm is called ‘Sunnycrest,’” put in Jane eagerly, “because the
house—grandfather’s house—stands up on a hill. The farmhouse and stables
are down the hill across the dearest little creek, where they have a
dairy and make butter. Huldah lets me help sometimes. Huldah cooks for
grandmother but she lives at the farm, she and Josh.”
“Josh is grandfather’s ‘right-hand man,’ grandfather calls him. He
bosses the whole farm and he’s awfully nice.”
“It all sounds ‘awfully nice,’” said the gray-haired lady a little
wistfully. “I am going to Hammersmith, too, only I have to stay in the
village. Perhaps you will come to see me some time?”
“Yes’m,” said Jane politely. “If grandmother will let us.”
Grandmother herself joined them just then. She was afraid that the
children might be tiring their new friend. She and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones
introduced themselves to each other and grandmother sat down in the
chair out of which the children, mindful of their manners, had tumbled.
They stood quietly in the aisle for a moment or two, but as grandmother
would not allow them to have any more chocolates and the conversation
promised to be quite “grown up,” they ran back to their own seats.
Presently the train slowed down and finally came to a stop beside a
long, dilapidated platform with a small, low wooden house. There were
several sets of tracks branching out from this platform in different
directions and on the platform was a group of people, standing about as
if waiting for a train.
“What’s the matter, grandfather?” asked Christopher a little
impatiently. “I thought this train wasn’t going to stop again until we
got to Hammersmith.”
The conductor, who was passing through the train, heard Christopher’s
question and stopped obligingly to explain.
“We have to wait for the Mount Pleasant train here at the Junction,
sonny,” he said. “It’s a bit late, but we won’t be delayed long. Them
people,” he added to grandfather, pointing through the window to the
group on the platform, “have been waiting for it ’most four hours.
They’re a circus troupe.”
A circus troupe! A traveling circus—how interesting! Jane and
Christopher pressed eagerly to the window and stared out at the small
knot of people. There was nothing remarkable about them except that they
all looked tired and a little anxious. Jane surveyed them thoughtfully.
“Poor people,” she said. “I’m sorry they have to stand there so long,
waiting. They look tired. And there’s a baby—oh, Kit!” She grasped her
brother suddenly by the sleeve, still peering out through the window.
“Oh, Kit, it is, it is!” she exclaimed excitedly. “It’s Letty!”
“Who, the baby is?” asked Christopher contemptuously. “Do stop clawing
me, Jane.”
“No, no, the girl holding the baby. Do look, Kit. Don’t you see her?”
Jane loosened her hold of Christopher’s sleeve to point out a child
standing a little apart from the waiting group. The girl was dressed in
a faded, clean frock of pink gingham and her glossy brown hair was
smoothly brushed and braided. Her face was turned away from the
children, but what they could see of it looked thin and sad. She carried
a jolly, restless, heavy baby in her arms who was crowing and holding
out its arms toward the locomotive. Christopher looked at the girl a
moment in hesitation.
“I don’t believe it’s Letty. But it does look some like her,” he added
doubtfully. “I wish she would turn around more so I could see her face
better.”
As if in answer to his wish the little girl did turn just then and
looked directly at the children. Perhaps she had felt the intentness of
Jane’s earnest gaze. At sight of the twins her face suddenly brightened
and she walked slowly down the platform toward the car in which they
were sitting.
“It is Letty!” exclaimed the twins together in great excitement, and
they commenced to nod and smile with all their might.
“Oh, grandfather, mayn’t we go to the platform to speak to her? We
haven’t seen her in three whole years!” cried Jane eagerly. “We thought
she was lost.”
“Speak to whom?” asked grandfather in great surprise, looking out of the
window over the children’s shoulders.
“Why, to Letty. See, there she is. She’s the little girl who saved our
lives from the bear. Hurry, before the train starts,” explained
Christopher, jumping up from his seat.
He and Jane rushed pell-mell down the aisle to the door, followed by Mr.
Baker.
“What is it? What has happened?” asked grandmother in some alarm,
looking up from her conversation with Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. “What are
they going to see?”
“They say that the little girl is outside who saved their lives from the
attack of the mad bear that time at Willow Grove Park.”
“Really?” exclaimed grandmother much interested. “Then I should like to
talk to her, too.”
She rose from her seat, but paused to tell the story to Mrs.
Hartwell-Jones.
“It happened three years ago. My daughter-in-law had taken the children
to some sort of entertainment out at Willow Grove. A trained bear,
driven mad by the heat, they supposed, broke loose from its keeper and
charged the audience. Jane and Christopher were sitting in the very
front row and the bear was almost upon them when this little girl—one of
the performers, an acrobat, I think—jumped down from the stage and threw
a cover over the bear’s head so that he was blinded and his trainer
captured him easily enough.”
“What great presence of mind,” said Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. “I should like
to see the little girl, too.”
“Then let us step outside. My daughter did go to see them at once. The
child’s mother was quite a lady but in most reduced circumstances; and
she went again later, meaning to help them, but learned that the mother
had died and the little girl had been taken away by friends, she was
never able to find out where. If this is the child, I should like to do
something for her.”
In the meantime, Jane and Christopher had rushed to the door of the car,
their faces beaming with excitement and delight. The girl had
transferred the baby she was carrying hurriedly to its mother and stood
watching the door with an air of shy expectancy.
“Oh, Letty, Letty, to think that we have found you again!” exclaimed
Jane, kissing her heartily, while Christopher capered about them in
glee.
“Find me? Did you ever look for me?” asked the little girl, her face
lighting up with pleasure.
“Why, of course we did,” answered Christopher. “Didn’t we say we’d come
again? We got your address from the boarding-house at Willow Grove and
we went to see you—but you had gone away.”
“We were so sorry for you,” whispered Jane, slipping her hand into
Letty’s.
Poor Letty turned away to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. She
was greatly changed, poor child, in those three years. Her face had lost
all its pretty roundness and her eyes seemed too large for the rest of
her face, they were so wide and sad.
“Have you been with the circus all this time?” asked Christopher with
great interest.
“Yes,” she answered sadly. “There hasn’t seemed anything else to do.
My—my brother Ben died too, last year,” she added with a little sob.
“Oh, I am so sorry—so, so sorry!” repeated Jane softly. “Poor Letty, I
wish you could come with us.”
“We’re going to the farm to spend the summer,” explained Christopher.
“Our grandfather’s farm. Don’t you remember we told you about it?”
“Indeed I do remember. How happy you both must be.”
“We are. And wouldn’t you like to come too?” asked Jane impulsively.
“Of course I should like it, if I could,” and Letty’s voice grew very
wistful.
Just then a long train, with bell jangling and escaping steam hissing,
rolled up to the opposite platform with a loud rumble. The waiting group
of people hastened to get on it.
“Letty, Letty!” called some one sharply. “Come at once.”
“Oh, Letty,” cried Jane, “must you go? Please don’t. We don’t want to
lose you again!”
“Letty, you’ll miss the train,” called a gruff masculine voice, and
added, “Hurry up, now,” in a tone not to be disobeyed.
The conductor of the waiting train, his eye on his watch, emphasized the
need of haste by shouting “All aboard” very peremptorily.
Letty stopped and kissed Jane and then bounded across the platform with
all her old grace and agility.
“Write to me. Please write to me!” shrieked Jane after her.
The twins waved their hands frantically as Letty turned for a farewell
nod, and watched the train pull out.
“We don’t even know where she’s gone,” wailed Jane. “We’ll never see her
again!”
Mrs. Baker stepped from the doorway of the parlor car, with Mrs.
Hartwell-Jones behind her.
“Has the little girl gone?” she asked regretfully. “I wanted to see
her.”
“She’s gone,” Jane replied disconsolately. “And we don’t even know
where.”
“Dear me, how very unsatisfactory,” sighed grandmother. “I should have
liked so much to do something for her.”
Then they all went back into the car again as their own train began to
move.
“From the fleeting glimpse I had of her, I should say that the child had
a rather unusual face,” remarked Mrs. Hartwell-Jones thoughtfully, as
the two ladies seated themselves again. “Can you tell me anything more
about her, Mrs. Baker?”
“Janey,” said grandmother later, when they were all making ready to
leave the train, “can’t you guess who Mrs. Hartwell-Jones really is?
Don’t you remember her name?”
Jane shook her head.
“Why, she is the lady who wrote that lovely book you got last Christmas,
of which you are so fond.”
“The ‘Jimmie-Boy’ book?” asked Jane in an awestruck voice. “But that is
by——” Opening her own miniature dress-suit case, of which she was
immensely proud, Jane got out the book in question and spelled out the
author’s name: “Mary C. Hartwell-Jones.”
“Exactly,” said grandmother with great satisfaction. “That is her whole
name, ‘Mary C. Hartwell-Jones.’ She has taken rooms in Mrs. Parsons’
house at Hammersmith for the whole summer, and she expects to write
another book!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Jane, much impressed. “And she asked us to come and see
her, grandmother.”
Jane stared hard at the lady with whom she had chattered so freely and
familiarly a short time before and whom she now regarded with the
greatest possible awe. Then, crossing to Christopher, she told him the
wonderful news. And from that time on Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was known to
the two children as “The lady who wrote books.”